Ryan Angst, in the wake of the Season 3 Finale, mid Season 4.

People ask why I never went to her funeral. I guess that to go – to watch them place her body beneath the soil, to acknowledge that another person in my life had just fucked up – would have meant to cement the fact of her death, and my feelings about it. And I guess I just couldn't do that.

I felt bad, though, but in a way I was kind of glad she'd gone. I mean, she was hot – beautiful, even – but I just felt that I was always an excuse for her to have a dramatic life, a reason to cry into her pillow and wash down painkillers with tequila. Without me, it would have been obvious that she was just an attention-seeking child who didn't get enough attention from Mommy and Daddy.

But, fuck, I feel so bad feeling like this. I know that she died. A horrible death, I mean, I was there to see it. I saw the tragedy – witnessed, first hand, how it damaged all those around me.

But I had begun to see her as a reflection of my past.

What did she do? Get pissed at Christmas, take pills, claimed she loved me but then just let me down, time and time again. On the surface, it was glossier – a shimmering myriad of parties and social events, but they all covered the same old lies that I was used to – Marissa Cooper was my mother, twenty years later, and I was so blinded by a second chance with her that I just couldn't see it, until it was too late. She destroyed herself, but instead of rotting in a jail cell somewhere, she rots beneath the earth of a gravestone that I never visit.