An Apology Letter to the People I Resent Daily

"We look for love, no time for tears. Wasted water's all that is. It don't make no flowers grow..."-Just the Two of Us, Bill Withers and Grover Washington Jr.

I'll begin with a list. If you are present on this list, I highly recommend you stay a while. If you are not, then I suppose there's really nothing gluing you here, but know you are welcome. All are welcome. Let's begin.

1.The girl with no daddy issues.
2.Extrovert
3.One or both halves of a healthy relationship (romantically)


Girl With No Daddy Issues:
I'm sorry I didn't like your posts on Father's Day. I may have thought some things unnecessary and cruel. You are not too ugly for your dad to be there, and the presence of yours does not amplify the emotional absence of mine. You certainly did not place his palms against my head. You did not make the arms that cradled me as an infant headlock me in adolescence. You did not ignore my open diaries spilling over with protests of, "I hate you and cannot wait for you to die." Above all, you did not pinch my thighs when I was four or tell me I couldn't play soccer. I cry as I write this to you because none of this fault belongs to me, yet somehow I pinned it to you: a stranger, perhaps even a friend. Your being loved is not my tragedy. My mistake. I do ask that someday you sit me down and explain just what it feels like to be born with access to this man's warmth and guidance and not have to search for it in boys that don't text back, boys that aren't men, boys that throw tantrums at your thirst for growth, boys that only trade conversation for nudes, boys that say 'I love you' for sport, boys that don't realize you're fourteen and they're older and it matters so much that they think you're pretty, boys that fake interest when you say you're a writer, boys that flirt with other girls in the mall in front of your face and laugh when you walk to the car without a word, boys with false "Daddy" traits. Tell me what it's like to be supported simply because you're you and you exist in all your glory. How does that work? Do you thank your mom for being good at picking? What's it like to physically have the desire to hug him? Knowing there won't be any smart remark after? No cynicism? No doubt? Why is it I feel like you owe me an apology as I write this? Do you care about girls like me? Do you know how much better I could be if I were a girl like you? Do you?

Extrovert:
You're typically walking slow with your friends in the food court. I get annoyed because my objective is clear: Get to the store I'm going to and get out with little to no eye contact with the various array of fuckboys and girls that can afford to dress better than me. Y'all are always in the damn way, walking slow, Snapping everything, holding my first year's tuition in some shopping bags. When I pass, you and your crew erupt with laughter and although logically I know it isn't toward me, I hate you for it. So loud. So noticeable. I'm sorry that I mean mug you in stores or go in the drive-throughs so I don't have to feel the washing machine that is my stomach when you're nearby in McDonald's. I'm sorry for believing you exist solely to vex me and my awkwardness. It's not like I don't have friends or that I can't talk to people. It's just that you harbor something I'll never fully be able to grasp and doubt I'd utilize even if I could. You're faceless. I just know your look-same clothes and hair as my past bullies. Loud laugh, ready to desecrate the confidence I've been severely inept with through the years. I used to have the advantage of intelligence over you, but now you all are showing up in honors classes, universities, libraries. I hate you for it. Always walking slow. Sometimes you even come in the form of a cute dude flirting with me. I'm sorry that I assume you're dumb. I'm sorry I remain unimpressed. You are not the reason I demand relentless affection from familiar and safe sources. You're not the reason I want my circle small enough to suffocate me. You are not the reason I pride myself on cutting people off faster than split ends. You are not the reason I tried the clique shit, and all those hoes were fake. I sincerely apologize.

One or Both Halves of a Healthy Romantic Relationship:
You know who you are. Been together umpteen years. Still go on dates. He looks at you with a warmth that could melt the remaining glaciers. She talks about you with puppies and rainbows in her eyes. I hate you niggas. Y'all do the most on holidays. You make scrolling through social media the bane of my existence, yet I continue to lurk. My self-destruction makes you two addictive. I have to keep looking at the smiles on your faces, the pride of holding one another. I have to wonder, "Have I ever had that? Will  I ever have that?" You two make me believe, but how can I believe in something I've never come close to touching? You aren't a trophy. You are loved. You aren't another good fuck. You are loved. You aren't the designated weed buyer, sponge, psychologist, space filler, or pretty little fool. You are loved.

And I'm so sorry I hate you for it.