The words had been cir­cling around my head for over a month, try­ing to force them­selves out. I rewrote them four dif­fer­ent times, and it took me over a week to actu­ally get every­thing down.

I thought that if I pro­cras­ti­nated enough, I wouldn't have to say the things that I did. God knows I didn't want to. And really, at this point, I'm not sure why I needed toI just know that I did.

And yes­ter­day I acknowl­edged what I'd known all along since the time I began writ­ing it: Just because I'm hurt doesn't make what I did right.

I'm tired of hurt­ing, of fight­ing. I'm sick of feel­ing this wayof hold­ing onto all of this. Through­out all of the pain, the bull­shit and the heart­break, I've come to real­ize that none of this is mak­ing things any better.

I want to move past this. I don't want every­thing to con­tinue to loom over me like a black impen­e­tra­ble cloud that restricts me from the rest of the world. The way things are look­ing, I'm get­ting a fresh start at a lot of things. There's no rea­son to destroy that because I refuse to let myself get better.

I miss my friend.

I'm not sorry for what I said, but I'm deeply sorry for how it was said, and specif­i­cally, that it was said here. As has been pointed out to me, I've always seemed to have one car­di­nal rule here, and that is to write how I feel, and damn the con­se­quences. I've come to real­ize that I can't do that when it hurts peo­ple I really care about. It really isn't fair to them, and­some­thing I've never admittedit's a bit of a cop-out for me, too.

I wish I could apol­o­gize in any other way but thisat least over the phone, per­haps. I have a feel­ing that it wouldn't be welcome.

I'm sorry, dear. I'm truly sorry.