I have no pity for you.

I don’t know about you, but I believe in that essence that makes you, you. You know, that thing that sets you apart from others; those traits that make you unique. That signature within you that remains intact despite your years, experiences, and added knowledge. Some people call it spirit, some people call it personality.

There’s no one word to describe it. Courage, for instance, had many shapes and forms. One “courageous” person may not be alike to another. But sure enough, everyone has that. You know when people say “that’s who he is.” And there isn’t that exact word to pin on it.

Anyway, I’m writing to a different you this time.

Everybody has that essence of themselves. It morphs, develops, shrinks or dilutes; but it will always be there. I believe in it. While I may not be able to put the word to what essences you hold; this much I can say: you are not kind. You are not nurturing. And you certainly are not loving. You want to be; or at least, you know that you should be, but it’s not who you are. It disgusted me all this long, painful while to see how you convinced yourself that you had to be in order to be happy.

You were never happy. At least, the side of you that was visible to me never was. How you blamed all those around you for their shortcomings; how you turned up your nose all high and mighty and scorned those who were not within your ideals. What joy did this give you?

You horrid, evil person. That’s you. You try to be better than the rest of us, but what you fail to see is how vile you are. You want to know why you aren’t happy? It’s because you tried to obtain happiness through that “tried and tested” road that everyone said would make you happy. You let that consume you and you became bitter and horrid, spiteful and vengeful.

I am not your friend. I am not your confidant. I may not oppose you, but I am also not your council. I understand what torture solitude can bring, but it doesn’t mean I am your relief. Yes, I am an adult, I am capable of understanding, but you forget my other titles as well. You forget the most important one that should tell you why I don’t deserve this burden you recklessly throw onto me. Understanding doesn’t mean that I am on your side. No one should be on your side. Or by your side. Don’t you see that then and only then will you obtain at least some shred of peace? You ridicule those who you call “the undeservings”. What do you think you deserve? Do you think turning martyr will erase those dreadful tears shed behind dirty curtains, wishing, just wishing that one innocent be set free so that you, you could obtain your peace of mind? You blind, ignorant, self absorbed creature! You never saw how they scuttled at your feet. You never saw the agony you caused. You only saw you. Your pain. Your grief. Your sacrifices. Oh, how awful that must’ve been for you.