Friendships

"I'll be there in forty minutes, ready to party," I said, and laughed. Eager as I was to reunite with a companion, ravenous for friendship.

"Cool! I can't wait to catch up properly," she replied. I had promised her a present and a card, I had them with me that night, along with kind words, it was her birthday and I was all set to celebrate the occasion.

I'd been battling manflu for four days, I was raspy, snuffly, wheezy, my nostrils were competing with each other for attention. I was confined to bed the day before, begging for mercy. But the night wasn't about me, so I grew a pair of balls and loaded a pack of tissues into my pocket to control the phlegm. I walked it to her gaff as I was too cheap to get a taxi. Shenanigans were to be had and I made sure to get there ahead of time. 

"Kerry left over an hour ago, we don't know where she went but she definitely didn't mention you." Her housemates stared at me blankly, uncomprehending.

"Are you sure you've spoken to her, tonight?" They continued, catching my eye.  

"No worries! I'll phone her," I answered, feeling guilty for disturbing them.

I rang her four times. I left three text messages, but I got no reply. I didn't get it. Did I miss anything? What didn't I catch? Was there something going right over my head? I rummaged through all I could think of to salvage the friendship we shared, nothing was adding up.

Confused; I knocked on their window again, because they wouldn't let me in. 

"She's not answering?" I explained, feeling like the bookend who'd not been given the full itinerary.

"Patrick, it's probably best you went home, she'd have said something by now she wanted you there," they yelled, speaking in a strangely formal tone. 

"Right!" I called, gazing straight into their eyes, as if they were in on the plot. 

I walked silently down the road. My voice strong with rage and regret that welled in me. My disappointment felt tremendous and infantile, like I might have the sort of tantrum I hadn't had since I was five.

The next morning I received a half arsed Facebook message. I can't even label it an apology, because it wasn't one. She wrote to me after she uploaded the filtered photographs from her night. Editing and documenting them first was a greater priority. Seemingly unaware of my presence, or lack of in this case. I didn't respond. I wasn't prepared to start a conversation engineered mostly to tell her she was wrong. That's her place. I blocked her, although it was harsh, it was the best thing to do from the situation. To move on and not begrudge. To stop bleeding bad blood.

Thinking about it properly, we were not a level playing field. The cheerleader, the sidekick, the Kelly Rowland, were roles I performed. In this relationship I wasn't equal. That can be tough to admit. We're all very good at fooling ourselves into believing we're something we are not. To underestimate, devalue, dismiss how much we actually offer the table. 

She never met me halfway. When I gave 80%, she'd bring 20%. The world was through her terms. Coffee breaks always had to be at her house because the walk to mine was too strenuous a task. If we'd head for a drink, it was the bar she preferred because the bartender there enjoyed flirting with blonde girls. It made more 'sense' for me to skip a lecture when meeting for lunch because she liked to go home earlier than the hour we both had free. She liked what I had to say. My opinion counted more than all others. She'd disclose personal information and I'd offer advice. It was never the other way around. That was the way it was. My love life or problems didn't interest her.

It was radically unbalanced. Two years and a proper smack across the face with my pom-poms later I've realised that. Every person we encounter teaches us something, about them or about ourselves. She clearly demanded a lot of attention, but I, too, was a major problem for allowing myself be the walkover. 

When I was younger, I was always the weird kid. The one you probably avoided. Growing up isn't easy when you're different from other children. I was physically different, and gay, too, so there was potentially a lot of deal with. Bottom of the pile and stinking of desperation. Early on, I perfected that social reject thing where, every time someone was going to say something nasty, I'd beat them to the punch, in my head at least. Before they'd make fun of me, I'd go and make fun of me. And it turned out to be a great asset, as it helped me develop my wit. 

Once secondary school graced the spotlight, life was better, the universe gave me a break, but maybe there's something to be said for those formative years and debacle of a childhood. It made me, in some instances, a pushover. It screwed my perception of friendship. It's fear, isn't it? Afraid of not finding other people. I struggle to let go, because real pals were something I spent years yearning for. I can be over accommodating in the pursuit of being liked, and to stop things coming to what's often a natural end. I give it all wholeheartedly, even though that can be detrimental.

In life, birds of a feather don't always flock together. People grow apart, that's inevitable. Schedules no longer sync, paths stop crossing and groups separate and drift. You want different things, no longer share similar interests, seeing eye to eye becomes difficult. You shouldn't fight this. Sometimes, we hold onto people based on how long we know them or complacency. History can tie us together. Don't cling onto the past, it's damaging. Waving goodbye can be cathartic, especially to the ones that leave us raw and embarrassed, that crack our rib cages into a million pieces. It's important to let go. It's what time does to us all. Humans change, and that's that. 

Kerry and I's bond wasn't as deep as I thought it was, but that's okay, there's so many other amazing people in this world that I'm privileged to call my friends and there'll be many more. She's the one who missed out on a good thang. 

I've learned from this experience to only accept the love, I know I deserve.

The glass is definitely half full. 

*I have changed the name to Kerry, to keep her identity anonymous. 

3 comments Body Image, Opinion

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