I can’t breathe. The room shrinks smaller and smaller, darkness threatening to take over. I can’t breathe. Suffocation was never a healthy thing for me.
I can’t handle your flippant answer. You’re just calling him. No big deal. You just told him you loved him. No big deal. You shrug your shoulders as you wait for him to answer. I don’t think you even understand how much pain your little smiles and teasing towards him causes me. You’re the best friend. You should know this.
But no. You don’t. I don’t think you even care. I don’t think our friendship matters enough to you. That boy, the one you just told to that you loved, he’s mine. Or at least he was. I don’t even know anymore. Who cares though? Because sitting right next to me, is my best friend. You. You, who is continually stabbing my back. You, the one I can’t even sit behind in church or stand next to without having a panic attack.
You hurt me so much. I can’t even eat anymore because of the stress that you cause me daily. And that stress causes me to throw up too. I cry everyday too, crying that the hell you have put on me will go away. I’m so thin and weak and raw because of you. You have probably noticed. But you don’t care because you continue to hurt me….
As I continue to suffocate, you get the answering machine. You leave such a cute little message, every word stabs at me. My real best friend is sitting above me, she brushes away my bangs to see what’s wrong. She sees the pain, the upcoming tears threatening to explode. She starts to rub my back. I leap up then, running to the door. I make up some kind of excuse and slam the door on the way out. I press myself against the wall and try to breathe.

Aren’t best friends supposed to be there for one another? To stop doing something when that one person says stop? Aren’t best friends supposed to be the ones to run to? Not the ones to run away from?
Well then I gotta tell you, I am constantly running away from you. You. My best friend.