I see comments every now and again, by men, saying women over 40 years old are “past their prime” or “hit a wall” or are damaged goods and old hags. There was just a young woman going viral for being the “most beautiful woman in the world.” Men were writing things like “Wait til she’s 40 and her looks are gone.”
Boy, what?? Lol
This is me today at 40 years old!
Still got it going on. Don’t you think? Or nah? I think so lol
I’m as healthy and physically fit as ever.
People tried to ruin my day today. So-called “family.” (But that’s for another post lol) But I wasnโt going to allow it. No one is going to dull my sparkle.
I got to see my friend, Greg, my kidney recipient, for breakfast. He’s the best friend I ever had. I gave him the gift of life, and he gave me the gift of friendship. โค๏ธ I got a free coffee at Starbucks! An iced mocha! Yum! I got to go for a long walk around my favorite part of the city. It was perfect weather. I laid in bed with my dogs in the afternoon. I got to sit with my dogs (there’s my pitbull ๐๐ I had no idea he was there lol). I listened to music. I have the whole weekend off work, to do what I want. I’m bringing my own magic. ๐โจ๏ธ
So, this is me going into the second half of life. ๐ฉท You can’t convince me I’m not 25 years old ๐(not that I look that young, but my body definitely feels that young lol)
My friend, Greg, bought me this ๐Processed with VSCO with 9 preset
Free coffee! โ๏ธ๐ค
No stars are out tonight, but we’re shining our own light โจ๏ธ ๐
My story was selected to be shared on “Share Your Wishes,” a UK based organ donation org. March is Kidney Month, and they were sharing one kidney transplant/donation story a day, all month long.
I’m honored that mine was chosen! ๐๐
Kidney Month is over, but it’s still Donate Life Month! So, I’m sharing here. It’s late but still relevant!
“Kim shares her story in the hope that it will encourage even just one person to consider becoming a living organ donor, and register as a donor too, as both are equally important and very desperately needed.“
โOn 16th January 2024, at 37 years old, I donated one of my kidneys to a stranger. It was a lifelong dream of mine since I read a true story, almost two decades earlier, about a man who donated one of his kidneys to an anonymous stranger. I thought it was the most beautiful thing, someone giving a literal piece of himself to save another struggling human.
It deeply resonated with me. I always had the gift of perfect health and wanted someone else to have even just a little bit of what I have. It made perfect sense, if I have more than enough of something, to give some to someone who doesn’t have enough. As soon as I read that story, I knew it would be me one day giving my kidney to a person in need. Nearly, twenty years later, it was! That beautiful story stayed with me for all those years until I finally got around to making that decision. It was a very easy decision for me to make once all my life circumstances aligned for it to all work out. There was never any hesitation or reconsidering. It was my calling.
I knew that the potential benefits to a kidney recipient outweighed any of the rare potential risks to myself and that even if I did experience a complication at some point, at least it would be because I tried to help someone. I could never regret it.
I knew that maybe I would experience a rare complication, but someone in need of a new kidney did not have the luxury of “maybe” that I had. Someone else was already suffering complications of an illness that I could potentially help.Taking on some of someone else’s pain for a while, to potentially give that person a whole life, was more than worth it.
I did not care who received my kidney. It was a gift given out of love for my fellow human and sentient being. My only hope was to relieve a little bit of the suffering in the world. The less suffering, the better for the whole world.
In the U.S., we have The National Kidney Registry. Through the Registry, we can donate our kidney to an anonymous stranger they choose for us and receive a kidney voucher to give to anyone in the country we choose, usually a friend or family member. That person usually gets a new kidney soon after the donor’s surgery, often in a matter of months.
In my case, I did not know anyone who needed a new kidney, so I decided to look for another stranger to give the voucher to. I just happened to hear about a man in my location who was in urgent need of a new kidney. I looked up his family on social media and offered the kidney voucher, or my actual kidney, if we happened to be a match. No recipient was chosen for me yet.
Coincidentally, we turned out to be a match and only lived fifteen minutes apart! It turned out he wasn’t cleared for transplant yet, though, and still had more work to be done before he could have a transplant.
So, I continued with non-directed donation and gave my kidney to whoever in the Registry could use it. That person’s transplant was an immediate success! I have no contact with him and no information about him other than that he’s a 50 something year old man. I hope that one day we can meet or exchange a letter!
A year after my non-directed kidney donation, the man I gave the kidney voucher to, Greg, received his new kidney through my donation to the anonymous stranger. His transplant was also a success, and he is doing amazing! He felt his new kidney working instantly. He got his whole life back after being so sick for years on dialysis. He is able to work again, eat his favorite foods, go out with friends, volunteer for organ donation, and work on his dream of becoming a dialysis tech to help others in the position he was once in.
We have become great friends and meet up for breakfast and do organ donation volunteer work and attend organ donation events together. We love to bring awareness to living donation and organ donation in general.
I’m thankful that my one donation saved two lives. I think of both of my recipients as my kidney brothers.
My evaluation process to see if I was physically & emotionally healthy enough to donate my kidney, took six months. I loved every second of it. My donation surgery was flawless. I had a smooth & quick recovery. Very little pain and no fatigue. I did not even need Tylenol! No pain meds at all. I was out of work for recovery for three months only because my job is very physical, but I felt like my usual self after only two weeks!
Two years after my kidney donation, I am just as healthy as with two kidneys! I have a medical test once a year to check my kidney function. My recent results showed that my kidney is functioning as well as it possibly could. I have just as much energy and walk 10+ hours a day. I’m a pet nanny/dogwalker for work. I would never know I had surgery or only have one kidney. Nothing at all changed, physically. My scars have (unfortunately! I love them!) faded. I have one lifelong restriction with one kidney, and that is NSAIDS/Natural vitamin supplements. I’m recommended to avoid those.
I have become an organ donor ambassador with The Gift of Life Program where I live, doing volunteer work to bring awareness to organ donation. Organ donation is a beautiful thing that is so life-affirming. So many people, the donors (living and deceased, alike), the donor families, the healthcare workers, and everyone who advocates for the recipients, come together and go to great lengths to save one life.
Donating my kidney expanded my life perspective and showed me just how powerful each of our lives are. Any choice we make, good or bad, has a boundless & unfathomable ripple effect and will change the world in some way.
Anything my kidney recipient/s go on to do in life is something that never would have happened if I did not donate my kidney. They’ll go on to touch more lives, develop relationships, do work and acts of kindness. Even way into the distant future, when my recipients and me are no longer here, the impact of my kidney donation could still be existing.
This goes for any choice we make in life. It will have an impact we can’t foresee and may never know. I never realized this to this extent until I gave my kidney to save a strangerโs life. It’s the most enlightening thing!
Donating my kidney is the best thing I ever did. The sense of relevance and joy and importance never fade, no matter how much time goes by.
I love being part of the whole organ donation family and feel a sense of kinship with all associated with organ donation in any way.
I truly, inadvertently, gave the absolute best gift to myself when I gave the gift of life to someone else. At the end of this life, whenever it may be, this one decision alone makes my whole life a success.
I would make the same decision again & again. I see my experience with the perspective of this amazing thing I got to experience more than look at this amazing thing I did for someone else. It’s better than I ever imagined it would be.
My kidney donation has given me this whole family, a new friend, an expanded life perspective, and most of all, the gift of seeing someoneโs whole life change, dramatically, for the best.
Even though it wasnโt my intention or expectation, my experience with kidney donation truly has given me just as much as it has given those who received the gift of life out of it. It has become an essential part of my identity.
In the USA there are over 100,000 people waiting for a life-saving organ, over 90,000 of them are waiting for a new kidney. A healthy person with two kidneys can get one of them off that waiting list and off of dialysis with little to no cost to us.
