More Than Ten Years : 30 Days of Truth


Part II

Day 10 (Part Three) : Someone you need to let go of, or wish you didn’t know.

Lea and Liz, the first entry, started to describe the nature of relationships I had with my three high school friends. It is the preface for this. In summation, we were a group of best friends, entangled in each others’ lives. Mistakes, grudges, and other forces created huge divides between us, leaving lingering hatreds spanning years.

Liz and the In Between, focused on my relationship with Liz.  It detailed all of the significant events within our friendship, and how it had turned ugly at times.  These were the years in between the first entry and this one.


Kat and I eventually buried the hatchet about five years later. We were both adults who had done a great deal of growing since. We did attempt reconciliation, but mutually decided that we were too different to have a friendship. We grew out of each other. That’s life.

It took Lea and I much longer.

I recall a Fourth of July party I was invited to many years after the incident. A mutual friend of many years invited me, and his sister, best friend to Lea, naturally invited her.

Before I knew it, only a large patio table separated us. We inspected each other, sizing one another up. She still had the same snow white skin, but now she donned raven hair in place of her usual highlight job. Also, she had become much larger than me, at least fifty pounds or more. It was a little more intimidating, but I didn’t care. I’d tussled with men twice my size.

I don’t know what she saw, but she looked fairly intimidated.  I was that same, fiery haired, piercing eyes girl she had known then.  I hadn’t aged yet, though many of the girls at that table already had.  The only differences were these.  I wasn’t staring her down behind a pair of Buddy Holly glasses.  I was 1/3 less than girl I was.  And, we were no longer surrounded by brick and mortar that was the all-seeing, all-knowing, completely crooked system that was our public school.

Yes, we were in the real world. Where there were real consequences to actions. If one of us did one thing out of turn, we’d face something that didn’t include losing two perfectly good school days to absolute intense boredom of a desk with blinders, essentially.

So, we were deadlocked, powerless to make each others’ lives hell. We were adults, not children thrust together in the same place at the same time. We had the freedom of escape, to be free from the tangled web of the high school social society. As much trash as we could talk, it didn’t matter. Too much space and too few connections let those words fall on indifferent, rather deaf ears.

So, it dissipated throughout years of silence. I was already married with a child. We were truly adults, lives so far separated from those emotions and the petty grudges generated from them. What did it matter anymore? Through the power of Facebook, we put it to rest through humor over the incident.


Liz and I had settled old scores. That was, until I started getting serious with C.S. I remember driving around our neighborhood, the one we grew up in, yelling at each other. I wasn’t making time for her at her demand.

“I’m engaged to a man who is really good for me, who really loves me. Can’t you even be happy for me?”

She retorted coldly, “You’ve been engaged so many times, I can’t even take you seriously anymore.”

There was no birthday reconciliation that year. Months droned on. It seemed to be over, and I was distraught, but infuriated. How dare she judge my relationship?!

I invited her to the wedding as an obligatory gesture. I knew she’d never attend. She should have been a bridesmaid, and yet, she would have rather carry on a grudge over my priorities changing.

Mid-summer, mid-pregnancy, I received a card in a letter in the mail. It contained a wedding gift and a phone number. I hesitated, but mustered up the courage to accept the olive branch. I announced my pregnancy. A boy. He even had a name.

She came to visit, and it was the first time I saw her in about a year. She seemed overjoyed, but deeply troubled. Liz, Liz, always something brewing under the surface.

She came the day after I had my son. Later in the week, she brought us dinner, on the house. And that was the last time I saw her face to face. It was almost three and a half years ago.

In that time, her relationship with Fox deteriorated.  There was always some contingency on him leaving his wife.  When you graduate college.  When you get a good job.  When…

They were fiercely fighting, and rarely seeing each other anymore.  They had opposing schedules, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for Fox to steal time away from his wife.  One day, he left his email open on his laptop, sitting on her kitchen table.  She flipped through it, and discovered a few very old, very intimate exchanges between Fox an I on the MUD.

We talked.  “I know it was years ago, but why would he even save this?” she ranted.

Time passed, things changed.  That was pretty much the end of their relationship.  Well, that, and when she got a confirmation that he and his wife just got a new lease on their house. It wasn’t my fault.  She jumped into bed with their mutual married boss and ditched Fox.

I’ve actually searched and searched for the goodbye letter I wrote her in one of my journals.  I’m thinking our biggest falling out was in 2010.  Liz was always one of those people who insisted that she came first.  She randomly called and announced that she was back in town.  She wanted for me and her to go out.  I explained to her that a person couldn’t just drop by on me.  I have obligations to my family, plans that I’ve made, and things that just need done.  She was furious, insisting that I never made time for her.  All of these years, she made time for me, and the least I could do was see her during the few days in the year that she was in town.

Finally, I fought back.

“In all of this time, I listened to you prattle for hours about a miserable relationship with a married man, the same one that I urged you not to turn your life upside down for.  You defiled his marriage, and he still didn’t leave his wife for you.  Then, as soon as the opportunity presented itself, you jumped into bed with his married boss, your boss too. 

Meanwhile, I am being diagnosed with bipolar disorder, my marriage – to a man who fathered my son, is falling apart, and my son is showing signs of developmental delay.  The moment I tried to open up my mouth to share my troubles, was always the moment you had to go.  I’m tired of being on standby and being expected to be here at your beckon.  I’m tired of you leading me around by the nose.  So, if you’re going to get pissed off and walk out of my life, it better be for good this time.  Because I’m not taking you back.”

