There’s a thought I’m trying to put down properly. I think it’s often hard to see both sides of a situation at the same time, whether you’ve experienced both sides or not, sometimes you think you’re the exception and all the other times don’t really count; like “well this situation is different because of this and this reason.” Well, it’s not different. Each situation has its own varying factors but in the bigger picture, the one that matters, it’s all the same.
We don’t feel a thing when we push people away, we don’t even really know it’s happening; but we feel a different kind of pain when we’ve been pushed away by someone we thought cared about us, by someone we thought we mattered to. Life matter-of-factly is entirely about change. There is no avoiding it or stopping it. Sometimes we can put it off for a few days or weeks, but eventually the changes catche up to us and things we thought we could control we learn that we can’t.
It’s a common feeling, the one of being forgotten, or left behind, or pushed away, or whichever variation you choose. We’ve been there. All of us. And we know that something inside of us remains very unsettled, sort of this uncomfortable feeling, that something’s happening and it doesn’t feel okay.
But sometimes people push and push people away, people that loved them and cared about them. People that did everything for them, still it’s not always good enough. Then they find other people, and forget about the people who were always there, but eventually those people will push others away, or the other way around. And they begin to feel the same way you felt.
Friends are not people you can use up and then forget about the minute you find someone else even better. They’re people with feelings, who sacrifice their time for you because that’s what friends do. And to just simply toss them aside, to make them feel like all their time and efforts on you were wasted, well, it’s the kind of feeling you get in the pit of your stomach, the feeling of rejection, the kind that makes you wish you never did any of those things in the first place because for the first time you realize how little they ever meant.
But if life is about change, then I suppose we need to be pushed away now and again in order to make space for new people and new friends.
It’s just sad how easily we can be forgotten and how little we feel when we are.
It’s actually kind of sad, kind of unfortunate that you chose me of all people to slowly phase out of your life. I knew you wanted to leave the past behind. I knew you wanted to move on from the bad relationships, bad breakups, the arrogant people, their childish ways, the bad friends, the people that left, the cooped up, dutch-bingo, overly-protected, sheltered lifestyle that we all had been forced into. I knew for a while then that you wanted everything that was exactly the opposite of what you had. We both wanted it.
What I didn’t realize though that I was one of those people that you wanted to be in your past. It was nice for a while, you held on for a few months, but suddenly it was like you had this sudden spark in your mind that told you I wasn’t relevant anymore, I was less essential, you had better people in your life, people you needed and wanted more than me.
I think I first noticed it when you sided with someone I was angry with. I felt as if I had been turned against. And then on our little trip, you barely spoke to me, most of your words were harsh and rough.
It slowly starts to add up now.
The part that saddens me most though is how after the past year you can just leave me like that. For the past year I was the one who was there, who stayed when others left. I listend when others didn’t care. I made myself totally available and others simply ignored you.
I guess that’s the way things go sometimes. You lose a close friend or two here or there. Unfortunately I had lost five in the past six years. Part of what had brought us together in the beginning was each other’s ability to understand the pain and frustration and the sadness of that slow process. Of being rejected, ignored, abandoned, and let go. Of disappointment and feeling unimportant.
This time though, the tables turned a little bit, you don’t realize it, you deny it of course, but this time you were the one doing the abandoning. And I lose just one more person who used to mean a great deal to me.
But the part that’s really sad is the part where you don’t even seem to notice. That maybe for once instead of you always expecting the person you need to be there that maybe someone just might need you and expect you to be there. But that’s all part of who you are and have always been. A little selfish, a little self-centered, a little bit caught up in your own life, and not enough in others.
There really isn’t much I can do. Once people leave they rarely come back. And I chose the high road, instead of getting angry or even, I communicated with you how hurt I’ve been by you. And despite your denial and apology for making me feel this way, you still haven’t changed. But you don’t really like to admit when you’re wrong either, so I suppose for me to expect that you can change is almost not worth it, but I haven’t fully given up just yet.