If I could, I would give a kidney to every person in need! ๐โ
Please #ShareYourWishes about your #organdonation decisions with your loved ones, say #YesIDonate and register your decisionNHS Organ Donationtion
Keep smilin’, keep shinin’ Knowing you can always count on me For sure That’s what friends are for For good times and bad times I’ll be on your side forevermore That’s what friends are for
Yesterday, my kidney recipient, Greg, & me attended the Donor Dash, the walk to honor organ donors and their families, and bring awareness to organ donation. We live only fifteen minutes apart and meet up for coffee, walks, breakfast, events, Phillies games…We spent Christmas Eve together and plan to spend Thanksgiving together this year!
The 3k walk takes place every April. It’s hosted by the Gift of Life Program, here in Philadelphia. I’m a trained volunteer organ donor ambassador with the organization. April is National Donate Life Month. 100,000+ people are in need of a new organ, 90,000+ of those, are waiting for a kidney. Every year, we walk together, to honor the donors, celebrate the recipients, and bring hope to those still waiting.
This is me, yesterday, thinking I was going on the walk like this ๐ Turns out, it was freezing cold! I had to put a sweater on. Thankfully, it wasn’t raining.
In less than one week, I’ll be turning 40 years old! Going into middle age fit & healthy. Middle age looks good on me lol My friend (mentioned above) and me are going out for breakfast!
“To save one life, it’s as if you saved the world.”
(Content warning โ ๏ธ: There’s a picture of a human kidney in this post at the end lol)
January 16th.
My favorite day of the year! The one day a year where it’s still appropriate for me to brag years later ๐ To everyone else, it’s old news now, but, to me, it never gets old lol
Each day leading up to 1/16, I can’t wait. It’s like having two birthdays, except even better. I even buy myself a cake and gift to celebrate the best thing I ever did.
On 1/16/2024, I donated one of my kidneys to a stranger.
It was my calling and lifelong dream.
It was a gift given out of love for my fellow human & sentient being without care about what person were to receive it. The less suffering in the world, the better.
I knew the potential benefits to a recipient outweigh the rare potential short-term & long-term risks to myself. And even if I were to experience one, at least it’s because I tried to help someone.ย I could never regret it (Unless I find out he’s a Cowboys fan ๐ JK, I always have to throw that joke in somewhere, I even wrote it in my thank you letter to my transplant team lol)
My decision was inspired by a true story I read many years before, about a man who donated his kidney to an anonymous stranger. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I ever read, to give a literal piece of himself to save another.
I instantly knew I would do the same one day. Almost two decades later, I did! If I have more than enough of something for me, it makes complete sense to give some to someone who needs it.
Two men were saved through my one kidney donation. I volunteered to give my kidney to whoever needed it and was a match for me. It was an anonymous donation that was given to “the next person on the wait list.”
I share a set of kidneys with a 50 something year old man in Minnesota. I love to joke that I’m in two places at once and can pee for two ๐
Because I donated through the National Kidney Registry, I was given a kidney voucher to give to anyone in the country I wanted. I chose someone who wasn’t close enough to the top of the deceased wait list but was in urgent need. I did not know anyone who needed a new kidney and so gave it to another stranger I heard needed one.
He was brought into the system to receive an anonymous living donor kidney because I gave him the voucher. He got the kidney of a living person who was donating for someone who isn’t a match for that person.
My kidney voucher recipient, Greg,ย received his new kidney just over a year after my non-directed donation!
Coincidentally, we live only fifteen minutes apart and are a match!
So, I was going to donate to him directly, before an anonymous recipient was chosen for me. But, he had some more work before being cleared for transplant, so I moved forward with non-directed donation.
We are now good in-person friends!
We have similar views and values and some similar interests and sense of humor. I wasnโt planning on becoming friends with either of my recipients. Just planned on helping someone and going on my way with no strings attached. But we have become good friends and turned out to have much in common!
I have no contact with the person who has the kidney I gave. Maybe one day!
I think of both of my recipients as my kidney brothers. ๐
It was and still is the most incredible thing I ever did. I had no idea the significant change it would inspire in me. A change that has become even more prominent as the years go by.
My intention was only to help someone, but in the process, it also changed me for the better.
No one else can see it on the outside, but on the inside, I am forever changed. It has become so much an ingrained & essential part of my identity that it’s like I wouldnโt even be the me I am now without this experience. Sometimes, it’s like nothing else even matters when I think of it.
It serves as a kind of buffer against the stresses and disappointments and tragedies of life. Whenever I feel something dragging me down, I remember this, and it pulls me right back up. It brings me comfort in situations where I would be inconsolable. When my depression flares up with feelings of worthlessness & insecurity, I remember my own life literally, physically, saved someone else’s, and am reminded of how powerful & valuable each life is, and I push through, knowing I can do even more good.
When I look around at all the tragedy & destruction in the world, all the hatred and wrongs and evil, I am reminded that I did the absolute best I could to counter that, by loving my fellow humans in the ultimate way there is to love: Showing them that their own life matters enough for me to risk my own to save theirs, no matter who they are.
I’m like a colorful 3d version of what used to be a grey stick figure. It made me better in a general way. Even when I’m not consciously thinking about it, I can feel it.
It’s not that I was unhappy before or anything like that, it’s just the experience added so much depth to me in a way that’s unimaginable & indescribable. But I tried my best to put it into words.
I wrote a very long (you know me with the paragraphs long essays ๐) thank you letter to my transplant team at Penn Hospital before being released as a patient recently (we stay a patient for two years after our donation surgery). They loved it.
I would like to share part of that letter here:
I used to think of living kidney donation in a limited way, that it helps someone live, and their friends and family get to still have them around. And that was motivation enough for me to regift one of mine.
But, after this experience, I began to realize itโs so much more expansive than that. Countless things are going to happen when a personโs life is saved or changed that would never happen if they werenโt saved or changed for the better. It has an unfathomable and boundless ripple effect.
That person will go on to do things that will contribute to an infinite amount of other things. Theyโll do work, engage in acts of kindness, have many encounters with various people, develop relationships, maybe have kids, and those kids will do an infinite number of things, on & on. When one person is saved, their life will have a limitless impact on the world, thereโs no telling how many more will be helped, touched, or saved in various ways because that one personโs life was spared.
Even way into the very distant future, the impact of our choice to donate our kidney could still be existing even if it doesnโt involve the recipient or donor anymore. This isnโt just true for organ donation but any choice we make. Any choice, good or bad, any act of kindness, can have a lasting effect we canโt foresee and may never know.
This is true for every single one of us. We all impact everything around us in ways we may never know. Each impact we have will go on to create more effects. On & on & on.
The decision we make to give life doesnโt only help our organ recipient and voucher recipient, if we have one, but every single life they go on to touch.
We have no idea how powerful our own life is, no matter who we are or what we do. Every little thing we do touches someone or something for better or for worse.
If the thread that is us was missing, the uni-verse would not be the same. Part of it would unravel. Weโre all connected in an infinite amount of intricate ways weโll never fully understand. Weโre all a thread in the tapestry of life, holding each other together.
After giving my kidney to save a strangerโs life, I understand this now in a deep way I never did before. Itโs so enlightening.
I love being part of the whole organ donation family and feel a sense of kinship & belonging with all the other donors, donor families, recipients, and their families.
My body โlostโ a kidney, but I received so much more in return.
My kidney donation has given me this whole family, a new friend, an expanded life perspective, and most of all, the gift of seeing someoneโs whole life change, dramatically, for the best.
