About a year ago, I found myself at a crossroads: I could continue to allow a best-type friend to hurt and use and take full advantage of me or I could walk away from the situation even though I promised someone that I was not the type to abandon someone (especially someone with abandonment issues like this “friend” does – yes, we’re talking about that douchebag again). It was not a decision I came to lightly; as with everything I do, a lot of thought was put into this. And even after I chose the “right” path, I still had misgivings that were only left behind after a letter from another hard choice from the past.
Things were less-than-stellar then; I was being pushed closer and closer to the edge of give-a-shit (more details on that still forthcoming). Even before losing my (detested) job, “friend” stabbing me in the back and the night angels cried, I knew something had to change – and fast.
“Friend” and I had a relationship based on one simple principle: he fucked up time and again and I forgave said fuck ups every single time. Ruined by him, in one way or another, were Halloween, New Year’s Eve and my birthday. Yup. Birthday. I honestly believe he has no fucking clue what friend, much less best friend, actually means.
Any time he needed something (and that laundry list included everything from girlfriend issues to those god-damned abandonment issues that somehow were my fault even though I met him years after they developed) I got the call. There were nights where well after midnight (with me having to open) the phone would ring and I had the honor of listening to more inane bullshit.
I did not see it as bullshit then; even using that word now bothers me. But I refuse to find a polite, politically correct term. Sorry (not really) but he does not deserve that small consideration. He received enough of those from me. Even during that last, three hour phone conversation. Not that that last call was anywhere near nice.
In the months that led up to the moment I finally said go fuck yourself, I knew I had to find a way to make him gone permanently. See, there’s this history of he and his real friends (the moment he used that term was the moment I decided to split) fighting in that stupid no respect for anyone type of way. Then, a few months later, “friend” would be missing the assholes (his term for them) and sulk around until things were back to the old ways. No one respected each other. And once the crew (again, his term) was back together, things began deteriorating once again.
Nice cycle, eh?
Well, I don’t work like that. I tell you to fuck off, you fuck off. I delete numbers, photos, comments, links along with anything else remotely related to you. When I break, I break.
So… I wanted to be sure he would not even consider calling me six months later, even on the off chance he missed a friend like me (not that I think he gives a damn). So I pulled out every cruel, mean and nasty word I could and threw them at him. I brought up every secret, insecurity and embarrassing moment I knew of his (which was more than enough) and tore him to shreds.
And I finished it all with if you want to work shit out you know where to find me (see, I’m not completely heartless – I meant every word I said that day) and that maybe one day he’d understand why I said what I said.
Hasn’t happened, for anyone wondering.
I thought then that I’d never hear his voice again (except for one day I knew was coming but luckily I can ignore anyone) and that the worst best friend ever was gone. Then one night he got drunk and I got the god damned two in the morning call. He missed me and he was sorry and he wanted to work shit out. He started telling me his problems and looking for someone to give a damn.
I reminded him as his not-friend that I no longer had to care. And didn’t (lie). Sober update: he took it back and even went so far as to say he never said it.
After that, I got a few “butt-dialed” calls from him. I finally called him and demanded he (again) go fuck himself as well as delete my number. I’m not sure if he did, but the calls stopped. That was enough for me.
It was not easy acting like I didn’t care, but as with anything dealing with “friend,” I had to go to the extreme. Some people don’t respond to anything less. But I was still wondering if I’d done the right thing when I got a letter from Elf Lord, someone I’d ripped to shreds a few years prior. I won’t go into the particulars right now; that situation deserves its own column. But to skip to the end…
Elf Lord realized with time that he had been wrong and had, for a while, wanted to apologize and work things out but had been afraid of me. I was surprised to read this, but happy. I knew at that moment that I was right to do what I did. Might seem like a strange connection to some, but to me, it made perfect sense.
I didn’t like pushing someone the way I did “friend.” But in the end, it was the best for me. I didn’t need someone taking advantage. I have no trouble taking on anyone’s problems and doing whatever needs be done to help, but not when I can barely get a moment for myself.
I will bend till I break, but once that break comes… there is no guarantee that anything can be put back together. It worked out with Elf Lord but that was after many other people tried mending things with me. I’m hell to get rid of, but even harder to get back. The smart people know that you shouldn’t wait till someone’s gone before you realize what it is you have.