Closure is usually just an excuse for people to do something dramatic in hopes to get a certain someone's attention. In fact, closure is literally scheduled drama in your life. When you decide to have 'closure' with someone, you're just scheduling tears and an eruption of your nervous system- both paired well with a dark episode of binge eating.
Wouldn't it be nice if we could always schedule our breakdowns? Like, you know that you can't just have closure with someone and then take a quick trip to Target for more ink...(mainly because finding parking with high emotions is just not an ideal situation.) Trust me, I do it 9 times a day. I'm an expert.
For the longest time, I thought sending a text that said 'k' was perfectly good closure. Then, I got a therapist. A therapist tries to guide you into being a person who is open and honest about your feelings and it's total bullshit. So, I decided to take her advice.
Here is my closure e-mail:
Time sent: During the day on a weekday to prove (or convince) sobriety.
Subject line: How To Increase Your Penis Size Up To 6 Inches for just $9.99 with Raspberry Ketones!!!!!
Hello, person who has destroyed me emotionally.
I am writing to you to let you know that while I wish you well, I also wish you a lot of other things.
I wish that you would get fat and I want you to lose your job. I want you to get chlamydia from a girl with a shiny nose. Then, I want you to get chlamydia again and this time- it doesn't even matter who it's from. I want you to feel pain when you pee. I hope you get extreme food poisoning on a crowded flight full of babies. I hope you walk through a spider web every time you leave the house. I hope you can never find your keys, I hope you're always frustrated and running late. I hope you have to take a shit during rush hour traffic (when Obama's in town.) I hope every time you go to peal the skin off of fruit, the citrus juice squirts you in the eye and it stings for a like half of a second. Maybe longer. I hope your dog scoots on every inch of your floor and leaves little shitstains everywhere. I want you to just always have a sticky spot on your hand. Everyday. I want you to just constantly be wiping this sticky thing off and being like, 'what the fuck is sticky?!' I don't want you to ever figure it out. Just a sticky spot on your hand, all the time. I want your hand to fall asleep every night and I want you to wake up with a dead hand and just for a second I want you to freak out and think that you had a stroke. I hope you face plant on the treadmill in front of a group of middle school bullies. I hope you get two parking tickets in one day. I want the bank to deny you a lollipop. I want every table that you sit at to be wobbly, you're always going to have to put sugar packets under neath, everywhere that you go. I hope that your nail on your fourth toe constantly digs into your third toe whenever you're walking somewhere. I want you to always have a really thin piece of hair stuck in your mouth and I hope you're never able to get it. I want you to step in puddles with a new pair of shoes that you just got for Christmas, the pair that you Instagrammed with a Hudson filter. I want your ice cream to just fall right off the cone, just fall right off of it. Not even one lick. No ice cream for you. I want you to lose something small and significant in a shaggy rug. I want you to not have a writing utensil during a very important multiple choice test that determines your future. I want you to randomly projectile vomit when you're alone in a crowd. I want your grocery bag to get wet on the bottom so your groceries fall right through, specifically while you're crossing a hectic intersection. I hope you always drop your phone under your carseat when you're driving. I hope you can never reach it. I really hope you respond to this telling me you still love me.
Sitting in my studio apartment devouring almond butter with a plastic knife,
Kelly.
P.S. Please delete the pictures I sent you.
Sent from Kelly Alto's iPhone in the Target parking garage.