Even though it wasnโt my intention or expectation, my experience with kidney donation truly has given me just as much as it has given those who received the gift of life out of it.
๐
That’s an “excerpt” out of my thank you letter to my healthcare team.
I dropped off a copy of it in person along with gifts, and gave six of the team members a copy, personally, the ones I worked with most closely. They were so thankful and said they were blown away!
My surgeon called me and asked for my permission to share it in a mass e-mail within the Penn network lol Of course, I said yes!
It took MANY people to come together to save the two who were saved by my kidney donation, not just me. It took their friends & family & others advocating for them and helping with resources, and all the healthcare workers involved. Both of them received a kidney not only because of me but because someone else donated a kidney also.
The man who shares my set of kidneys with me received mine because someone donated theirs for him to get mine. If it wasnโt for Gregโs family & friends sharing his need for a new kidney, that information would have never reached me.
That’s the beautiful thing about organ donation & kidney chains, it’s so life-affirming and shows just how valuable one life is, that countless people go to great lengths to save that life.
I get all the credit (lol), but, truly, we ALL played an equally crucial role. If just one of us was missing, things would be significantly different. It’s possible someone may not even be here today.
It’s a beautiful thing to be a small part of.
The scars have faded. But the joy and sense of relevance never fade no matter how much time goes by. It’s not on my mind as much as in the beginning, but it’s always with me, and when thoughts of it or reminders pop up, it’s like an instant dopamine surge. Like being in love & walking on air.
I truly, inadvertently, gave the absolute best gift to myself when I gave the gift of life to someone else.
At the end of this life, whenever it may be, this one decision alone makes my whole life a success.
I would make the same decision again & again.
I also thank my transplant team at Penn for trusting me to donate my kidney! I take the best care of my remaining kidney and am overly cautious with it. I don’t ingest anything that can hurt it without checking first and make sure to water it regularly!
I am just as healthy with one kidney as with two.
I share my story for three reasons, because it makes me happy, because it uplifts others to read/hear (who doesnโt like a good Hallmark-like story ๐), and because it brings visibility to organ donation and may hopefully inspire even just one person to become a living donor and/or register as a potential deceased donor.
There are a couple of people alive today because I read that story many years ago. If I just heard we can donate our kidney to a stranger, I may not have, I’m not sure. But reading a true story about someone, personally, who did, it made me see something in myself like that person and motivated me even years later.
You never know who you or your life may be inspiring!
I see my experience with the perspective of this amazing thing I got to experience more than look at this amazing thing I did for someone else. It’s better than I ever imagined it would be.
And two years later, it makes me even happier than when I first donated my kidney because it took a while to process and finally fully sink in, this profound & rare thing I did, because I have since become an organ donor ambassador with the Gift of Life Program in Philadelphia, bringing awareness to organ donation, and get to work with and connect with others who share my passion, and because now my kidney voucher recipient got his new kidney, and because we are now friends, which we werenโt really in the beginning.
We attend organ donation events together, living donor celebrations, do 3k walks for organ donation/kidney disease awareness…It just gets better & better.
Cheers to my kidney twin in Minnesota, and Happy Kidneyversary!! ๐ฅ๐๐
Many, many more for the both of us ๐
Also, will celebrate my other kidney brother’s Kidneyversary coming up in early February!!
โSometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.โ โ๏ธ
In January 2024 when I was in Penn hospital after my kidney donor surgery I had a very special visitor. A stranger. She was like an angel.
I was laying in my hospital bed so sick and couldn’t even sit up. I had a catheter and IV’s in. My body was exhausted and super sick feeling.
A woman walked into my hospital room and introduced herself as a retired nurse named Donna. She was grandmotherly and had the most loving presence. She was going around to the hospital rooms to cheer up the patients and give us gifts. Coloring books and colored pencils and magazines and crossword puzzles, and journals and stress balls. And just various things to distract & uplift us.
I lovingly think of her as Nurse Donna.
The moment she stepped into my room and said hello my exhaustion & severe headache, that even IV pain meds/anti nausea meds wouldn’t touch, disappeared. I instantly sat up because of the surprise of how my body suddenly felt completely healed. She asked me if I minded her company. I said no. I was so thankful for it. I told her how her just being there seemed to heal me and that her presence & energy was just so warm & healing. She said she felt the same about me. I was surprised. It sounded so sincere. I wasn’t even telling her to flatter her or be kind or get a compliment in return. I was truly surprised and baffled.
No one else, even people I liked and the most uplifting people, made my body feel completely normal. I couldn’t even sit up when anyone else came into the room. I was so sick I had to stay an extra day in the hospital and have an extra IV because I couldn’t get up or drink anything.
Nurse Donna gave me various gifts. Then she held up something else. This bookmark in the picture here. She told me her young granddaughter, Turner, made it and told her to give it to someone special at the hospital, whatever patient she thought should have it most. The holidays were over so Nurse Donna wasn’t sure anyone would want it. She was hoping someone would because her granddaughter was so happy to have made it for “someone special.” She asked me if I would like to have it. She said she had a feeling I would.
I LOVE the holiday season & Winter. All year I wait for it to return. I told her that and that I would love to have her granddaughter’s bookmark. She was so moved and said she found the right person and was thrilled to tell her granddaughter later how much I love it. She told me some things about her family. It was so uplifting. I hope her granddaughter never outgrows making her beautiful gifts.
After she walked out of the room I experienced a sad feeling and sense of loss. I loved her presence and energy and felt like our conversation ended too soon. I felt there was more to know about each other. But she did not work there, she was only a visitor. So I knew I would likely never see her again. I just had this overwhelming feeling that I was “meant to” share more with her.
Not long later she returned to my hospital room. She apologized for the “intrusion.” She had the same feeling I did and felt the need to come back and express it to me before I even told her I had the same feeling. She said she felt like there was more to know about me. She told me she doesn’t usually ask too much about the patients, that she just gives them gifts, says a few kind words, and leaves. But me, she said she felt like I was “special.” I was so pleasantly surprised at the coincidence. She said something drew her back to my hospital room.
She told me she knew I was a transplant patient. That’s all the hospital staff was allowed to tell her. She asked if I would mind telling her my story but that she would understand if not. I was delighted. She is the very first person I had the honor of telling my experience to after my surgery.
I told her I just donated my kidney earlier that morning to the next person on the wait list here in the U.S. Just thinking about that gives me chills. It was the most amazing thing to get to say that out loud for the first time after almost twenty years of it being my dream. It was (still is) surreal.
Instantly her eyes filled with tears, and she just stared at me as if awestruck. She said it was the most amazing thing she ever heard and that she never met someone who has ever done something like that and that she couldn’t wait to tell the ladies in her group and her grandchildren. I remember her saying “You have no idea who has your kidney, and I bet you don’t even care, do you?” I said no.
She said she was so honored to be standing in my hospital room. Her grandson could have needed an organ transplant but thankfully it was prevented. She said she knew he would be so moved that she met a living organ donor.
She told me she hopes I live a long happy healthy life and have everything I ever dreamed of. That was so kind of her.
I just pulled this out to look at for the holiday season. I will hold onto it forever. It holds so much meaning and was made with love by a little girl who knew someone out there somewhere needed it. She signed her name on the back. How honored am I that of all the people in the city/hospital I’m the one to have received it. I wish so much I could find Nurse Donna and tell her I still have it & love it so she can tell her granddaughter.
Maybe one day I will. ๐
After that encounter I never came across Nurse Donna again. But she’s one person I’ll vividly remember for as long as I live. I have a feeling we may cross paths again someday. I know she’ll remember me because it’s hard to forget an altruistic kidney donor ๐ The chances of meeting one are negligible, on a podcast episode I heard that we’re “statistically no one.” We’re less common than people who can wiggle both ears lol And I’ll know & recognize that loving energy & warm smile anywhere.
