Here is my email back.

I wrote 2500 words as soon as I got his email. I chopped most of it out today, and this is the email I am sending him....

I’m sending you this email multiple times until I know you’ve gotten it because your email isn’t working.

Joel,

It’s not so bad that you’ve found someone who better suits you, and found a place to live that doesn’t suit me, even though we had agreed I’d be moving in with the three of you the last time we spoke. That’s all pleasant and dandy. It is the way you ostracized me all week and didn’t think I was worthy of being updated on any of these things that makes you low and sub-human.

Reading what you wrote in your email makes my heart twitch a bit but it does not hurt me at all compared to how I hurt over the past week, from the last night you spent here, to the night of your party. You barricaded yourself from me all week and I cried because I had no idea what I had done wrong. You really killed me inside.

You don’t know what its like to have been in my shoes, to have dragged myself to your party alone. You didn’t call that night like you said you would. I half expected you to show up at my door but you didn’t come. I know exactly what it’s like to go to a birthday dinner where you literally know nobody. I knew exactly what I was going to put myself through and I thought about it all day and wanted so badly to stay home.

I called your place, and I called Angela. I can picture you telling her to tell me you were in the shower. I walked out my door anyway. I almost kept walking straight to Stanley park instead of going to Kalypso’s. I turned the other way up Robson, and walked a huge loop before coming back. I hoped Angela had given me the wrong directions. But her directions were perfect. I stopped at the steps of Kalypso’s and stared at the menu for a long time. I was so close to turning around. I pulled myself up the steps because you were my friend and I did not want you to be hurt if I had missed your party.

I arrived and I hugged you and you barely looked at me. I sat at the end of the table, across from nobody, and ate my dinner alone. At your party. At the party of someone who called himself my boyfriend four days earlier. I could have left early to put an end to how uncomfortable I felt. But I stayed, because I cared about you and I wanted to be there to show you that, regardless of what my title was in relation to you. When I moved down to your end of the table, you didn’t talk to me. You didn’t look at me. To you, I was not there at all. To you, I was shit on the bottom of a shoe.

I hope you enjoyed your presents; I hope you enjoyed your cake. I hope you enjoyed being surrounded by good friends who care about you. I hope that every time you think back to your 29.5th birthday party, your happy memories will be tainted by the memory of you being an asshole. Do you know how fucking bad you made my feel by not talking to me, or introducing me to any of your friends, or even looking at me? Why didn’t you? Joel, you couldn’t have made me feel like any more like pure and utter fucking dogshit even if you tried. The way you handled the situation was immature. Inept. Incompetent. Childish. Self-absorbed. It was definitely not the way a man would have handled the situation. You can’t look me in the eye at a party I came to especially for you, because you have a crush on someone. Fuck that. You’re pathetic, and I’m glad you sort of realize that, even if not fully. A man (especially one as outgoing as you) would have swallowed his pride and set aside his own ill-at-ease feelings for a second to come down to my end of the table, give me a hug, introduce me to his friends, and make the best of an uncomfortable, but not unheard-of situation. Instead your friend John, seeing that I was alone, came and talked to me. Your friend Angela waved me down to your end of the table, while you sat in your childish stupor. It doesn’t matter if you have a crush on the girl next to you. It doesn’t matter if your fickle little emotions are putting your panties in a twist and oh my you feel so awkward. YOU DO NOT TREAT PEOPLE THIS WAY.

You've always said I don't tell you things in the moment. I know exactly how I feel in the moment, and if you were any other person I could tell you then and there. Instead I must pick and choose every word. I’ve walked on eggshells so as not to set you off on another big emotional weekly midlife crisis. You, on the other hand, don't tell me things in the moment because you're so busy making love to your own feelings you forget that other people exist. Your emotions are a big fog around you. You were so self-absorbed you couldn’t even bother to update me with a simple phone call this week to tell me what was going on. When I tell you I care about you, you drift off into your own thoughts for the rest of the night, your eyes rolled back in your head, sitting there lifelessly massaging your own ego instead of responding to me. When I tell you I missed you, you get angry and demand why I didn't tell you sooner instead of appreciating I told you that moment. When I tell you I'm excited that you're going to be my new roommate, you disappear, and become moody. For as long as I’ve known you, it’s always been about what YOU feel and about what YOU think. I don’t think I’ve ever even told you anything personal about myself, about my dreams, or anything important to me. This is not a subjective opinion, Joel, and I'm sure many people in your life can attest to how you let yourself be ruled by your emotions to the point where you become a self-absorbed prick.

You’ve sold me out way too many times to count, you’ve disappeared for days and months with no explanation, and I let you back in my life each time. You were welcomed back into my life a third time after running away for a stupid reason that most people wouldn’t have forgiven you for, but I did. You have now finally managed to sabotage our friendship beyond repair. Loyal and dependable people are hard to find and I will now value those few people I do have in my life a whole lot more. Unreliable and self-absorbed people can go fuck themselves (and I suppose they’ll have to, if they’re impotent like you).

Have a great self-absorbed life, and please do not ever, in this lifetime, contact me again.