A few words to my friend, from your "brother"

Let's be real. We grew up together, and neither of us was ever the other's type, and that's a-okay. This isn't a nice-guy whining about how you 'never gave me a chance,' you're literally like a sister to me.

Through your 20s, you had dudes flinging themselves at you for the past however-many years. The way you acted toward them was pretty cruel once you passed about 22, and I say that as someone who was your childhood friend but saw it mirrored in the women you kept around you, each of you egging the other on. I mean, I get it: If anyone could get equally far being nice as they could being creatively cruel, why bother being nice to them, right? Just be 'fluent in sarcasm,' and make jokes you and your friends can laugh about later.

The ones you thought you were oh-so-subtle in making plans with? They weren't the kind of men who make those sorts of plans. You saw yourself as just like him, 'but with tits.' You both liked hanging out on the couch and smoking pot with a beanie cap- (oh my god we have so much in common let's plan the wedding.) Then you got knocked up because I guess you forgot birth control or to ask him to wear a condom or maybe you just got tired of those plans being "someday" things, or maybe like you told me: "it just happened." (yeah, right. Earthquakes happen.)

You got that abortion. I really have no opinion one way or another on that sort of thing, not really something I spend time thinking about. When you said you wanted, no needed someone to talk with about it, I took a night off and told my girl I'd be home late while you cried that he didn't even come with you to the clinic. He'd bounced- he wasn't going to mature and had given no signs he was going to. Suddenly announcing a bun in the oven isn't exactly going to inspire him to change his ways for you. You told me he'd said "that sounds like a 'you' problem" about the kid. I wasn't terribly surprised, except that I'd seen it happen over and over. I don't know why you thought he'd be any different. You didn't get the abortion. You'd backed out last minute.

My girl and I split. I tried online dating, and you dropped me a message. Without reading, I checked out your profile- a sort of alternate side, since you don't post much besides baby pics on facebook anymore. I read on there that you're a church girl now? You're a 'proud Christian.' That's new- I haven't seen you at church, and I remember how you cursed god for having 'forsaken' you. (At no point was God involved in the choices you and others made to put you in the situation you found yourself in.) I remember dropping you off and spotting a half-empty bottle of wine on top of the fridge, but kept my concerns to myself.

I can see the effort you've chosen to put toward putting in toward being date-able, and it frankly isn't much. A few sentences with emojis on the only bio section you bothered to actually fill out. I grew up alongside you. I remember us hopping rocks at the creek, your keen curiosity for nature. I remember that you loved cooking, playing sonic on the old Sega that you had, and when you hit middle school your habits turned to writing, drawing, and sewing. You loved to work out and loved to run. We stayed up until 3 AM outside the old Taco Bell, laying on the roof our cars and watching the stars and talking about how our lives might go and what the future might hold. Where did that girl go? I remember the last time we hung out- you were now heavily pregnant. The wine was gone, you were trying to get clean. I don't know if you succeeded. I know you've got a baby to raise, one that's developmentally disabled, and that's hard and stressful. You have my sympathies- I've even babysat once or twice for you in 'emergencies,' while you probably just went out to scream at the world. I didn't mind, the cram for my exams was fine and it was an experience.

All that's there now is some tired old snapchat filter selfies, a couple old photos of you standing in front of a famous place or thing on a trip that your family paid for while wearing too many coats, and one photo of you and your kid laying together on the couch (another selfie) just so they know you've got one. Out of curiosity, I googled the username. Your other online dating profile has "I expect X number of vacations per year, must have-", and a laundry list of requirements. I'm not fooled by trying to look like you're in a position to choose and bargain, and I don't think anyone is when you're on the wrong side of 30 with a kid.

Do you really, honestly think you'll find a good husband with either of these levels of effort? One of them's nothing, and the other's so laughably hostile.

When I finally opened the message and read about 'us marrying like we did in elementary school,' I have to say I am pretty sure you're not joking. And what's remarkable is so many women seem to think we'd be a good match. I've had passing comments now- about how 'well, I hear so and so's single'. I'm in great shape. I've got a good house, a car, job, and am doing well for myself. What I can't bring myself to tell them is that I don't think you're the same person that you were- you've changed, and not for the better.

I'm glad I stayed in touch though. As heartbreaking as it has been, you've provided me ample warning about the women who are just like you and how you came to be. There are so many on online dating now, and I can spot the red flags at first sight.

It's not a big city, and the only ones I haven't met who aren't are like you are the out-of-shape career women. Those don't get a second date, even after they buy dinner and put on some empty, forced flattery through grit teeth that is like a poorly scripted re-hash I'd heard before. It really reeks of gritting one's teeth and brownnosing to earn a promotion. If she can't sucker her way in with money and kind sounding lies, then the bastard child of some loser who turned my friend into whomever you are now isn't going to entice me. "Got the baby, got the honey, all that's waiting is the daddy-" go find him, then. Last I heard he was still smoking dope and living on couches, but you made your life choices.

I'm not angry for me, though. I'm angry for you, for how your life could have turned out differently. If you'd chosen some better man (and there are better men out there, way better!) I like to think you wouldn't have gone so far off the rails. Maybe you'd have found a loving husband, one who would've supported you and the baby would've come out okay. Maybe you wouldn't have eaten until your BMI matched your age. Maybe you would've kept your hobbies and pleasant self intact instead of going completely off the rails- and we'd still spend a weekend hanging out every now and again. You chose to act the way you did, and chose to hang around that loser and do with him what you could've done with a better man. I've given up on being your friend.

So I guess I'm leaving this with: What are you doing with your life?