I love Nurse Donna the same as if we were friends. It doesn’t matter that I only knew her for less than a half hour and never saw her again, it feels like I know her whenever I think of her. Some people are that remarkable.
It’s amazing how one person can impact someone for life in just a few moments of knowing each other. And not because of anything they do or say but because of the pure love they radiate. ๐
Anyone who wants is welcome to share your own experience with a brief encounter with a kind stranger who touched your life for the better. I love stories like that.
(If anyone knows {retired} Nurse Donna who volunteers with Headstrong cancer foundation and gives sweet gifts to the patients at HUP, or her granddaughter, Turner, please direct her to this post. Thank you in advance lol)
Content warning โ ๏ธ: nothing graphic but mention of mental health issues, s*icidal inclination, r*pe(I have never experienced r*pe, myself, just briefly sharing that it happened to someone I used to know)
I did a thing! My heart was pounding so hard, my hands were shaking. I hesitated and thought I would back out. I even got dizzy. It wasn’t anxiety. It was fullblown FEAR. There was a sickly terror running through me. My body was in full fight or flight mode as if I was in literal life threatening danger. My gut was telling me not to, that it could only end badly. It wasn’t my intuition talking but my fear. There was a loud voice in the back of my head yelling at me not to. But something deep inside told me I had to. I had to know. My healing has made room for curiosity & concern, where there was no room before. The space in me was taken up by seemingly insurmountable pain & humiliation & fear & selfish love & coveting, despair. No room for curiosity or concern or selfless love. Until now.
Around a year ago, I shared a deep, raw, honest, heartfelt post about when I was rejected by a woman I was secretly (never told anyone about her or this experience til last December when I posted it here) head over heels in love with for so many years and how that experience has deeply affected me in both pleasant & not so pleasant ways to this day. She was 45 years old, I was 27 years old when I confessed my love for her. I met her when she was 40 years old, and I was 21 years old.
I loved her since that very first moment I laid eyes on her, when I saw her across the crowded room, and the world suddenly stopped spinning.
I know that it might sound More than a little crazy but I believe I knew I loved you before I met you I think I dreamed you into life I knew I loved you before I met you I have been waiting all my life
This is what it felt like upon finding her. It felt like finding my other half, like we were the two halves of the same whole.
She was my everything, the love of my life, and I thought she would be by my side forever. I sent her messages telling her that, and she unfriended and ghosted me without a reason given or any response. I was utterly ruined. I agonized for years over why she did not want me even as an acquaintance or casual online friend, yet she had so many others she loved, even strangers. She’s a universal lover like me. Everyone is welcome in her world. But not me, the one I felt loved her most. This shattered meto my core. I would have instantly laid down my own life for her if necessary.
After she rejected me, I stalked her social media accounts for years in absolute despair.All of her stuff has always been public. She did not block me, just unfriended and stopped communicating with me. Before this, we were hardly even acquaintances but did occasionally communicate through her Facebook posts. She never initiated contact with me, but she did respond to my comments to her. After she cut me off completely, I read her blog, watched her YouTube videos, still looked at her Facebook and Instagram accounts, til eventually it got to be too much, and I stopped looking for years but still loved her. Then, with lots of conscious work, I became indifferent to her. I stopped the online stalking and moved on. It was the only way for me to emotionally survive.
The rejection destroyed me, and I thought I would never recover. It took me YEARS (even after no longer looking at her social media for years) to get over her and the rejection. The rejection physically sickened me, I had headaches for weeks after the initial rejection, I fell into a very deep major depressive episode for months. Through the years, every now & again, another depressive episode would be triggered, especially if I looked at her social media accounts/blog/YouTube while in a low mood.
Especially when I saw her with other people, especially when I saw her with him. Words can never express the deep pain that ripped through my entire being to see that other people got to have access to her, be loved by her, had the gift of her time and presence but not me. And not understanding why because we have all the same views, interests, values… we’re so, so alike. She’s very social and was always around people, hanging out with people. She cherished and prioritized platonic friendship, like me. She would take pictures of her friends and write about how much she loved them. She would share pictures of them laughing together at restaurants and cafes. While I was happy that she had people to love and be loved by, so much of me was beyond jealous and just shattered that I couldn’t be one of them. It just k!lled me. Through the years, I would look at her Instagram account after she unfriended me on Facebook (I did not have an Instagram account back then), and see her with other people and fall into a deep, s*icidal depressive episode, sometimes for months. I would ask myself why. Why I wasn’t good enough for her but they are. This triggered me to feel not good enough for anyone. Before her, I had amazing self esteem, maybe a little bit too much self esteem. I admit it. In my last December post (2022) about her, I share that now I’m glad she humbled me because I thought I was all that and a bag of Skittles. Lol I was arrogant. I’m glad I’m not anymore.
Every now & again, I still experience a hint of that feeling that I’m not good enough for anyone and have nothing to offer, as a result of her rejection. I internalized it as not being good enough. A feeling that no matter what I have to give someone, someone else can give better or more so why would anyone want me. It still lingers today. It’s not a constant feeling, an insecurity that comes & goes. Sometimes I’m hesitant to reach out to people for this reason. Before her, I never had this feeling, before her I thought I was the sh!t who could love someone better than she has ever been loved before, that I had everything to give, that my love was unique and rare and shocking because of how deep and whole it is. Like I mention in my other post, she knocked me down a few pegs, and I never quite got back up. But that’s ok, it’s part of living. It’s nearly impossible to get through life without any scars. Also, she did nothing wrong by rejecting me. However I interpreted or responded to it is my issue, not hers.
I had to work for years to become indifferent to her because the memories were so painful. She brought me immense joy to think of but also so much pain.
For so many years, I could not let myself be curious about her. I couldn’t think about her in an attached way to be concerned. It was destroying my mental health. My love for her became dormant. Memories of her no longer brought me joy or pain. Eventually I pretty much stopped thinking of her at all. Last year I decided to share a post about her inspired by a post I saw for Pride Month asking us to share about our first heartbreak if we aren’t heterosexual.It took me six months to complete. It was exhausting to write, but I loved writing it. I loved revisiting that joyful and agonizing experience. Writing that true story helped heal me so much and made me realize I had so much pain and pent up emotion in me about the whole situation. I realized I never stopped loving her. Now after ten+ years, I am able to release it all and set it free and go back to loving her but with a selfless detachment.
I love her deeply. I always have. I never stopped loving her and never will.
I recently decided to look her up online, something I told myself I would never ever do.
The reason I looked her up now is I am now strong enough and healed enough to think of her and be affected by the memories without crumbling. Everything I suppressed & repressed has been released and let go. It made room for other things.
I realized I have been very very concerned about her safety. I wasn’t even sure if she’s still alive. I did not want to think that or mention it, but it’s true. I began entertaining the idea of looking her up online to be sure she’s at least alive and hopefully ok.
She has been dangerously s*icidal off & on for many years. She even has a history of attempts and hospitalizations. She struggled immensely with mental health, self esteem, body image, relationships, addiction to prescription pills,she lost her job when I last knew her years ago (they did not have enough money to pay all their employees and let a few go, including her). She was a very successful career woman with an advanced college degree. She was at one point a college instructor. But she always felt like a failure in life. She was very open about this.I always felt like she was out of my league. This wasn’t in a negative, self deprecating, insecureway, just a matter of fact kind of way. She was successful, educated, driven. I was just an undergraduate college girl with average grades and then after college, a food server/cashier at a food serving place where I worked for many years while living at home with parents. She was warm, compassionate, understanding, humble, never in any way arrogant or judgemental of other people’s jobs, living/financial situations. She never saw anyone as inferior. This is not why she rejected me. She even dated men who were less educated and less successful than her. (She’s bisexual but mostly into men and mostly only dated men)
She was r*ped many years before I met her, and it devastated her life & mental health. She struggled with aging. Each birthday, especially milestone ones (like 40 years old) put her at risk for a s*icidal depressive episode that could result in hospitalization. She could not stand getting older.
