Nic
There was just something about you when we first met. I couldn't put my finger on it; it was like I knew you from somewhere, like we'd been friends in a past life or something.
I've always struggled with friendships - especially with other women, for some reason. - and I remember that you'd post pictures on Facebook when you'd get together with two of your intimate friends - so close you'd refer to each other as "sisters" - and I'd see the love and the joy and the closeness, and I'd want that so badly. Someday, maybe, I'd find someone I could relate to on that kind of level.
But it had always seemed like there was nobody like me, that nobody could relate to me, that I was just...odd (not to mention painfully shy and socially inept.)
When you stepped in and opened up a spot in your heart, reaching out to me and befriending me when I was at my lowest and most un-lovely...I was awed. Humbled. Floored.
And when we'd talk, and I started to open up and express some of my thoughts and struggles, not only did you not cringe or run away, but sometimes you'd say, "Me too!" And though you didn't deal with depression like I did, I discovered that, no, I wasn't actually completely alone, and no, I wasn't completely insane.
Maybe, I realized, what I felt and thought and experienced wasn't so alien after all.. Maybe, I realized, what I wished others would do for me, they wished I would do for them. Maybe, I realized, deep down everyone really is the same.
Maybe, though, it was those realizations that were the beginning of the end of things. Because I now know, they're simply not true.
When you met my vulnerability with not only acceptance but also reciprocation by pouring out your own heart and sharing your own deepest struggles and fears, it was truly amazing - being so trusted, and having an opportunity to return the favor of being there for you in your pain and distress. My heart was flooded with warmth and affection for you - it was visceral and overwhelming - and I remember believing that, all of that focus and attention that I'd directed towards Joe...God had given me a healthy outlet - an appropriate one - in you. So I took that fixation and all of that energy, and I pulled out all of the stops and made you their object. I went "all in."
...And I reacted to your vulnerability with what I now realize was likely over-the-top support. I did what I wished others would do when I was drowning in despair; I reached out, with little encouraging notes here and there, a candy bar in your inbox at school, some flowers from my garden when you were under the weather. I'd text just to say I was thinking about you, stop by with coffee or a homemade chai latte, or pour out my heart in an email. It brought me such joy to do these things! And I'd try to find any excuse to get together, because I wanted you to feel wanted, and I felt like I could be myself with you, without judgment; I felt completely at ease and loved and accepted.
Was it that? Did I make it weird? Looking back, I think I made it weird. But as you'd started pulling away, it'd hurt - very badly - and I'd want to react by recoiling and shutting down and shutting you out. I'd sense this in myself and would fight against it, reacting against my own natural tendencies for the sake of our friendship, and I'd do the opposite of what I'd feel like doing: I'd reach out with another gesture of kindness. I'd pull out one of the special-to-me cards made by my grandma and write a note on it to leave at school, or give you something of mine that was meaningful and that it hurt to part with. Or I'd invite you to do something together, etc. But if it was those acts in themselves that were weirding you out...then it just became a downward spiral, and I was just perpetuating things, making it worse.
Why couldn't you talk to me and explain? I tried to ask when thing would seem "off", to clarify, but you wouldn't admit to anything. Why did you have to just silently pull away? I was tortured by that, and yet kept hanging on - because I promised that I would, because I'd promised I'd never abandon you. But when I did distance myself for a few months, you complained that that hurt you. What the heck did you want?! I never could figure it out. You didn't seem to want me around, but you didn't want me to leave, either.
Eventually, it was all on me; if I didn't text or email, I wouldn't hear from you (and you'd only respond to every 3rd or 4th contact); if I didn't make plans we'd never see each other; if I didn't go over and say "hi", you'd ignore me. By the end, you'd turn down 5 out of 6 of my invitations, and when you'd finally stop by to visit, you'd be checking your phone constantly, and would leave after 30 minutes. I miss a lot when it comes to social cues I think, but even I can take a hint as clear as that.
I've learned now, though. Don't push. Persistence will likely backfire. Take the hint. Invitations that are repeatedly turned down with excuses (or worse, flat out ignored), time and time again...I get it now. To keep asking, to keep trying in that scenario, just makes things weird, and makes things worse. If I could do it all over again, maybe I'd do better; stop holding so tightly, and leave the ball in your court. Follow your lead, and if you back off, then give you your space, and just pray you'd come back at some point.
Would that have worked? Would you have stayed my friend? Or am I completely wrong, and it was something totally different?
Was it that I expressed some disagreement with the direction you were taking things in at church, worship-wise? Your response was that I "didn't have your back." (funny how "We have each other's backs" showed up on the website 6 months after I left, as one of the church's core values.) I'm sure you were dealing with pressure from others (as the then-pastor's daughter, and the now-pastor's wife), and at the time I truly didn't realize there were a group of other people resisting the changes (I was unaware who they were or why they objected until after they left.) And even so, my coming to you with my concerns in no way meant that I thought less of you, or didn't support you as a person and as my friend. It was because I cared about you that I approached you - face to face, and I think pretty gently. I wanted to open up a dialogue, to have a discussion with you about it, to hear your side and get your perspective as well, but you just got upset and cold. Would you have preferred that I didn't talk to you about it, and just kept holding it inside? I don't know. I do know things were even more strained after that.
