Ambushed. February 21, 2007

Did I call or DID I CALL IT? (See the parenthesized digression in the post below where I surmise that the Universe loves to fuck with lil ol’ me and that by claiming that everything was sunshine and sausages, I was just tempting the gods to put me back in my place.)It was an ambush, of sorts. She asked if I wanted to go for drinks and, never being one to pass up red wine and the chance to catch up with an old friend, I met her downtown.

She was my best friend in high school. Our friendship has evolved into something much more sisterly as we’ve gotten older. We speak and see each other only sporadically but there’s a bond there, the result of a shared history, which acts as a security blanket. I’m there for her; she’s there for me. Before last night, there was never any question that she’d be one of my bridesmaids, that I would be an honorary aunt to her children.

The backstory is such that, a few months ago, she was upset with me. For good reason. I was depressed – miserable in my job and subsequently inclined to close myself off from everyone and everything except for M and food. It’s a time in my life that I never want to repeat. I felt like I was screaming, but no one could hear me. I’ve bounced back – I am myself again, I am happy again – and most of my friendships have rebounded too. It’s not as if I was intentionally hurting my friends or lashing out. I just wasn’t my usual bubbly, friendly, hey-let’s-go-out! self. I closed myself off, wallowed in my own misery.

It seems this particular friend is having a hard time forgiving me. While she said multiple times last night that she understands and accepts that I had to go through what I did, that nothing was intentional, that she realizes I’m back to my old self, she’s still angry. Resentful. She said it takes her hours to respond to an email of mine because she knows whatever she writes will be insincere. She said she can’t sleep some nights, thinking about how hurt she was and then feeling guilty because she can’t forgive me. She said that when she hears about new developments in my life – most recently that M has “a plan” for proposing – she isn’t truly happy. She thinks we’re too different, that she’s on the same wavelength as the rest of her friends and that I’m on another and that maybe we’ve just grown too far apart.

It felt surreal, hearing this from someone I’ve known since the fifth grade. I had no idea that while I was going through a hellish time within myself, that she was so hurt and offended and – let’s face it – unsupportive. Not once during that time did she take a moment to ask what was wrong, if I was okay. She just assumed – wrongly – that since I wasn’t spending time with anyone else, I was holed up with M. That my friendships had been replaced by my boyfriend. And yet now that she knows the truth, that it was depression that replaced everything in my life, she still can’t get past how angry she felt.

To be honest, it’s all a bit selfish on her part. But that’s how she’s always been and it’s one of the things I’ve overlooked in favor of her numerous wonderful traits. But all last night, as I nursed a glass of shiraz and listened to her rant, I just wanted to scream “IT WAS NEVER ABOUT YOU. IT WAS ABOUT ME HATING MYSELF AND MY LIFE. STOP MAKING IT ABOUT YOU.”

Of course I didn’t. Of course I listened and shared some tears and tried – again – to gently make her understand my point of view. Still, at the end of the night, as we left the bar laughing about something on How I Met Your Mother, there was no resolution.

Our mutual friends feel her anger is displaced. They feel that she resents me for having a strong relationship, as hers is so weak. Her boyfriend of six years is a pot-smoking loser who, at 28, still lives at home with his parents, only recently got his first job and barely acknowledges her existence. All she does is defend him, even on Valentine’s Day when he showed up with nothing but a card that one of his students had given him, having crossed out the “To [his name]” and penciled in “To [her name].” I don’t know how much weight the “displaced anger” argument carries because if she’s truly taking her relationship frustrations out on me in this manner, then she’s a bigger head case than I ever could’ve imagined.

I just feel like a small part of my world has been turned upside down. However, there’s nothing more I can do. I have apologized. I have explained. I have vowed to do everything possible to prove to her that those few months in my life were an aberration, and I shouldn’t be judged based solely on that instead of being judged on the whole of our 14 year relationship during which I’ve been a pretty damn fucking good friend.

I came home last night sopping wet – having been caught in a downpour on the walk home – and curled, shoes and all - into bed, which is how I awoke this morning at 7:45. All day I’ve felt as though I’ve been beaten with a stick – I’m achy inside. I want to reach out, to put my thoughts into words because that’s how they’re best expressed, but I just keep envisioning my email in her inbox and her reading it, still resenting me for something I – essentially – had no control over.

Forget it. I’m no saint but what kind of friend can’t forgive another for shutting them out during a depressed period? The ball is in her court now. I have plenty of lovely, supportive friends. It will hurt to lose her for good but perhaps it’s for the best.