Since I am now able to think about her, my concern for her got the best of me. I was terrified of what I would see if I looked her up. My body turned to jelly the same way as if it was a close friend or family member I was concerned may have died by s*icide. I was surprised about that. While I care equally about almost everyone, it’s different when it’s someone we know, personally or are close to. It hits harder usually or a different way or has more emotion involved. I haven’t communicated with or seen anything by her on social media or in person in over seven years. At some points I rarely even thought about her. So it was surprising to experience the impact she still has on me all these years later.
She’s popular enough that she is the first person who showed up in the search engine when I put her first and part of her last name in. She’s an editor, writer, public speaker, journalist…
My finger hoveredover her name in the searchbox (there was a very small thumbnail picture of her next to her name, I could see she was smiling in it, which was comforting). My heart pounding. I wasn’t sure I could or would go through with it. I asked myself if I really want to do this. I had no idea what I would find or what emotion would overcome me. But I had to know, if I did not look her up again, thoughts that she may not be alive today, that maybe she died by her own hand, would be eating at me and were getting stronger & stronger. I had to know. I had to click her name.
So I did. I clicked her name to see endless search results. (She’s very well known within the writing/editing/blogging community in Philadelphia, so there’s decades worth of stuff about her).
I desperately hoped she’s alive.
Not only is she alive.
She is doing SO well these days!!! She is happy and healthy and thriving in what seems like every aspect of life. She has her life on track, has close lifelong and new friends (some of the same ones she had back then! I did not see him though ๐ anyone who read my other post {linked below} will know who I’m talking about ๐คฃ๐ I dedicated Ceelo Green’s song, “F*ck You” to him for stealing my woman ๐ญ). She has a job she loves. She’s in the same line of work. She’s so successful. She is continuously evolving professionally & personally. She has fulfilling projects and goals she’s working on. She’s well loved in her workplace, community, circle of family & friends. I skimmed back through posts for a while, a few years worth, and she has been doing well for a while now. Again, my body is overcome in so much emotion that feels it can bring me to the ground but now in a good way. It’s so heartwarming to see how much progress she has made with her mental health and self esteem and how successful she still is, how she has been able to maintain her career even with severe mental health issues and debilitating recurring headaches.
She is still so loving and compassionate, still the same girl I knew and loved so many years ago. She has that same smile, and that same heart of pure gold. She posts the exact same photography of hers as years ago, pictures of the rain and Fall leaves. She still loves all the same stuff, humans, animals, books, writing, intellectual conversations. She has all the same views as before. She still lives in and loves Philadelphia, like me! We’re still the same!!
She has her same Instagram account with all the old photos I remember! I saw some of the ones that triggered me back then. Now they just stirred a slight wistful, nostalgic feeling, nothing intense.
And omg!! She is as beautiful as ever. I was so curious about what she looks like today. She’s 55 years old and doesn’t look a day older than she did when I last saw her pictures 7+ years ago. Omg, she’s STUNNING!! She looks exactly the same. Like she doesn’t age! Only thing that changed physically is she is rocking some gorgeous grey hair that suits her perfectly. She still has the same wavy brown, shoulder length hair I remember but now significantly grey (and just as beautiful!) She has the biggest smile. I am so moved and overwhelmed and inspired by her beauty exactly as I was then, but unlike all those years ago, it doesn’t make me want her. It just makes me smile. I could stare at her all day long, day after day, and never get tired of it.
She does still have depressive episodes here & there, but not almost chronic like before and has better self esteem and a great support system of friends and family and colleagues. I’m beaming as I write this. This is as great as I have ever seen her! I couldn’t be happier if it was myself!
Words cannot express the joy I am overwhelmed in, seeing her doing so well. Her smile is so big. Her eyes have a spark in them. She looks so healthy.
And seeing her current pictures, reading her recent blog posts, seeing her in pictures with close friends, even ones she knew back when I knew her, does not hurt me in any way! No old emotions came flooding back. Or almost none. There was a brief sense of nostalgia surging through me looking at some of her recent pictures, seeing her face, the one I knew so well all those years ago. There was also a hint of longing, but I realized it was just reliving memories of old emotions, not a current longing. Nothing came back to haunt me or drown me.
I was afraid it could. But my fear that she may not be alive or may be suffering regularly of the depression was worse than the fear that I may crumble at the fact that I cannot have her.
There is one thing, her talking about her lifelong depression and me completely understanding so intimately in a way that most couldn’t possibly because most never have depression lifelong like we do. Many people experience depression, but usually an episode or as a response to a current difficult situation. We have recurring lifelong depression that has sometimes been almost chronic and sometimes like not having depression at all. I experience a deep close connection to her through this. I just know. This briefly provoked me to wish we could be friends even now. Our experience with depression is so much a part of us that it can’t be separated. I wouldn’t be the me that I am without it. It finds its way into many casual conversations even with strangers. We have depressed days and not depressed days because of how frequent it can be. On any given morning we can wake up depressed out of nowhere or feel it creeping on slowly for no reason or triggered by something. This is something most people wouldn’t truly understand.This is a reason I have always felt a deep connection to Joan Rivers who also lived a life of s*icidal depression.
I will admit there’s one recent post of her and a group of her girls where she wrote something like “best friends for 30+ years, some people are meant to be in your life forever” where I felt a brief surge of that feeling all over again that I experienced years ago, that insecure feeling like why does she love them and not me, what made her reject me, I would have been so happy just to be an acquaintance of hers. Why them but not me? What do they have that I don’t? What made her choose to have them as friends and maintain those relationships for decades but not choose me? Why were they meant to be in her life forever but not me?I confess, I felt rejected all over again. It felt like she slapped me in the face with that post. An automatic, uncontrollable thought or feeling ran through me. What am I lacking that makes me not good enough? If I was in a fragile state of mind, as I sometimes am when my depression is flaring, if I was still so attached to her, this could have pushed me over some edge. But I wasn’t in a fragile state, and I’m not attached to her any longer.
I realized it was just some egoistic thing, me being self important, and was able to let it go almost as quickly as it came, and look at the much more important thing, the only thing that matters, she is happy, healthy, loved, has people to love. It does not matter why she rejected & ghosted me. It doesn’t matter why she doesn’t love me but loves so many others. It’s not about me.
This is the best gift to me, I can’t even put it into words how so happy I am for her. It’s similar to that feeling I express in my other post about her, that joyful feeling years ago where it’s like walking on air, skipping along the streets, frolicking about, wanting to sing & dance. But now it’s not because I’m hoping she’ll ever be mine, it’s a completely detached kind of joy that is only for her, about her living her best life.
If there’s one thing I could say to her it’s I love you, I love you, I love you my sweet, but in a detached way, a way that is only selfless, no expectations, no coveting. I want nothing but the best for you, nothing but happiness and love. And I no longer yearn to be the source of that happiness & love.
She still posts regularly just like years ago. I’m not going to make a habit of looking at her social media account and blog. We’re just not going to be a part of each other’s lives even though it’s what I so desperately wanted for so many years. Our lives briefly crossed, touched, and that forever changed and marked me. And that is enough.
