I hate you. I think you're an awful person. You're manipulative and evil, you only think about yourself, and you were a shitty friend. After everything I did for you, you couldn't even lift a pinky for me. The thousands of dollars I spent helping you out, the time I took away from my family and free time to help you, all of it was meaningless to you. Every appointment I drove you to. Every time you had a mental breakdown at my house or called me in the middle of the night demanding I come over because you wanted to kill yourself. Every single time you needed me and I was there, you couldn't be there for me even once when I actually needed it. But when I found out about you and my husband, I saw who you truly were, despite being shown for years. I made the mistake of trusting you and being blind to the person you really were.

I hope you and my ex rot together. I hope he makes your life miserable. I remember when you told me you had stage 3 endo and ovarian cysts, and I took you to all those appointments because you couldn't afford the gas- well I hope it's stage 4 now. I hope they have to rip it all out. I hope your dream of having kids never comes true. You're the only person in the world I would ever wish child loss upon, and I hope the pain lasts forever. I hope you fail college and accrue life-ruining debt. I hope you never get a house, and your obnoxious spending habits finally catch up to you. I hope all the useless, expensive things you buy with your $400 weekly Walmart paycheck come back to bite you in the ass. I saw you post "fuck cancer" on your page the other day, and I so desperately hoped it was you who had it. I hope one day you will, after all, your medical issues just keep piling up. I hope you keep gaining weight. I wish depression for you. I wish poverty for you. I wish pain for you. I wish insurmountable loss and grief for you. I wish loneliness for you. And after a lifetime of suffering, I wish the slowest death for you. Eat shit and die, C.