Once a friend

There was a distinct time in my short life that I felt I was doing the right thing. Looking back at my actions, I think I was pretty brave as well. I just never knew it would cost me so much so drastically.

I used to have a friend that I loved. We were so close that we spoke of growing old together, of being each other’s soulmates, of just never growing apart. I loved and cared for her so much; it felt like an obsession. It felt like this love was more than friends.

I was so young and naive, I did not see how I failed to identify myself or my sexuality. I did not know how I was being toxic and destructive over this relationship. I am only thankful that I was destroying myself instead of her.

I eventually realised in the end. That it was not in my place to feel jealousy when she has another social life. It was not in my place to hold her down or feel that she owed me time or attention. It was terrible of me to feel that I gave her more love and care than she did for me. It was horrible to feel blind rage over nothing and keeping them all in. It was stupid of me. Really.

I thought that being honest with her and asking for a time off would help our relationship… I thought that it would help me to grow and be better. And then I could treat her better. But, maybe I never did communicate it well enough.

I found out from another mutual friend that she told him we were no longer friends. Even though I only asked for a pause. That hurt me to no end. That was the only time in my life i could feel invisible knives piercing through my chest. I could still remember the sensation, 4 years later.

There were efforts to restart the relationship. But it did not feel the same anymore.

It was already broken.

So, I left it.

It was unhealthy for the both of us anyways. She seemed a lot happier now, too. So, I guess it was a good decision.

I still love her. I still want to share my experiences with her sometimes. I miss her a lot too. And it always hurts when I do. It does not hurt that much anymore. Just very melancholic.

I do not actually remember much about our time together. Depression does that, I guess? I do not remember a lot of things after my second relapse. It is kind of saddening.

I just want this story to be recorded here. Maybe in the future, when I look back at this blog, maybe I can appreciate everything that I have been through. Maybe the future me would appreciate remembering this story. I like to believe that we go through pains and grief for a reason. It shapes us as who we are.

I just miss her again today.