This once is enough for me. It’s all I needed. Now I can truly put it to rest. I found my closure. (I will continue to write dark love poetry inspired by her though just because I love dark love poetry, and real experiences make for the best poetry lol)
I am also thankful that this experience shows me how healed and mentally ok I am, myself. There was a day it just k!lled me, triggered depression, even s*icidal thoughts in me, triggered insecurity in me, feelings like I’m not good enough for her or anyone, to see pictures of her and posts by her knowing she rejected me and not knowing why. There was a day her beauty was so tantalizing to me I couldn’t live without it. I couldn’t live with the pain of knowing someone so beautiful exists and will never be mine. Now her beauty is still just as mindblowing, but I can just bask in it and move along.
I was also mortified, humiliated about the sappy, clingy messages I sent her and then being rejected. I’m still embarrassed today. I was concerned that seeing her again, even if just online, would trigger me to be humiliated all over again to where it was interfering with life. I spilled my heart & soul, my guts to her all those years ago and so deeply regretted it because I would have been happy enough just being social media friends, but she unfriended me because of my messages, and also regretted it because of the embarrassment that plagued me. I wondered if she showed anyone my messages to her and if they judged me. I was afraid that would come back. But that did not happen!
I am so glad I looked her up. ๐
And oh yes, I mentioned in that last December post that I can’t believe I forgot the color of her eyes. I zoomed in on one of her recent pictures ๐ They’re dark, they look brown. It’s a bit hard to tell. I was afraid I would slip when I was zooming in and like one of her pictures. That’s all I need, I would seriously just die. I can imagine her thinking “Oh, her again.” Or “is she going to come back every decade?” ๐คฃ๐
I was also afraid I would see a screencapture of my messages I wrote years ago. Like if she shared any parts of them to comment (she wouldn’t post my name or ridicule me, she’s not like that, but she may just to critique or share her thoughts on them, I’m still embarrassed and slightly more than I have been the last ten years now that I been thinking of her more lol).
Would I love to have her as my friend? Yes!! But I am completely ok loving her at a distance and accepting she was never going to be mine. I can’t say I’m 100% over it or healed, it may be one of those things that leaves a light scar forever, but a scar that is completely ok and just part of who we are.
I will probably always wonder, though the question doesn’t plague me like it did back then, why she rejected me to the point of ghosting/unfriending instead of ignoring my messages but staying social media friends. I understand not wanting to respond, maybe she felt awkward telling me she’s not interested in me. I understand if she did not want a close relationship with me. Not everyone is emotionally attracted to everyone in a way that makes them want that level of closeness with someone. Not everyone wants to be personal, active friends with everyone even in a way that isn’t close. There are people I like but am not interested in being friends with them but wouldn’t mind having them as online friends and definitely people I like but not in a way I want to be super close, emotionally. But to this day I do wonder why she did not even like me seeing as how so very similar we always were. And she had no problem with me in the first place. She never showed much interest in me, but she kept me around. Until the love confession. I never explicitly asked her to be anything to me. I came to the conclusion years ago that I must have come on too strongly, we were barely even acquaintances, she never even showed the slightest interest in me, never initiated communication with me, and I’m gushing all over the place about how much I love & have always loved her, how great we could be together, and sharing my entire life story in paragraphs & paragraphs. Lol Maybe it was too much, maybe she was creeped out. Who knows? And it’s mostly to the point where I can even say who cares. But I probably always will wonder why, maybe even wonder with a pang.
Just another random pic of me lol I like to add a few photos to my posts โฅ๏ธ This sweater is SO comfy & warm & soft, I love it!! The leggings are too, they have fake fur inside them.
I don’t currently have close friends. And that brings me so much pain & loneliness off & on. I am happy I have a group I occasionally meet up with and have fun with hanging out. But I haven’t made any deep connections yet since my college friends and me drifted apart (their choice, not mine) some years ago. It’s important to have deep friendship (for the average person, some don’t need it), especially with depression. I know the pain of that lack, so I’m so glad that she has that.
I am just so happy!! I am so happy that she is so great and surrounded by so much love and is fulfilled in life. I couldn’t ask for a better gift to me today.
Not only am I happy for her, it gives me hope for others in a dark place. What an inspiration! To see how she was able to turn her whole life around.
And omg, she’s so lovely!! โฅ๏ธโฅ๏ธโฅ๏ธ I’m so happy I got to see what she looks like now. So intoxicating. Gave me a big energy boost. Dopamine, adrenaline, serotonin or whatever lol
She looks similar to Tina Fey (people have always told her this, and I do see the resemblance). She has the sexy librarian, smart girl look. She still wears the same glasses that I have always thought she looked so adorable in!
Tina Fey โฅ๏ธTina Fey
Just for some eye candy and an idea of what she looks like, here’s Tina Fey lol
Here is my post this current post is referring to. It’s super long!!
The Harvest, fiction supernatural thriller by Sara Clancy – I got it for free on Amazon Kindle
Oh Billie it’s fresh in my memory The night that it had to be done You with your pick axe and scissors And you with your shovel and gu n
And I liked your late husband Donald But such torture his memory brings All sliced up and sealed tight in baggies Guess love makes you do funny things
Oh Billie oh Millie, criminally insane
Content warning โ ๏ธ: mental health/brief mention of a*use – any censored words is in case I share on FB where we can get suspended
I have a history of voluntary & involuntary psychiatric hospitalizations (for depression – haven’t been hospitalized in 15+ years). The hospital I was in, (I don’t remember the name, but they sent me outside of Philadelphia, I had no say in the matter), had a section for the “criminally insane” (I don’t know if that’s true for all psychiatric hospitals or whatever those hospitals are called these days, also don’t know exactly what constitutes “criminally insane.” {nor do I care, I see lots of boring debate over it in legal & medical contexts, I just have firsthand experience being hospitalized with them, but I don’t know all that legal/psych stuff, all I know is they were extremely dangerous to others, and we were not, though some of us were h0micidal too but in a less “insane” kind of way, not me, I was only ever s*icidal, but one of my roommates was h0micidal against everyone when she would have fits of uncontrollable rage, she was the sweetest thing, small pretty blonde girl who I wished was my friend outside the hospital, we planned to meet up when we got out of there, but it never happened, unfortunately. She was my bff in there, we were inseparable. The staff used to say our friendship was so sweet & cute. We just clicked and even unexpectedly had matching pj’s, which made us & the staff laugh! She had pretty pastel pink ones with penguins, and I had the same but pastel blue. We did everything together in there. If we got assigned to a different activity, we would ask special permission to switch so we could stay together, they let us. The staff said it was good for us that we developed a bond like that and said we were attached at the hip. Everyone called us the prettiest girls in there and said we looked exactly alike, except she had blonde hair and was a bit taller and thinner than me and a few years younger, her hair was long, but mine was longer, nearly long enough to sit on. It touched the floor when I sat on it or when I laid in bed and tossed it over the side. They called us twins and sometimes even got us confused. Sometimes people would stop and do a double take when they saw us standing together because of how much we looked alike. Other patients constantly asked if we were sisters. I actually did not see the resemblance. I thought she was prettier than me but not in a self deprecating way. I thought I was pretty too. But she was striking in a way that isn’t normal. She looked like a model out of a Victoria’s Secret magazine. She also dressed like me. I was told to change when I walked out of our room in a belly shirt and low cut pants. So she had to call her mom and ask for more appropriate clothes because she had the same.
