the friend

I’m 95% convinced that I need to give up the friend I loved who hurt me, the harmful house guest.  Not speaking with him for a month, I’ve learned a lot.  I’ve pondered in my own mind, written about him, and shared conversations with close friends about what happened.

Mostly I accept the loss, but five percent of me struggles to find a way to keep him in my life.  Facts, feelings, memories, desires, fears, and plans all swirl together.

• Our plan to go to overseas and do a ritual where my dad was born meant a lot to me, and I don’t want to let it go.
• My memory of touching his small tummy, this sacred place with the fire inside, the miracle of his life.
• I’m afraid I made a mistake by saying his hip was bony.  I didn’t mean that rudely–his bony hips are ok with me.  Probably he has no recollection of me saying that.
• Intense desires fill my body still, as I wish for the healing sex that most of me understands isn’t possible.
• I feel lost, a yearning for family love that would help me stay grounded.  Sad like I could float away, with not enough family love to keep me on earth.

With time I can sort out the swirl.  So much to understand, and so much to grieve.  I realize my own issues, how my trauma informs my relationship patterns.  My whole life, I do something important, then need a lot of time to feel out what happened.

comfort meaning

What even is a relationship?  There’s rapport, shared values, shared language, the rhythm of a conversation, themes of what we talked about, having a little world together.  Wow, I loved that world.

I loved txting with him, the comfort of checking in.  It meant so much, but I think for him, it was nothing.  Just chitchat like with a random neighbor or person at a meeting or church.  Idle BBQ banter–nothing to him.  I was not a special person.

To me, it was stabilizing, part of what I lived for–deep fun that helped me feel less alone in the world.  I had someone dear and vibrant who I could trust to love me, so I could relax, not alone in the world.  The friend was there for me, every day.  I based so much on it.

For him, I think it was just an easy investment.  A few moments of attention to me per day, and he could maintain the resource.

what’s real

Was that real?  Was I making up the meaning then, or a lack of meaning now?  Who knows!  It’s a problem, not knowing how someone else actually feels.

I guessed, hoped, and made up what the friend might feel.  I thought he loved me but had a hard time saying it.  Now I don’t know if he ever loved me–maybe he had a hard time saying it because it wasn’t true.  What’s love anyway?  I needed him.  I don’t think he needed me.

If I look at his behavior and what he actually chose, he chose to live with a partner who abused, manipulated, and attacked him physically.  He shared his life, home, and body with someone violent: a conventionally pretty white lady.  Collaboratively, he lied to her, was half-there for her, and used her.  He has extended family who he prioritizes.  The main things he cares about are a good time, money / investments, cats, music, art, and weed.

I asked to visit him, and he never invited me there.  He’d let me into his life to a degree.  He avoided questions.  Several times something was his idea, yet he wouldn’t follow through.  And not being able to talk about all that made it ten times worse.

under-nourished

Most of the time he showed up to our appointments, but it hurt a lot when he didn’t.  It hurt because I wasn’t feeling safe, already under-nourished by him.  I needed the appointment really fucking bad, so if he missed it, I felt destroyed.  Then I hated myself for needing anything, and could go on to hate myself for hating myself.  It was painful and took a lot of energy.

So a relationship is rapport, shared language and values, the world we make together, how we converse.  All those jokes, beautiful plant pics, and graffiti pics.  Plans, rituals, prayers–strange, beautiful moments.  I wish that easy, happy part was all of it.  But I needed him, and he was half-there for me.  I tried so many ways to get hurt less, with so much effort.  But it was impossible.

bed

I was lying in bed this morning, trying to get another hour of sleep, thinking about the friend I miss so much.  The five percent of me that wants to make it work thought up a fantasy of what the friend could say to me, so we could try again.

It was a letter asking for another chance.  Explaining how he loves me, he’s sorry for what happened when he was here, and sorry he was flippant about hurting me.  He sees me as the amazing lady I am, recognizing my value as a love-genius who’s willing to do something advanced with him.  He’d say he wants to be close to me, make love with me, learn how to communicate–that he values me specially, and I’m worth it.

I like the part where he says he likes that I have a brilliant spouse, and he wants to be family with us.  He likes that I’m stable and wouldn’t single-source on him, seeing the benefit that I’m happily partnered.  There’s a paragraph at the beginning where he says he’s been thinking about me, praying for me, and he realized I love him really good, better than anyone, and he doesn’t want to lose me.  He wants to meet me halfway and be the amazing, vivid, valuable person I see him as.

pleasure to treasure

Oh yeah, and a part where the friend says he wants to savor experiences with me, and learn how to take everything into him deeply.  He acknowledges me as super brilliant about language and pleasure, and he treasures me, wanting to know what I know.  Yes, he wants to be silent with me, trusting me in the silence.

He’s almost 40 years old, and it’s time to prioritize love, well-being, and what matters over running from his fears.  No amount of therapy could replace a caring relationship based on truth and healing pleasure.  The woman is me, and the time is now.

no letter

Hmm, what a delightful letter that does not exist.  That’s probably the best letter I never received.  Crying and hungry, I got up from bed.

I miss my mom so bad.  Made breakfast, did some writing, doing my best to be who I am.