For the eyes of none other than Gabriella Chalico:

Typing this was probably the last thing I expected to do this afternoon, yet here I am, having realized that I'm overflowing with words to say to you.

First and foremost, and long overdue: I'm sorry.

I don't know to what extent I have hurt you—but even if I haven't hurt you at all, please don't let these words go to waste. Just believe me when I say that I'm willing to take responsibility for what I've done, regardless of the level of damage.

I guess I owe you an explanation.

Let's start on October 9, the night of the Homecoming game, and more importantly, the Homecoming dance. Funny how it was one of the things that started it all yet you weren't there.

I was there, and so was Ivy. Everyone else was busy or didn't bother going, and I wish I was one of them. Unfortunately, I was not.

I made the mistake of filling my plate with concessions and then proceeding to get a Mountain Dew. I don't remember what soda Ivy got, but if you know how much Ivy loses control over her actions when she's had too much caffeine or sugar, then you'll know where this is going. (Even if you didn't know, now you do.)

We were sitting against one of the brick columns in the commons area and I playfully asked Ivy questions about Carlie and about the way Carlie talks about me, and Ivy was reluctant at first to answer some of them but once she started talking, she couldn't stop.

That was when she told me about Carlie’s little crush on you. It's been gone for a long time, but it was the beginning.

I remember crying when I got home because I wasn't good enough, and I never would be. The next day, Carlie and I talked on the phone, and eventually she got me to admit the reason I was upset.

At the time, she did admit that she “liked” you, but she wasn't sure as to which way she liked you, and she promised she wouldn't do anything to pursue that interest.

That week, on my one-month anniversary with Carlie, she posted a lyric video of a love song on Google+ (which is where she and I used to communicate), saying that the song reminded her of me.

Fast forward a little less than two weeks, it was October 27. Carlie had to leave early that day, but I drew a picture of her hand for whatever reason. On the back of the paper on which the picture was drawn, I added a note—I wrote that I was jealous because at the time Carlie only ever wrote/gave notes to you.

I fell asleep shortly after I got home that day, and I remember taking a nap. I woke up around nine and checked my Google+ to find she had posted the same love song from earlier, except this time she had typed “me and my crush. I tried using this song to describe my girlfriend, but yeah, guess not…”

Having no idea how I had provoked such an anger in her, I did the only thing I knew how to do. By the time I was finished I had cut deeper than before, and I remember crying because the blood just wouldn't stop and because it was my first time cutting in a month.

The next day she acted as if she had never done anything, but that day she decided to put me on a “break” because she missed Burrito too much and said that while she didn't want to get back together with Burrito, she needed time for her “wounds” to heal.

I had anxiety attacks every night, the pain in my chest was enough to make me want to rip my own heart out. I grew physically sick due to anxiety and that's why I skipped school for several days during the break. I shattered the LED candle next to my bed and used the shards of broken glass to cut my wrists and my lip. I remember emailing Ivy about it, saying that I “can't hold on much longer”. I wasn't talking about the break or the relationship when I said that.

A week and a day after the break started, she came clean about you two—the less-than-a-week relationship. I remember feeling sick, but strangely enough, that was the one night I didn't cry. I forgave her, and she ended the break, so I guess I was just happy about that.

That's when the majority of my “anger” towards you started.

I remember when we talked, by passing notes in music class. I still have those notes.

In fact, I don't know if you remember the tiny little sketch you did of me, but I've always treasured it. As a matter of fact, a few days ago I scanned it to my computer, semi-colored it in and now it's my sidebar picture on Tumblr.

I felt better after talking to you—well, for the most part better. You were so nice and chill and funny, and more importantly you were there.

The not-so-better part was the fact that I desperately searched for two things.
“What is it she has that I don't, that was enough to make Carlie temporarily leave me for her?”
“What flaws does she have that made Carlie stop having a crush on her?”
I never did find answers to either of those questions. God, I stared at you in music class for minutes, sometimes a whole hour (or multiple hours on that one day we were supposed to have our exam). The best answer I could come up with for number one is that you're talented, and you don't crave attention—a drug so dangerous we often pursue it in our everyday actions without knowing—like so many others do. I never did find any flaws though.