She wasn’t declared criminally insane but was prone to depression & random v!0lent outbursts where she wanted to k!ll anyone who was around her, including herself. In her normal state, she was quiet, calm, soft spoken, like me, and she had compassion for others. When she came out of her episodes, she was horrified at the things she said and her outbursts & threats against others. She experienced an unwanted pregnancy and had an abortion, and her boyfriend accused her of cheating because he said men everywhere come onto her, like that was her fault, and the stress of it all triggered a depressive episode for her. She said with her mental illness she wasn’t fit to be a mom or even carry a baby to term, so she terminated it. I was in there for a depressive episode that came on out of the blue, not triggered by any current life circumstances. She got released before me. We weren’t allowed to touch, it was against the rules. But we hugged goodbye anyway and were so sad to leave each other. After living together, even just very briefly, and sharing our deepest pain and laughing hysterically together all night, planning our escape, it felt like she was my family, like a long lost sister. We only knew each other very briefly, but I already loved her in a deep sisterly way. Sometimes we forgot where we were when we were laughing so hard together. We would paint pretty pictures together and hang them around our hospital room. I was grieving hard because before her, I had another sweet roommate who I loved and clicked with, sweet Holly, a girl suffering of paranoid schizophrenia, who got transferred to a different ward. They took her away and sent me Missy (her name wasn’t Missy, exactly, but it was a nickname I affectionately gave her, which she adored), a depressed girl, who I came to love just as much. I still remember her like it was yesterday. I don’t know that I would recognize her though if I ever saw her again all these years later. I’m still glad our paths crossed. Our very fleeting friendship still warms me, and the memories bring me joy. I hope to have a girl friendship like that again someday under better circumstances, of course lol and more long-term}).
The criminally insane were in a different part, but we would have food with them in the cafeteria each day, three times a day. I remember one of my hospital friends asking a staff member who they were. We could tell they were different than us. They had a different air about them that was abnormal even for a psych hospital. Most would probably see them as more intimidating. They never scared me, but I could tell they weren’t to be messed with, and you probably wouldn’t want to turn your back on them unsupervised. Most of them were men/male presenting people. But there were women/fem presenting people among them also. They had shackles and more strict supervision. They weren’t allowed to roam the halls or the courtyards or socialize like us. We mostly only crossed paths with them in the cafeteria.
The psych. tech responded “The criminally insane” when my friend asked who they were across the cafeteria.
They would all eat their food on the other side of the cafeteria. Unlike the average or “regular” mentally ill person (or whatever we’re called these days lol I’m sure there’s a more “politically correct”/less offensive term for us), they were very dangerous. They would have v!olent outbursts against each other and staff. They couldn’t really do as much with their hands/legs, so they would try to charge at people and knock people with their heads. Lol They would jump up yelling and flip chairs and try flipping tables. The staff people would come up in back of them trying to restrain them, and they would headbutt them with the back of their heads. There was never a dull moment in the cafeteria.
It’s true, like the excerpt above says, it would be all quiet & calm then all of a sudden, all hell breaks loose for seemingly no reason. And they would set each other off. One would flip out then others would be triggered. They would try to att@ck whoever was there. Sometimes they were so v!olent and uncontrollable, they would have to be taken away to a different facility. Multiple staff members would be dragging them away as they kicked and screamed hysterically until they got the needle (this happened to us too though, we would get the needle or the quiet room for flipping out, the quiet room terrified me, I avoided it at all costs {solitary confinement, a wh!te padded room with no handle on the door n no windows, I have lifelong claustrophobia, which was very active back then}, I would take the needle any day).
It’s not like in the movies where they all have this camaraderie and plan their escape and all together and it’s them against the world. They try to k!ll each other just like they would anyone else. Those b-grade horror movies (which I love) portray the criminally insane as all buddy buddy with each other. They definitely aren’t. They probably don’t even have that capacity. If they did, they wouldn’t be how they are. (I’m guessing not all “criminally insane” people are the same, some aren’t this v!olent, I’m sure, and not all are v!olent against random people, but these people were, some may even be able to live normal lives if they get help, movies generally make mentally ill/criminally insane people out to be more dramatic than we really are because it makes for a more interesting movie. But there are definitely outbursts n stuff in psych hospitals and people who are overall dangerous– I wish there was a better way I knew how to write this, it comes off with a very strong sense of otheringthe criminally insaneon my part, but not intentionally, it’s kind of cringey of me)
The “regular” mentally ill people had outbursts too each day, but not the same as them, ours was more like breakdowns and usually not against anyone. Theirs was against others and furious/more physical. The ordinary patients could definitely be v!olent against others too, usually the staff because the staff has authority, but usually not, and not like the criminally insane.
It’s easy to judge criminally insane people, but I feel sorry for them because I know ultimately they wouldn’t have chosen this life, this way of being, if they had a choice before coming into existence. As v!olent and terrible as they are or seem, even if it gives them a twisted satisfaction to hurt others, if they were asked before they were born if they wanted to live that kind of life or a life as a good person surrounded in love and being loving to others, most, if not all, would choose the life of love, not v!olence. Multiple factors, often beyond their control, all added up (a very large contributing factor usually being a*use or being unloved as a child) to make them this way.With that perspective, I can’t help but have compassion. They don’t want it any more than I do. It’s just I got lucky to have better circumstances, better upbringing, better genes…I lack all the contributing factors that they have the misfortune of falling victim to. It’s easy to sit here in my privilege and judge. But I rise above and expand my perspective and lean into my compassion.
Plastic forks and spoons No laces in my shoes They all know what I tried to do Outside the Quiet Room This quiet place It ain’t so new to me Its haunted atmosphere Has heard so many scream My home from home My twilight zone My strangest dream My confidant I have confessed my life The Quiet Room Knows more about me than my wife
This yellow text in the supernatural thriller I’m reading made me think of my own experience. I kind of miss those days Lol (I checked the copyright, ยฉ๏ธ, the author gives permission to share short excerpts)
Thank you for any comments & likes I have received on other posts! I will get back to them! I am in the process of donating a kidney to a stranger! I received the news recently that I am pretty much qualified after six months of medical & psychiatric testing! I’m in above average physical health, but the social worker, who is a member of the transplant team/selection committee, is concerned about my mental health history. Anesthesia/major surgery can trigger a depressive episode even in a person without a depression history. So I’m at an elevated risk. I have to have another psych evaluation before I can be accepted to donate my kidney. If all goes well, I get to save a stranger’s life! ๐The transplant could be as soon as September this year!!
I hope you are having beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are!
If you could read my mind, love What a tale my thoughts could tell Just like an old time movie ‘Bout a ghost from a wishing well In a castle dark or a fortress strong With chains upon my feet But stories always end And if you read between the lines You’ll know that I’m just trying to understand The feelings that you lack
content warning โ ๏ธ brief mention of s*icidal inclination
Something reminded me of this experience of mine recently, but I can’t remember what. But it inspired me to share. I don’t regret it as I don’t believe it was really my fault. But I do admit it was wrong or at least that my actions brought an innocent person deep pain & confusion. Or I guess it was my fault to an extent, but I truly did not get it or know any better back then.
One thing it seems no one ever talks about is how hearing
“I’m in love with you”
Can be just as painful as
“I want to be just friends.”
This is because “I’m in love with you” often entails the end of or end as we know it of a truly cherished platonic friendship. Or it can seem to imply that friendship or platonic love is not good enough. This can be particularly painful to those who cannot experience romantic love.
When romantic feelings get involved and only one feels that way, it often complicates the friendship. It doesn’t necessarily have to. But in many cases it does. It seems this is particularly true when it’s a woman and man. It’s different when it’s just attraction. But when it’s real romantic feels, it can be challenging for someone who feels them to remain friends with a person who doesn’t return them. I did not understand that. I knew it because of what I have always heard but could never grasp it. I thought it was selfish and always entitled and invalidating. Sometimes I still struggle with this but am more understanding than I was before.
