There is a letter sitting on my bookshelf
that I have not opened. It came to my mother’s house where I used to live, and she gave it to me the last time I was at her house.
It is from an old friend that I met on the internet. I do not know if I want to read it or not.
A couple of years ago, I had a major life crisis. I had cancer. I thought that my friends that I had from the internet for years would care. I was wrong. Nobody returned emails and most ignored me when I spoke of my problems on the MUD we all worked together on. This one friend who sent me the letter did listen and it was great to have her to listen to me and understand. I got through it and listened to her problems and helped her out.
Then, I left the MUD we both played at because I was sick of the politics and upset because nobody had cared when I needed them to care. I haven’t been back and I don’t think she has forgiven me for leaving.
I feel bad about it, but I cut everyone out of my life from that place for a reason. I didn’t want to be around people who were bringing me down and holding me back. Unfortunately, that included her.
She has a terminal illness that destroys the muscles in her body. I feel like a bad person for not wanting to be in contact with her anymore. But, she has done things to make me look bad in front of other people, such as inviting herself over to a house I was staying at on vacation. She’s pissed me off, like by announcing two days in advance that she was taking a bus up here to see me. I disagree with a lot of her life choices.
I feel like a bad person, but I need to look out for myself. I don’t want to be in that world anymore.
So, there is a letter from her on my bookshelf and I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know if I can read it right now. I don’t know if I can read it ever. I don’t know what’s in it and I don’t know if I want to know.