That's it. Put me down right now. Just stop for a second, will you please?
Look, I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore. You know, there was a time when I didn't mind being there for you. In fact, there was a time when I actually looked forward to comforting you, to cheering you up when you were feeling a little down. But lately, well, this whole shoving huge fistfuls of me down your throat thing is just not working out.
I hate to say it, but you can't come running to me every time something goes wrong in your life. Not anymore.
It's sad, really. Look at what we've turned into. I used to cherish the time we spent together, whether sitting down at the kitchen table to keep you company late at night, or going on long aimless walks through the rain together. Maybe I was being naive, but for years I actually thought I was helping. You'd come home in tears after a long, depressing day at work, and there I'd be, waiting for you in the fridge, or in the pantry, or stashed away in your bedroom where nobody could see, ready to fill whatever emptiness you felt inside. But things have gotten out of hand, and you know it.
Our relationship, if you can even call it that, is just plain unhealthy.
To be honest, I feel a little taken advantage of. You say that I'm your best friend, that I don't judge you like everyone else does, that I'm the only one who actually understands you, but is this how best friends treat each other? Most days, you can't even stand to look at me before shoveling me straight into your mouth. Somtimes, you just leave me sitting out on the counter all night, half chewed up.
And if you should come home drunk at 3 a.m.? God help us all.
It's gotten to the point where I hold my breath every time I hear that front door open. What is it this time, I ask myself. Trouble confronting your roommate? Passive aggressive phone call from your mother? Get passed over once again for a promotion at work?
I want to help you. I do. But I refuse to just sit there and let you treat me like chopped liver whenever you have another soul-crushing week with Brenda.
WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU ANYWAY? JUST BREAK UP WITH BRENDA ALREADY!
You know what hurts the most? You only turn to me when things are falling apart in your life. When you're happy, when you're feeling content and loved, I'm pretty much the last thing on your mind. But as soon as that latest credit card late fee comes in the mail, or you realize that you're nearly 30 and you haven't done anything with your life, all of a sudden, it's all about food, food, food, food, food.
God, I've been in some fucked-up relationships before, but this one truly takes the cake.
Hey. Come on. Obviously I'm always going to be a part of your life. I would never want you to cut me out completely like your sister did. But things are going to have to change. I can't be everything to you anymore. So let's lay down some ground rules.
I'm fine with seeing you three times a day as long as our interactions are balanced and in reasonable amounts. Hell, I'd even be open to being here for you six times a day for shorter time periods, if that's what it takes. But I am telling you right now that the days of you waking up in the morning next to an empty box of cookies and feeling like complete shit are over.
In fact, maybe we shouldn't see each other until you get your head straightened out. Take a few days off from me, and maybe see a therapist or something.
Trust me. It's for the best.
Now, now, don't cry. It's going to be hard, I know. And you'll definitely miss me at first. But, hey, we'll still see one another. Even if it's just at birthday parties or on special occassions.
What's that? No. No, I don't think we should. Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt. Okay then, fine. One last carton of double fudge ice cream. For old time's sake.
I love you, too.