Alodielle

Dear C,

You're one of my best friends. You know that. You're incredibly smart and unusually funny. I think it's immeasurably cool that you do research and write papers just because you love to learn. Your personal life was always a mystery to me, but I didn't care because we had a great time together, regardless of what I knew about your past.

That said, it really touched me when you decided to tell me everything. I know that trust doesn't come easily for you; telling me about the sexual abuse your father perpetrated on you must have been one of the hardest things you've ever done. I'm honored that you value our friendship so much.

I gotta say, though, I don't care for the new dynamic our relationship has taken on. I know that everything you tell me, you tell me because you know you can trust me, because you want the opinions and advice of someone you respect, and I remain honored by all that. But ever since your confession, you've very suddenly begun to show your young age, and you've quickly transformed into someone I don't particularly enjoy talking to.

It was interesting to hear that you -- my quiet, shy, book-loving C -- are a sexual deviant. I had no idea. And yes, you explained that children involved in sexual abuse often develop nymphomania to varying degrees as they reach adulthood. But quite suddenly (at least in my eyes), you're all about sex. And I mean all about sex. We haven't talked about a book in months, let alone played a video game or gone to see a movie. All you talk about -- all the time, all day long, every single day -- is your "casual" sexual encounters with a wide variety of other women, a new one every few days. You talk in detail. In horribly colorful detail.

And instead of the quietly confident girl whose company I immensely enjoyed, you've become this neurotic bag of paranoia and self-doubt:

"Why hasn't she texted me in five whole minutes?!"

"Why hasn't anyone responded to my 'Casual Encounters' ad yet?!"

"What if she's only saying she wants to meet up with me because she's afraid of hurting my feelings?!"

"I just met her last night, but I'm 100% in love with her! What do I do?! What do I do?!"

You've devolved from the oldest 23-year-old I've ever met to something resembling a horny 13-year-old. I'm starting to hate talking to you. I actually dread seeing your name pop up in chat. But it does, every day, because you know I care about you and will listen to all you have to say. And I respond, every single day, because I do care and I will listen.

But I hate it. And I miss the days when you not trusting me meant that I enjoyed your company.

I will never be able to tell you this to your face -- at least, not until years have passed and you've finally come into your own, whatever and whenever that may be. The only reason you tell me about this side of you is that I'm one of perhaps only two people in the world you trust enough to be this open with. You feel like you're letting me see the real you for the first time, and you must have been -- and perhaps still are -- terrified of my judgment. I will never let on that I miss the "you" you were back when you were hiding most of yourself from me.

But I do. I do miss that "you". Every day. Every time you IM me to discuss yet another sexual non-conquest.

I'm sorry that you didn't get the chance to experience all this as a teenager, as did most of the rest of us; you have a horrible past with which to contend, and none of this is your fault. But I'm nearing my thirties, I'm getting married soon, and I'm far, far past the time when I was interested in mooning over crushes and discussing the nitty-gritty of orgasms and panicking over every word a potential love interest did or did not say.

I hope you get over this soon, dear. Because I thought we would be friends for a very long time. And I'm just not sure I'm a good enough friend to put up with this now-teenaged relationship dynamic for too much longer.

Regretfully,

A