The Things that No Longer Serve Me

Why post this part of my thesis about Maria? She's been on my mind lately. And I know that I wrote this years ago about feeling a distance between us, about feeling like we were falling out, yet I still hold on, I realize, to a relationship that has been over for such a long time.

It's been months now since she's returned my calls. I have no idea why. Though I'm starting to figure out, at my wise age of 28, that not everything is about me. In fact, I'm starting to believe that very little is actually about me. Very little of people's actions or inactions probably have to do with me, despite how much I may feel about that. The last time I saw her we'd gone to the lake with Jen who was visiting for the first time in years and years from the Navy. It was like old days, in a way, except that I felt them both holding back. Maybe it's cause I laid it all out there too much. Maybe I overshare. Okay, I know I overshare. But maybe I shared too much for friends I don't see too often. But I really believe that intimacy leads to intimacy. What good does it serve anyone for me to pretend to be okay about things I'm not okay with? Anyhow, she spent the night and everything was great and that's it.

I got a note on my door quite a bit later that she was in town for the day and just thought she'd stop by. Why not call first? Why not plan to see me? Or return any of my phone calls asking if she was free, asking if they wanted to have dinner, or sit by the river, or drink a beer, or do nothing. I got a weird birthday voicemail. And now, nothing. And it bothers me. I just don't understand it. And I know I'm just dwelling on it, because frankly she hasn't been there for me in years. I moved to fucking Texas and she didn't make any effort to see me before I left on the most horrible journey of my life. So why hold on to this hurt? Why hold on to the anger? Or even the hope that we'd reunite sometime, that we'd rekindle?

I guess it's because I want to keep hoping we can rekindle, that we could be close again. Because when I was close to her, in those years in college, I loved her more than I'd loved any lover. I adored her. I saw myself in her and I wanted to see her in myself. And we have so much in common-- interests and values and the past and I thought the future. But I don't really know her anymore, I'll admit that, because she hasn't let me for years. I don't know why she shut me out. I don't know why she got over it. It's not like she replaced me with another close girlfriend, I don't think. It's just like... she got over me. And I'd kept hoping she'd come back. I miss her. I miss her quirkiness. I miss being open with her (but she hasn't been too open with me for a long time I feel). I miss her fun ideas, she always had fun ideas for new things to try, and an optimism and gung-ho attitude that was infectious to me, that helped pull me from my slumps.

And I kept mentally composing an email but I can't write it because I can't really send it because really it will only communicate: I'm hurt, I'm angry, I don't understand why you don't want to be my friend anymore, why you've pulled away and stayed pulled away, why you keep communicating this to me but I don't listen, I don't want to believe you're brushing me off, or blowing me off, or flaking on me. And that will only serve to make her feel guilty, or angry, or sad, which won't make me feel any better. Or that will serve to force into calling and leaving one of her sappy, sorry, pathetic voicemails telling me she's sorry when I don't really think she means it. When it makes me feel like I've just guilted her into doing it, like her family would guilt her into things and it'd piss me off that she didn't stand up for herself. And really, what would it change? Because her actions have shown me what she wants now, and what she values. And a friendship with me is not that.

So I breathe out my mourning of our friendship. I thank you for the sisterhood you offered me, for the memories I share and enjoy, for the cooking lessons and the lent books and everything you taught me. For the courage to be more of myself, to be shameless about my quirky, dorky, clumsy side. Even though I know that was only part of you. Even though I know some jerk once told you he wished you could be more like me. Cause ironically I wanted to be more like you then. Thank you for sharing part of your life with me. I doubt you read my blog. But I breathe out holding onto what was old and obviously doesn't serve us any longer. Maybe there will be a place for some 28+ year old women to rekindle a friendship one day. I'll keep that tucked with my memories. I'm sorry I can't let that go quite yet. I'll just call that optimism for now.