Dear Stranger,

You have hurt my friend. You have hurt my friend and I hate you for it. I hate seeing her cry. I hate having her sleepover and hearing her struggle in her dreams. I hate hearing her scream for help. Her voice echoes in my brain over and over. In the dark of the night when we should be sharing secrets, gossiping about guys we like and girls we don’t; instead tells me about you. I sit and listen. I ask questions when needed and comfort her. She needs to tell someone but I hate being the one she tells. I hate going to sleep at night thinking about the pain and trials she has been subjected to. I feel selfish complaining about anything because then I remember what you have done to her. In moments like those I break down crying realizing how great my life really is.

She filled out a survey for a class. Her first memory was of you raping her. Do you have any idea how painful that is to hear? Do you have any idea how she must feel? I don’t. I don’t understand how she feels at all but I am here. I am here for her listening despite the gut wrenching feeling. The feeling that makes me want to puke. When she leaves my house I fall apart. In my safe room away from everyone I cry. I cry because my friend, my dearest friend, has had experiences that I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. She told me about your addiction to drugs. She told me how you traded her body, her innocent child body for drugs. You used her as a sex slave a slave so you could get high. I want you to see her face at night. I want you to sit there and hear the words tumble from her mouth. I want you to know that your evilness hurt her. I want you to die. My friend is amazing. My friend understands the world in a different way than others. She is optimistic, she is loving, she is every good thing rolled into one.

I sit next to her in church and see her desire to do good. Her desire to do whatever she can to make this world right. She is going to be a vet, she is going to help others. Unlike you.

She is self conscious, she wonders if she’ll ever get married. She comes over to my house crying after a fight with her parents. They don’t treat her right but at least they don’t treat her like you did. You have caused her to be self conscious and you have caused her to worry. You cause her continual pain and I hate you.

She was adopted into a difficult family. A family thousand of times better than anything you ever provided for her but at the same time far from ideal. She tells me that she’s glad it all happened because if it hadn’t she wouldn’t be where she is today. She wouldn’t know that God is real. In moments like these my heart swells with compassion.

I am with her constantly. I am going to college with her. I am in her life and will be forever. I use her as my example. “If she could endure all this, I can certainly pass math.” It seems stupid and petty, but that is what I think.

I hate you…but thank you. It hurts me to type those words. I squirm in my chair at the thought of thanking someone who hurt my dear friend. However if she wasn’t put in foster care and then adopted I wouldn’t have been able to meet her. I wouldn’t have had my life changed. She if affecting everyone in a positive way. She tells her story, not all of it. She tells enough that people understand there are worse things in the world then having your boyfriend break up with them. I hate that I’m thanking you. I hate it. You make me sick.