Maybe that's why I “hated” you—note the quotation marks, but more importantly, note the past tense. I hated you because there was nothing I could truly hate about you. A deep kind of jealousy.

I never wanted to lash out on you, or to hurt you. I tried putting distance between us, and I got angry when someone would mention you or try to get us near one another because I knew that it was sick jealousy that would plant a seed within my heart and grow a tree so vile and rotten.

Most importantly, I didn't want to be like her. No, not Carlie. I'm talking about Burrito, I never wanted to put you through what Burrito put me through.

Burrito called me conceited. She called me a jealous, pissy bitch. She called me pathetic. I could go into so much more detail—the overnight field trip last year that she completely ruined for me, the word “victim” etched into my leg because that's all I was to her, and the fact that Carlie broke every promise she ever made about me never having to deal with Burrito in my life again. I could describe, in detail, the eleven times I attempted to end my own life due to her words and actions, and the way I feel small and unsafe whenever she's nearby.

I could, and I want to, but I shouldn't.

I never hated you, and I never will hate you, or anyone, on the same level that I hate Burrito.

Moving on, that pretty much explains everything before winter break. After winter break, I was… angrier. You had done nothing to provoke it, but I was scared of myself. I remember the day Chris forgot about my “issues” and tried to get us to sit together, and I remember awkwardly drinking my chocolate milk before running off to chug it in front of the trash can.

I had anxiety, God-awful anxiety, caused mostly by jealousy and I'll admit that I was indeed very bitter that I didn't have lunch with Carlie and that you did. It's stupid, though, because it was beyond your control, it wasn't your fault. Like the week Carlie and I were on a “break”, I wanted to rip my heart out due to the anxious pain in my chest.

I remember the day Carlie and I were sitting in the corner and Tanner was screwing around and running with your stuff. If I recall correctly, the book he had taken was filled with pictures of planets, and I remember a drawing fell from the book.

You're a remarkably good artist—far more than “remarkably good”.

The reason I'm doing this now is because, well, you know what happened. Carlie broke every promise she ever made to me—she pretended to care about me, she pretended to love me for four months, then she left me out of nowhere and for no reason to reunite with the girl who caused me permanent psychological damage.

The reason I'm doing this now is because my anger towards you was out of jealousy, my “hatred” towards you was out of the fact that I considered you a threat to the one thing I held sacred. The thing that's destroyed now.

I'm writing this because I'm sorry, and I'm writing this because I felt a dozen pangs in my chest like needles in a pincushion when I saw you wandering in the snow while we were waiting for the buses. I'm writing this because everything inside me is broken, because I'm a sick, sick person, because you deserve to know that I'm not mad anymore, and because I want to be your friend.

I'm not going to force you to speak verbally to me—the only people who can even seem to get me to speak anymore are Chris and Ana. Ivy chatters on and on, and I listen, but I never respond. Tanner and Katie try to talk to me, but it never works for them. Everyone else won't even make eye contact with me.

If you want to write me back, I can be found before school and at break most of the time in the vocational hallway next to the big statue of the “A”. My locker number is 757 if you'd rather leave a note or a letter in there. I don't mind if you need a while to think about this, or if you'd rather not write me back at all. My life might as well be a hotel—many people might check in, but they'll all depart eventually.

Please don't show this to anyone, or tell anyone about it—however, if you do that, I'd be lying if I said I didn't deserve it. After all, I've been horrible to you, I've been a complete monster.

I don't know if you trust me—judging by all I've done, I doubt you would. If you ever need anyone to talk to, about anything, however, I'm here.

And that's that. I am sorry.

—L. G.

P.S. - this is not like the notes we passed in music class. I am completely and utterly sure that any feeling of anger I have had towards you is nonexistent now.