I kind of want my best friend back, but I know it won’t be the same.
onlinejournals: Get things off of your chest. Talk to the people you love and tell them that you love them. Tell the sky to go fuck itself. Tell your parents you’re gay. Tell your parents you’re moving out. Tell your parents you love them dearly and appreciate everything they’ve done for you. Tell your friends you need them. Tell God you miss Him. Buy a cat and promise to never walk her. Get a girl you love and never let her go. Just get these things off your chest. Because the longer they stay on there, the less likely you’ll be to say them the way you’d like to say them. Life is just life. There’s no good, there’s no bad, there’s just life. And there’s a lot to love in there.
I keep waiting to see you again somewhere someday and I expect to see you smile back at me and from that moment on for everything to be changed.
I keep expecting to fall back in love with you again, I keep hoping that you’ll fall back in love with me. I have either moved past or haven’t gotten to the point yet where I’ve accepted the cold reality of these things never happening.
And by everything, I literally mean everything. I notice when someone stops hitting me up like they used to. I notice when the way someone talks to me starts changing. I notice the little things that people do, and the little things they used to do. I notice when things change, and when it’s no longer the same. I notice every single little detail. I just don’t say anything.
(Source: dinhtheresa, via stillherewaiting)
You want to travel with them. You want to see what they’re like going through airport security, on planes, in strange countries. You want to meet their families and charm them to pieces. You want to nestle into their childhood beds and look around in the dark at all their old posters. You want to see all the embarrassing photos of them with braces and socks pulled up mid-calf. You want to hear all the stories about their drunken nights under the bleachers and their best friend’s jokes. You want to read all their journals, see how they took notes in high school. Did they use pen or pencil? What color highlighter? You want to work with them, just to see them work. You want to go out with them. You want to make out with them in the bathroom. You always want to touch them; you want them to always want to touch you.
You find reasons to disentangle yourself from them; it’s only going to hurt later, you can tell already. You stay up way past your bedtime for them. You look at the clock and know their schedule. You neglect other people and other things, and beat yourself up about it. But it’s like they have a hold of your hands and your voice, and you don’t mind. It’s like you’re trapped in an hourglass; you know your lungs might fill with sand, but there’s something sensual and comforting about the grains sliding down glass walls and pooling around your ankles, your knees, your waist.
You like things about their appearance that the rest of the world may cringe at and call strange, less than perfect. Their broken, reshaped noses; their little teeth or the gaps in between them; the way they pull their hair; their narrow hips; their wide shoulders; the depth of their pores. You can laugh when funny things happen in bed. You usually want to be in bed with them.
You think they’re smarter, better, friendlier, fitter, happier, more productive than you are. You strive to be as much as they are, as good as they are. You try to cheat and figure out what it is they’re going to teach you, if they’re going to fall from grace, if you’re going to play a part for them that you never thought you’d play before. You try and pull patterns and threads of meaning from the conversation or the way they looked at you the first time you met; what they did, what they offered. An apple stolen from the bar. Notes from a guitar. Pitchers of free beer. Pieces of bark with writing on them.
You cherish snippets of them; paste them up in your memories like old faded scrapbooks clutched to chests for generations. Their skin glows black and white in your head. They star in the little short films of your life that sneak up on you when you’re not looking. Like the walk to the South End for dinner on a quiet corner. The feel of the sun beating down on you both at an outdoor concert. The way they ordered wine on your first date. The slow swing of a hammock near a lake. The back seat of their car.
You can see yourself with them in the future you can’t quite see. You build apartments outfitted with all the right kitchen supplies and the perfect bed with two nightstands, each piled with books and magazines. You wait for them patiently while they chase their dreams; they wait for you patiently as you chase yours. You sit in bed eating dinner late at night, drinking tea and wine and whiskey as you tell each other all about the chasing. You create adopted dogs and cats; you have awkward conversations about money; you put up with each other’s crap. You see what they look like standing at the end of a candle-lit aisle in your grassy front yard and wonder if you’ll make it to the other end to meet them or if they’ll just end up in the scrapbook clutched to your chest or flickering on the screen in your brain.
(via stillherewaiting)
