So One Of My Old Friends From 15+ Years Ago Publicly Published A Video On YouTube About How She Wants To Murder Me

04.01.26 // 12:06am

No, this is not an April Fool’s Day joke. Content warning for the obvious.

This post is going to be a bit of a departure from my normal content. I try to keep my blog posts positive, tending to focus on either nostalgia or my recent adventures. I use this website as a means to escape from the harsh, grueling realities of the current day. I’ve asked friends on occasion for inspiration about what type of blog I should write, and most of them have responded with “politics”—and while I have very strong opinions on them, I don’t consider myself educated enough to formulate a strong thesis for a post. Mostly, though, I want this blog to be uplifting, and politics... certainly aren’t that.

However, something happened to me recently that, I suppose, conflates with this blog’s major theme of nostalgia. It involved a friend I had in high school and college—someone I once associated only positive memories with and who I once cared for very much.

Around five years ago, I was having a conversation with this friend about... something, on Discord. I don’t quite remember. Her feelings were hurt about something another friend did, but she didn’t explain what he had actually done to hurt her. I made the comment that if she ever has any grievances with me or the friend group, then she should tell us—that’s the only way we can grow as people. If I don’t know that I hurt your feelings, I can never apologize for it or change my behavior.

This friend then went on a diatribe about how I had done several things in high school that had severely scarred her. I had mentioned offhandedly that YouTubers with less than 100 subscribers weren’t really “YouTubers”, which hurt her feelings as a burgeoning musician. It also hurt her feelings that I talked so much about my writing, as it felt it overshadowed her own.

Those were the only examples she gave. We were like 25 when she called me out on it, and 15 at the time of them happening. I told her I was sorry for hurting her feelings and I can strive to change, but to be honest, I didn’t really remember the specific instances being that they were 10 years ago.

This wasn’t good enough, apparently, and this friend then proceeded to fall off the face of the earth and block me and everyone she knew. I don’t really know what she’s been up to since. It wasn’t my place to reach out, as I’m shy and I hate conflict. So I didn’t... until a couple days ago.

I was cleaning out my phone contacts (as inspired by Finch’s spring cleaning event) and saw her name. It had the fujoshi kaomoji as her last name—something I did in college. It was cute, wholesome, and nostalgic… and I was stupidly charmed into reaching out. “hey there, it’s been a while! was cleaning out my phone contacts and saw your number. hope you’re doing well! :3”

It’s been 5 years. At the time she distanced herself, she told me that she just needed some space. It was the other friends in the group she had the biggest problems with (though these issues amounted to the same sort of high school beef), not me. Maybe she would be open to talking again.

A couple days later, I wound up hearing from another friend, who was still subscribed to her YouTube channel (still passively supporting her after all these years), that she had posted a new song. About me. Reaching out. And how she wanted me dead. It was a song all about how much she hated me, how I was responsible for her C-PTSD, and how she wanted me rotting in the ground, even going so far as to describe crawling through my window and killing me.

So that wasn’t great.

Maybe I’m writing this to be like, “Hey, if I’m murdered, HERE’S YOUR CLUE.”

Obviously, I’m not going to contact this person ever again. I need to forget about her entirely. I should’ve deleted her number a long time ago. I guess... some part of me thought that we could eventually make up. She was so important to me for so long, and then, in the blink of an eye, she was gone. I hadn’t really processed that, instead assuming that she would return to my life at some nebulous point in the future.

I don’t know why I thought this. She was very clear at the time that, after 10 years, she had always resented me. Always hated me. And... for what? She never told me. She told me ten years after the fact that some comment I made about YouTubers, not directed at her, hurt her—enough to give her C-PTSD??? What? Hello???

...I don’t want to be dismissive of her turmoil. Despite her literally threatening my life, I am still trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. Something small to me—something I completely forgot about—made a big impact on her life. I accept this. And, from the very bottom of my heart, I’m sorry that I hurt her. I wish I had been told that it hurt her at the time so I could’ve apologized and actually done something about it—because by the time she told me, I could barely recall it. How can I repent for something a memory did to her?