It's funny, I was thinking about it today, and there was another friend (with the same name as you, ironically) who cut me off without explaining why. She and I became good friends during my first semester at college, and decided to room together during my second. It was only a month or so into it when all of a sudden my closest friend stopped talking to me - and to this day I have no idea why. The little dorm room we shared became the worst, most stressful place to be. She seethed, she wouldn't look at me, and there was no explanation, only this invisible wall of hatred. I tried to find any excuse to be anywhere else, or I'd get lost staring at my computer screen. It wasn't until just before finals that she got a concussion (kicked in the head by a mutual friend who ended up marrying her, funnily enough), and had to be woken up every few hours during the night. Of course, OF COURSE, I'd do that! I cared about her, still, and I brought her ice packs, or food and water, and did what I could for her. After that, things were ok again. But, what I did to cause her hurt is still, truly, a mystery. We never did discuss it, and we lost touch after that.
I trusted you enough to spill out my inner thoughts and emotions, to talk with you about struggles I'd never voiced out loud to anyone before: the depression that had plagued me for so much of my life, and my deepest hopes and my darkest fears. I talked with you about anything and everything. You felt...safe.
What happened, though, will I think affect me for the rest of my life. While I have a handful of woman friends, I only see most of them a few times a year...and while some are a little closer than others, I keep them all at arms length, and don't really let my guard down - it's safer that way. I've tried giving my heart to others, and while it's taken me a long time, I pushed past the fear, because other people aren't you. But, failure...I fear it is an inevitability. I'm simply not sure that I'm cut out for those kinds of really close female relationships. And I think, for better or worse, I've made my peace with that.
Was I a project? Was it just a coincidence that your friendship with Kate (which you at some point explained had tanked about the time you started reaching out to me) was restored around the same time you started not wanting me around so much? Was I just a stop-gap? And did you just stick around - after your relationship with your best friend/sister resolved - because you felt obligated? Sometimes it felt that way.
The meds and counselor I saw for 2 years to deal with the deep depression and suicidal thoughts all of this plunged me into helped some, but it wasn't until leaving the church (and you), and then becoming Lutheran and really grasping the Gospel that things finally turned around. (My counselor kept urging me to cut ties with you, but I just couldn't, for the longest time, because I cared about you and so very much didn't want to hurt you.)
With all of that, I don't entirely blame you for shunning me - hiding behind your hair like a toddler, as though I couldn't see you - when I tried to say "hi" in the park that one day, or for staying far away at school concerts. It's probably not healthy for either of us to try to be friends again. And we're both so different now, in so many ways, that we really don't have much to connect over. (I got rid of the drums, by the way; the money I got for them helped create a chapel in our church, where people can go to confession and receive the Absolution for their sins from my pastor. So, yeah, I've changed some.)
I don't really know where I'm going with all of this, honestly (perhaps mostly just peeking under the hood to try to discern how and why all of this still affects me.) But I do want you to know that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for messing things up between us. I'm sorry for being oblivious, for pushing too hard, for not being sensitive to some of the things you were struggling with (out of ignorance; I've never dealt with your kind of work pressure, etc.) I'm sorry for finally giving up - and in so doing, breaking my word - though at the time it seemed pretty clearly to be what you wanted. And for whatever else there was that I did to contribute to our demise, I'm truly sorry. What we had at the beginning was wonderful, and I thank you for that time, however brief it ended up being.
And I'm sorry...please know, that song you wrote...I was truly oblivious. It didn't occur to me - though it seems clear in hind-sight - that it was actually written FOR me, ABOUT me. You asked what I thought about it, and I was so excited that you were actually including me in your song-writing process, that I critiqued it and offered suggestions for improvement. I cringe, now, at the memory of that. (And if I'm wrong, and it really wasn't about me, then I'm sorry for this off-base apology, where I'm thinking everything's "about me.")
For what it's worth, I want to thank you, though. Thank you for being there for me when I thought I didn't have a friend in the world. Thank you for giving me love and acceptance as I came face to face with my own sinfulness. Thank you for giving me your time and attention in going for walks and talking, in teaching me the drums, in inviting me into your life, if only for a while.
I hope that you are happy, that things are going well with your church, and with your family. I hope that whatever hurts that I caused you have healed. And I hope that one day, maybe, you'd be willing to smile and say, "Hi," if we run into each other. I'd like that.
But if not, that's ok too.
-M
PS: remember when you sent me this song? It meant a lot; I'd play it whenever I'd start feeling down or unloved.