We didn’t speak for about a year or so.  That was, until a random birthday card for my son appeared in the mail, containing a gift card.  I let it sit in my nightstand for a month, pondering what I should do with it.  And finally, I broke down and emailed her.

Back to the status that rubbed me the wrong way. Lea is pregnant, after several years of marriage. And Liz, who I haven’t heard a word from in at least six months, made a comment. “I’ll definitely be there! I’m so excited to see you!” I know she’ll be in town; she lives far away. And I also know that she won’t make any attempt to stop by, or even contact me.

I invited her, holiday after holiday, to stop by the house.  She always said she’d try, but there was so much going on.  I never did see her, not once.

I stumbled upon what may be one of the most heartbreaking revelations I’ve ever had. Liz and I were never friends. We were frienemies. Not from my end, but from hers.

I was a pace car. I was not a concept to admire, but envy. When I actually married the man she truly desired, and had the family she secretly longed for, I had unknowingly won. She couldn’t come around, because she couldn’t bear the sight of it.  I had become her superior in every way, and that is a fact she can never reconcile, nor bring to the surface. It’s too juvenile. But wasn’t all of it?

Clearly, she’s not an active part of my life. Her absence has not made a bit of difference. In a way, I wish I could have ignored that birthday card. She would simply no longer exist, and I could retain all of our funny, powerful, intimate, and warm moments. Instead, I am in some friend limbo.

So, instead, I think I’m going to start hiding both Lea and Liz’s feeds. I don’t need it. Sometimes a friendship is beyond salvageable. The remnants are too few. I don’t want to remain friends for nostalgia’s sake. I am not a keepsake. I am a human. If we really remained friends, wouldn’t she at least message me from time to time.

I place this in the sea and wave goodbye. For the last time.

Advertisements

10 thoughts on “More Than Ten Years : 30 Days of Truth

    • I think a little harder on it, and I think it strikes something close to the way she used to make me feel inferior. (As if I need any help). I have the picturesque family on the surface. We are extremely affectionate and adore one another. My husband is gorgeous, and my son is adorable. And it something that could probably live in a Norman Rockwell painting, barring a particularly hypomanic or depressed day. (Because my appearance can change drastically).

      But, we all have our own problems and labels. PD, OCD, BP II, ASD, PDD-NOS, etc. It becomes evident immediately when people attempt to engage my son. And if you spend enough time with us, it all surfaces.

      I feel inferior. Just having a disorder makes me feel inferior. But, my son, by no stretch of the imagination is inferior, defective, or any of the others things I could feel about myself. That boy is the most perfect son I could ever have. And that’s the point where I get furious.

      It’s become a sore spot. When I’m in a state, I don’t need any extra reason to get down on myself. So, better left alone.

  1. It’s so interesting to read this. I use to have what I thought was a friend, who turned out to be almost a perfect blend of the people you’ve just described. I really thought we were close and perhaps I will write about her one day, but in the meantime,

    I think it was good for you to let go and I wish you the best of luck.
    May casting this leave you room in life to find healthier friendships. ❤

    • Thank you. *smiles*

      Sometimes, I feel like I’m a magnet for dysfunction. I wrote in another comment earlier, something to the effect of, “Is it her? Is it me?” I don’t have many friends, but the ones I do have are incredible. Loyal beyond compare. Will drop everything for an emergency. Always happy to do a favor. And understand the concept of reciprocity in every application of that word.

      She was probably the last in a long line of dysfunctional friendships and relationships that I’ve been purging in the last five year. Especially the last three since I began treatment.

      I have to wonder: Am I a different now? I don’t seem to think so. My husband doesn’t seem to notice. Unless it was too gradual for anyone in my immediate vicinity to notice.

      *shrug*

      I’d love to hear your story when you’re ready.

  2. I’m not sure if you changed. I don’t know you well enough to say – But I know Time sure has a habit of doing it 🙂

    • That’s been my goal lately. I’ve felt a lot of pent up negative energy. I don’t know where it’s coming from.

      I’ve thought about it like clothes in a closet. Some are favored more than others. And then, there are a bunch that don’t sit well. They don’t fit right anymore. I’ve recently had to purge all of my early 2000’s clothes, because they don’t cover my middle enough. I’m an adult now. I need to make sure I have enough coverage.

      But you know, some too big, some too small. Some too low or high cut. Some have just turned extremely unfashionable, and others don’t seem to match your personality anymore. For some reason, they don’t look right, and it’s awfully bothersome.

      But, I hardly ever do a massive overhaul on my wardrobe. I hoard clothes. The only time I get rid of them is so I can make room for new ones I like better.

      Like I mentioned, I’m doing a massive clean up of my tangible closet. It seems I need an emotional purge as well. This is me, cleaning out my emotional bad clothes.

  3. Good on you! It’s so sad to hear that she was that/is this way. But you don’t need or deserve that pain, and pain again. Your time and amazing, beautiful qualities shouldn’t be wasted on people who treat you and your life as a game. There are other people who will respect you and actually having a mutual relationship.

    Though I’m sure it’s very hard at times, good for you for deciding to move on.
    Stay strong x

  4. Pingback: 30 Days of Truth | Sunny With a Chance Of Armageddon

Any thoughts to contibute?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s