So there’s this guy.
Who REALLY pissed me off.
What did I do?
Well, I’m a writer. I wrote a letter.
Listen, people: the range of the human experience is as vast and ever-changing as the ocean. But most of us limit the full expression of ourselves. We deem certain parts unworthy, dangerous, or shameful, and then we lock them away and attempt to never let them out. We were either taught or took on that we were too mean, too stupid, too emotional, too complicated, or too much. Women in particular carry around shame about being too emotional or too much.
The thing is, part of emotional maturity means owning all your parts, even the ones you don’t consider safe or “good.” And for many women, this means being in touch with your Inner Bitch.
In my imagination, my Inner Bitch dresses like a goth chick, with black hair, black lipstick, and a serious attitude. Her tirades are endlessly entertaining, her insights incisive, and her wit as sharp as a razor. And most of the time her rants include at least a grain of wisdom, if not a whole silo. She doesn’t get to run the show of my life, but I do let her out every once in a while, because if I don’t, she DOES tend to run things.
She wrote the following letter, and I’m letting you all in on her fun can of nasty because a) when she really gets going, it’s a work of art; and b) because I’d like to highlight the fact that one person can coexist in a number of different regards.
I, for example, am not only my Inner Bitch. She’s a part of me, but I’m also compassionate and mature and responsible and all that sh*t. I’d never actually ever send something like this. I don’t even believe all of it. It’s hyperbole in all of its hyperbolic glory. I do not, for example, think the person below will never be in a fulfilling relationship: actually, when he chooses to put his time, energy, and full attention on having a good one, I have a feeling he’ll rise to the occasion beautifully.
So this isn’t the truth. But it’s my Inner Bitch’s truth, and there is value to that.
Without further ado, welcome to the letter from hell:
Hi Rick,
I’m pretty pissed at you.
I get that you’re a go with the flow type of guy, but I’m angry that you seem to give absolutely NO thought as to how your plans affect anyone else’s – namely, mine. You only think about yourself, and I’m sick of it.
You’re exactly like a child. When you’re free, you want to see me right then. Then some other project or thing gets your attention and you’re like a toddler: oh, shiny object! Forget about everything else. You appear not to have the emotional maturity or capacity to consider how your lack of planning makes other people feel, or how it affects them logistically. Just like a toddler, you think that everyone else is put on earth to meet YOUR needs. Seriously? Grow up. As a child, that’s normal. As an adult, it makes you self-centered and rude. I can’t believe your parents didn’t raise you better. You’re a dick.
We had tentative plans to meet up last night at 8 or 9. At 7:45pm, I texted you to confirm: I was trying to plan my evening, which also affected my best friend’s plans. I didn’t know whether to dress up, whether I’d be spending half an hour getting downtown to see you, whether I should tell her we weren’t going out, what. An hour later, your lame-ass response was, “I prolly can’t go out unfortunately.”
Seriously? First of all, I don’t even know what that means. Did you have to work on your presentation? Did you not want to go to an expensive place? Did you just change your mind? Were you triggered or upset about something and didn’t know how to say it? We weren’t just planning on hanging out. This would have been the last time we would have seen each other. What the hell?
Dude, even my grandma is dying to flip you off.
My uncharitable guess is that you want sex and connection on your terms and no one else’s. You didn’t feel like leaving your place, either because you were still working, because you were tired, or just because you were lazy and didn’t want to go out. So you dropped a hint that was essentially, “Hey, instead of going out, could you just come over so we can fuck at my place and I can go to sleep relatively early so I can still look good for my early morning meeting tomorrow?” I didn’t pick up your irritating little hint so you didn’t pursue it, because I’ve already called you out gently on your bullshit and you knew I was getting hip to your retarded, selfish MO.
That shorty on the left has got your name written all over her...
If you just want sex on your terms on your timeline, get a prostitute… Seriously! I don’t mind having casual sex. I do mind having it with someone that doesn’t even have the common decency to let me know what the fuck is going on. This latest little episode was particularly disrespectful to my time, since I was considering sacrificing time with my best friend who I came to see, to see you. So screw you. And screw saying goodbye in person. I never want to see you again. The idea of fucking you again is literally revolting to me. It makes me want to throw up.
Unless I hear otherwise, I’m mailing those two DVDs and that hoodie of yours to your workplace because I can’t remember your home address and I don’t want to deal with you. You’re an ungrateful, selfish twit who doesn’t know how to be in relationship. Good luck ever finding a woman who will put up with your crap. High-quality, high self-esteem women will NEVER stay once they figure out just how self-involved you are, you manipulative, Machiavellian asshole. I predict that you’ll be alone for a very long time, because you have yet to figure out that in a relationship, you actually have to think about AND CARE ABOUT how you affect the other person. Until you really get that deep down into your bones, you’ll never have one worth having.
Too bad, too. I wore stilettos and a backless dress last night. I hope you take a moment to appreciate that this could have been yours one last time, and now you’ll never even TOUCH me again. Unless we happen to run into each other, in which case you’d better hope I’m not wearing that outfit, otherwise I’ll ‘trip’ and stomp down on your foot with those same killer stilettos. Have you ever actually looked up “stiletto?” It doesn’t just mean shoes: it means blade.
Your very own bitch on heels … heels carrying her far, far away from your life.
– Vixxxen
