I don’t pity her.
I don’t feel sorry for her.
I don’t hate her.
I hate what she did.
I hate that her life has digressed so completely from what she had envisioned that she now feels the juvenile need to blame everyone else instead of facing reality.
I hate that I have become the outlet for her anger.
No I didn’t steal her boyfriend.
No I didn’t ruin her grades.
No I didn’t cause her eating disorder.
I did try to help her.
I did everything within my power for her even though she is a bully. Even though she has mistreated her “friends” for years and even though I am scared shitless of her, I tried to help.
So now I’m trying to understand.
To understand why she would become so angry at me.
To understand why she would transfer schools and claim it to be my fault.
To understand why two months later she would throw sixty eggs at my house.
Sixty eggs of hate directed straight at me.
I am left with only one option, and I hate her for pushing me to this. Although I do feel sorry for her as well. I’m sorry that she doesn’t see clearly how her mistreating everyone the way she does will result in her loneliness.
I pity that she wasn’t smart enough to come clean.
I pity her.
I feel sorry for her.
I hate her.
But not in any of the ways she was expecting.