She hurt my feelings plenty of times too, of course—because it was high school. It’s par for the course. And throughout this whole drama, she never once apologized to me. I am also a nonconfrontational person, and I also tend to let things simmer until they burst—not a good trait, I know. But there were countless things this friend had done to hurt me, too: she stood me up multiple times when we were supposed to hang out one on one. She laughed in my face, disregarded my feelings. I am certain she made offhand comments that hurt me, too, but I’ve mostly forgotten about them—because that’s what you kinda have to do with trivial grievances if you want to maintain a relationship. She never once reflected upon herself and thought about if she had ever been in the wrong. She didn’t believe herself capable of hurting others, and instead, everybody was out to hurt her.

Not once did she ever offer any empathy to me. Not once did she ever say, “Oh, I guess we may have both hurt each other over the years, and we both need to work on our relationship.” She accused me of purposefully scarring her, then disappeared. 10 years of friendship, gone.

This still rattles me. It breaks me, knowing someone I was so close with—who I thought I was close with—resented me for 10 years. All of those wonderful memories of traveling, of clubs, of classes together—they’re all rancid now. She doesn’t consider a single one of those happy. She never did.

Why didn’t she ever tell me? Why did she string me along for 10 years, letting me believe we were friends?

I wasn’t perfect back then. I recognize I made mistakes, but I try so hard to be kind to that younger version of myself. She was scared, anxious, and naive. I want to give her grace. However, if she hurt someone as badly as this friend claims, does she deserve it? Maybe she deserves to rot. Maybe she deserves to die.

Does that friend know about my own anxiety and PTSD? My own history with in-patient facilities and self hatred and loathing? Does she know about this blog, where I vomit my feelings at the page in a desperate attempt to rationalize the screaming in my head and heal the child that’s so broken inside of me?

It’s hard for me to reason this out. I want to empathize with this friend. I want to reflect on my past actions and become better. I want so badly to apologize... but I suppose, selfishly, what I really want is to be forgiven.

I will never be forgiven, though. I don’t think I deserve it. Mostly because I don’t think I did anything wrong. And that’s kinda the kicker—I don’t deserve forgiveness because I’m not really asking for it. I’m planting my feet in the mud and claiming that I’m in the right. I believe that I hurt her feelings, yes, and that’s valid, and I apologize for that, and I want to repent for that—but I don’t think I did anything worthy of fucking dying. Of her fucking killing me. Like she threatened on a public forum.

So. She’s like. Crazy, right. Threatening to kill me is crazy. It’s nuts. And that colors all of her past actions, too—she has never once viewed me as a living, breathing, human person. She has always viewed me as an obstacle, a thing. She did when we were in college, and she does now. She is not capable of empathy, because she does not view me as a human being worthy of empathy. It’s okay for her to murder me, because I’m nothing more than a roach, a mouse, a pest.

The YouTube comment I made was stupid, juvenile, and by god, it was one comment I made not to her, but to a different friend while discussing fucking Game Grumps when we were fifteen. And the OTHER comment she made—that I “valued my own writing” too much, that it made her feel underappreciated... god. How unbelievably cruel. God forbid I’m proud of anything. I read and supported her fanfiction, too—but being proud of my own work is what hurt her feelings.

I’m not allowed to be proud, though, because I’m not a person—because I’m nothing but an nuisance in her life. She’ll never know how hard it is for me to admit that I’m proud of my writing, because most of the time I hate it and I hate myself. I’m not capable of those complicated feelings, after all. Only she is. She’s the only three-dimension character to ever exist.

Man, I hate this. I hate how the memories of my friend have been so gravely tarnished. I hate how poorly I’m speaking about her. But I guess... this happens sometimes with nostalgia. Sometimes your positive memories involve bad people, and it fucking sucks.

I remember feeling complicated about my dad up until the day that he died. We had arguments. He got on my nerves. He had, at times, done cruel things. But the day he died... all of those nuanced grays turned into black and white. I forgave him instantly. I have nothing but positive memories of him now. In much the same way my friend views me as a token of evil, I view my father as an unambiguous good.

This friend had been out of my life for long enough, at this point, that I guess I started doing the same thing to her. This blog feels like it lacks any real bite because I can’t think of any real arguments that we had ever had. I forgot about how much she hurt me and instead only retained the happy memories, because god, how else do you cope? She, obviously, did not do the same.

