I’ve never been one of those women who will say I have 200 good friends. I don’t think that’s possible. I may have 100’s of acquaintances I can chit chat with at parties, or do the smile and wave at the grocery store, but when it comes to friends, meaning people who matter, people who would be invited to family events, weddings, who would be called in an emergency, who I can trust to have my back? I have a handful.
I’m damn lucky, because some people don’t have those. I have friends in my life who I absolutely trust, who I would not question to make a decision for me in a time of crisis, who I would trust to care for my children, who I would trust with my man, who I never, ever doubt for a second, and who never doubts me.
Heartbreakingly, the past year or so, I have learned that some people in my life really aren’t the friends I thought in my heart they were. Did it hurt? Yes. Does it still cause me pain? Absolutely. In one particular instance, I have made a conscious effort until this point to speak very little to others who know us both. In fact, aside from discussing a particularly nasty altercation months ago with one of my very closest friends, after some horrible things were said to me, some venomous accusations were made and I needed a friend to talk to, I haven’t campaigned to bring anyone else into what I felt was between two people.
After that exhausting round, I wanted to just step back, take a breather and stop talking before things got worse. I don’t think that there is any point to try and pursue any type of communication with a person if you are harboring resentment or rage. For whatever reason, someone I had been close to for a very long time is and has been angry with me, not just angry, but raging mad about every single thing I say or do.
Decisions I made were called desperate. My life was called a lie. My relationship was dismissed as doomed to fail. I was dared to declare that I was pretending to be happy when I needed to admit it wasn’t working. WTF?!?!!
The fact was, at the time, while I was still sad over the state of a friendship, my life here in Pleasantville was (and is) pretty fucking awesome. For someone who is supposed to love me to try and pick it apart, to say that there is something wrong with what I’m doing simply because they’re mad at me and want me to be upset, too? That’s not OK. That is NOT how friendship works.
Hence the need for a time out. A necessary action if there was to be a hope to turn around a relationship once the anger on her end had been let go of, when we could possibly sit down and talk about what the real issues may be.
Fast forward two months. I have a dream about something that happened a year and a half ago. I post a status on my personal Facebook status about how I woke up hurting from it, and also fuck them. This person is not friends with me on Facebook, we haven’t spoken in probably 8+ months, etc.
So, I get a message last night, telling me I’m passive aggressive and low class. Saying that they are tired of seeing posts and wondering if they are about them, so they’re deleting me from Facebook, and that they were going to try and be my friend again, but changed their mind after seeing my post.
From what I was led to understand, someone who is a mutual friend saw my status about a dream, and out of overwhelming concern, immediately contacted this person because they knew we’d had a rift, and wanted to know if the post I’d written was about them.
Here’s where I’m going to take off my censor, so if you’re easily offended, I’d suggest you stop reading now.
One, if you’re such a good “friend” to me, why don’t you ask ME what the post is about?
Oh right, because it’s much more exciting to go running to someone else and stir up some drama, isn’t it? Especially because you can bet your sweet ass that person you’re running to is going to see it and assume, even though I’ve told them repeatedly probably 10 times in as many months if I have something to say ABOUT them, I will say it TO them that the post MUST be about them and will have to write me and say something nasty.
I haven’t sent out a group email to all our mutual friends about the argument we got into way back in February, nor did I pass notes during Study Hall, or campaign in the lunch room to make sure everyone heard my side so they’d all all think I’m right… so I honestly don’t give a rat’s fuck what those people who are so incredibly concerned think. I don’t care whose side they take, and if they are more interested in hearing the juicy details of a painful fight between two women who are hurt from this than they are in helping to resolve it, then honestly, I don’t want them on my side in the first place.
What they seem to be mainly concerned with is perpetuating some high school drama and feeding on the trigger points of someone who is just itching to vilify me, who wants to find yet another reason to point the finger and say “Look at Carrie the Bitch! What an Asshole! Here’s my justification for saying the shitty things about a person who was my friend for decades!”
I don’t care how close of a friend anyone is to me, they are not, nor have they ever been the center of my universe. That role is reserved for my children and my family. I do not spend my efforts looking for ways to create passive aggressive drama through dream analysis on Facebook.
So while an hour this morning has been reserved for me to get this off my chest on my blog, and I spent some time last night deleting folks on Facebook, I am done worrying that something I post about my feelings, my life, or the mother fucking weather can somehow be misinterpreted to be about someone else.
If I have a dream that upsets me, I have a right to post something about it without having to wonder if anyone is going to think it’s about them. If I find a photo that has an insulting blonde joke on it, I don’t cringe every time one of my flaxen haired friends sends me a text, thinking they must have gotten offended by it, assuming it was taken literally and all about them.
Just like any one of the now 180 less FB friends I have can post whatever damn thing they want, and I don’t have to react to it. If someone posts about how they can’t stand Amazon, freckle faced, opinionated, big titted women from Texas whose names start with C, I might assume they are talking about me.
And… WHO GIVES A FLYING FUCK?
If they ARE posting about me, then awesome. That means I matter enough to them that they are taking time out of their day to post a status all about me. Which is great.
At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter one iota. Unless you’re simply looking for a reason to perpetuate some drama, continue to be angry, or sever ties with a person and can’t reach into your bag of reasons and come up with anything better.
My response to that is the same as it is with anyone. If you don’t want to be a part of my life? Don’t. Life is to short to have to beg people to share it with you when there are plenty of those out there who want to be a part of the every day that is you.
You don’t have to hate someone to say goodbye.
You don’t have to win.
You don’t have to be right.
They don’t have to be evil to justify walking away.
There doesn’t have to be a showdown.
Just because you love a person doesn’t mean you always like them.
My heart will always hold the people I call friend. Even the ones who have left me, who have hurt me, who might never cross my path again. It’s the price to be paid for the history we shared, and that is a cost I gladly pay, even though sometimes I am reminded that life might be a bit easier if my skin were thicker…