During her original manifesto, one claim she made really stood out to me, and it’s pretty much the only one I can remember. It wasn’t aimed at me, but another friend—one who she demonized even more than me for reasons that amounted to “was a little surly when we were 14”. During her mother’s wake, we all came to visit to support her. My other friend came too, and wore a suit—everybody else came casual. He wanted to show his support, because he cared about her, and he wanted to be respectful even though it was 100 degrees outside. When she was going on about how we all despised her, this friend especially, I brought this up. Her response: “He didn’t mean it. I mean, it wasn’t even an actual suit.”

It was a suit. It was the best thing he could afford. He cared about her with all his heart, and he still does (he is, after all, that friend still subscribed to her YouTube, while I unsubbed long ago)—but she’s incapable of seeing anyone with hopes and dreams and their own inner conflict as real people. They are all out to get her.

So that’s it. It’s done. It’s hard for me to let go, though. I feel like I have to have the final word, and I need assurance that I’m in the moral right. My biggest fear is being dehumanized. That’s why I’m writing this blog post, I guess, and why I wrote a snarky comment below the incriminating video, even though it would be in both of our best interests to let it lie (though I think we’re both the same in needing to feel superior). I obviously hurt her in ways I cannot repair, and it is no longer my place to try. Logically, I should admit that I can’t forgive her, either—not after she called me a bitch and a whore and threatened to kill me—but... it’s hard. It’s so hard. I still care about her, and if she came to me tomorrow with an apology, I would be so grateful to be able to forgive and move on....

...But no, I can’t think that way anymore. She WROTE A SONG ABOUT KILLING ME because I said “hope you’re doing well! :3”. I can’t forgive her. I deserve better.

This blog is for me. It’s for rationalizing, for growing. So I’ll write her a message, knowing she’ll never find it, and hope that what I say will help me leave this all behind.

I don’t forgive you. You hurt me in so many ways, but you don’t care. You’ve never once apologized for a single one of your actions, yet you demonize me in your mind for reasons you have entirely fabricated. You are an actual diagnosable narcissist. You only think about yourself: you think the world revolves around you, and that every word out of people’s mouths is a slight against you.

I feel sorry for you. I’m sorry that you will never find real friends or real love. I’m sorry that your YouTube views still cap at 10 per video and your Twitch streams have no active chatters. I’m sorry that it bothers you, because I know it does: I’m sorry you’re so insecure that you can’t just create for creation’s sake, and that you’ll always feel empty knowing that other people are more successful than you. I’m sorry that you break up so messily with everyone you’re close with—and I’m sorry that you will never have the wisdom to reflect and realize that the world is not out to get you and that, instead, you are the problem. If everyone leaves you, if everybody eventually hurts you or hates you... you are the only common denominator. I’m sorry that you will never realize this, and that you will always be alone. It hurts me that you refuse to get help for what is a genuine psychotic medical condition.

It hurt me, I should say, but no longer. I’ve tried. I’m letting you go. In this one moment, I’ll let myself be spiteful, and I’ll say something worthy of the villain you’ve made me out to be in your mind: you deserve to be alone. You deserve every hardship you face: you’ve brought them all upon yourself.

And now, the moment has passed. I breathe in, I breathe out, and now—you’re gone. I’ll move on. I’ll never think about you again. Those memories of mine are still happy, still wonderful, but I’ll scrub you from them like a blemish. You are not allowed to steal my joy. You’ve taken enough from me.

...I am vaguely worried about the death threats, though. Does she know where I live these days...? I’m kinda thinking about reporting her to the police. That’s crazy though, isn’t it? Right? But OH MY GOD, she talked about CLIMBING THROUGH MY WINDOW… I’ll leave it for now, but if I hear anything else, I may indeed have to go to the authorities.

Argh. Anyway. Hopefully she kills me after Fanfest.

...Fanfest is in late April, so I suppose that will encompass my May blog. Maybe I should just post a late Anthrocon blog, too… it will have been a year here soon. We shall see! Hoping the next post will be a little more uplifting, haha. Just needed to get this off my chest! Are else are blogs for, right?