I remember hearing those words and feeling my heart sink so deeply into my abdomen. It was like a punch in the gut then a sinking feeling.
“I’m in love with you.”
The words I never wanted to hear.
When I was around 21 years old, I met a young man around my age. It was one of those cases where we instantly clicked as if we have known each other forever. The moment we met was like a feeling of home or familiarity. It was a “soulmate” connection. I thought of him as my platonic soulmate. It was a beautiful blossoming friendship that just kept getting stronger. One of our first experiences together was deep bellylaughing in a line at a cafe waiting for coffee. And still laughing as we were walking out almost spitting out our coffee. He was telling me something about his roommate “falling on her butt” when there was a fire in their apartment (no one was hurt, thankfully). He had a way of making everything funny. I still remember that conversation today and remember how that was the beginning of our friendship when I realized I found a keeper and thought for sure we would be lifelong friends. It still can make me laugh.
I still remember him holding his gut keeling over in that cafe, through fits of laughter “and” (hysterical laughter) “she, she” (laughing uncontrollably) “fell” (trying to talk but laughing too much) “right on her butt!” I thought he was going to fall to the floor laughing. I was laughing so much I couldn’t talk. This made him laugh even harder as we walked out the door with our iced coffees. His poor roommate. Lol
He was truly hilarious, and my sense of humor was so compatible with his. He would make me laugh so hard then my bellylaughing would make him laugh even more, and we would both be in the throes of hysterical uncontrollable laughter everywhere we went together. We got each other’s jokes and just had so much fun together.
We would give each other hugs & laugh together hysterically. One of the main things we connected through was our sense of humor. When I think back to the people I have connected most with in life and have felt the closest to, sense of humor is usually one of the things we have had in common. I love lighthearted people and those I can bellylaugh with over the most trivial things.
He was HILARIOUS, silly, playful, kind, no red flags of any kind. Definitely one of the good ones. We began hanging out together frequently. We attended the same university and would meet up during class breaks. Sometimes he would sit in lectures with me when he had a break just to be in my company. He would come to my workplace after work to hang out. We became inseparable. We would have lunch together and walk around campus talking and checking out different events together. He made it a point to support and become interested in the things I loved. I was a big advocate for LGBTQ community. He would attend the events with me to show his support. One day he showed up to meet me wearing a T-shirt with a big rainbow flag! I was so heartwarmed. Even today that warms my heart. He wasn’t one of those heterosexual men who cared if people mistook him for gay. He became involved with our LGBTQ group where I was the representative on the allocations committee and began volunteering at our events. He wasn’t just pretending to like the things I did. He was truly making an effort to show he cared and develop similar interests so we could relate. I understand that now.
He was like the brother I never had. I loved him.
The only problem is, unbeknownst to me, he certainly did not think of me as a sister. He liked me in that other kind of way. I had no clue. I thought we had this beautiful platonic friendship that was getting stronger. His feelings were definitely getting stronger. But they weren’t the feelings I had.
One day we discovered my closest friend back then was an acquaintance of his. My close friend and me were walking together and ran into my newer friend. He yelled to me “You know my friend M?!?!” We all knew each other and shared a group hug. It’s a sweet memory even though my friendship with both of them eventually ended not on good terms (and their friendship with each other ended too), one after about a year and the other after around fifteen years. I still grieve because at one point the love & friendship we all shared was real, and we were all genuinely good people. It wasn’t a case of fake friends or fake people or backstabbers or anything like that. Sometimes, unfortunately, true love or true friendship can end, fizzle out, people can change or outgrow each other and just go their separate ways. But that doesn’t have to taint the sweet memories of what was.
I don’t remember how long exactly my new friend and me were friends for before it ended painfully. But I think it was around a year.
One day our mutual friend walked up to me, and he handed me a handful of something and said “Here are some condoms so you and C can f*ck.” (C is his first initial as I don’t want to say his whole name!) I dropped them back into his hand.
“What the…WHAT?!” Was my reaction. He said “Yeah, C wants to f you, and he’s going to tell you tonight.”
News to me.
I was confused and then shocked and then this other emotion that is less than devastated but beyond disappointed. He wants to WHAT?!
It isn’t like that. Or….is it? Surely it’s not like that. He’s a good friend. I thought he loved me like I love him. We have this special bond, this beautiful friendship. We connect and laugh together and have true love for each other. It can’t be like THAT.
But it was true. It was like that.
C walked up to me that evening and broke the news.
But it was way worse than just wanting to f me. He had actual feels. You know the ones.
He was trembly and extremely anxious like I have never seen him before. He was typically a very laid back, calm person like me. He was a clown, not very serious. So it was unusual to see him like this. He kept rubbing his hands over the back of his head and down his face, looking at the ground, shifting his weight to each foot. He looked clammy and pale. Then he looked right at me. He had something to tell me.
“I’m in love with you.”
Oh, gross!
He wasn’t joking. I could tell. He often “joked” that he had a crush on me. I guess it wasn’t a joke. I have had man friends (and boy ones when I was a girl) all life long who “caught feels,” which eventually ended our friendship (it doesn’t necessarily have to, but in my experience it always has). So I knew where this was going. He was good at covering it up for so long, but it was finally coming out.
Now the devastation sank in. I shook my head no, what seemed like over and over and took a step back. I was grossed out. The thought of it being like that. I told him I had to leave. It was gutwrenching. I felt like our beautiful friendship and his love for me was all one big lie.
It was only romantic.
I thought we were soulmates. But it’s only romantic. I felt like it was a big downgrade.
I felt like he was using me for romance. He did not ever try to get in my pants. He wasn’t sleezy or entitled like many men. He wasn’t trying to get a quick lay. He did not want me only for my body.. But I still felt used.
For context. I am an aromantic woman. I have never been in love, never been on a date. I am single & celibate since birth. I have never had a kiss. I have no desire. I was born this way.
I realized that I have a little bit of post traumatic stress about growing up this way. It was difficult, so difficult. It was constant pretending to be normal but not even understanding what that normal is. Trying to go with the flow and mold myself into something I never understood, just caught glimpses of here & there, heard references and understood vaguely, enough to latch onto and appear normal to a point. But people always sensed something was off about me. I think like me, they just couldn’t quite put their finger on it. But they knew something. Sometimes I was called a prude, innocent, spinster material. Lesbian?
I’m no longer anxious and mortified. In fact I’m very ready to tell people about my asexuality. But whenever a conversation in person or on tv begins to turn to the topic of dating and sexuality (been watching the old TV show “ER” again and recently felt this when they were sitting around asking each other what age they lost their virginity, I felt my body reliving old trauma & pain), I have a physical feeling. The same old physical feeling I always got when that happened. Body tenses, heart races, mouth dries. I feel threatened. Fearful. Back then I knew I would either have to make up a lie and lose part of myself and feel empty inside or tell the truth and be mortified, maybe even face ridicule and being the laughingstock, which has happened. In most cases I told a lie. The lies were getting out of hand. It was hard to keep track of what I was telling who. Once in college I made the mistake of telling one friend I had sexual experience, that I gave a boy a handjob & a blowjob in a school closet. Then another day a while later I told a mutual friend I had no experience but wanted to. Both were lies. I had no experience and wanted none, but I wanted to be seen as normal. I realized my mistake and lived with the anxiety that they would talk to each other about me and realize, probably figuring out I had no experience and wondering why at 20 something years old I never even been kissed. I had no idea myself. I never wanted to kiss anyone. Never felt that pull. But I had no idea how to articulate that or what it meant. And the thought was just too mortifying to entertain. I couldn’t keep track of my lies anymore. The lies weren’t for thrill but to protect me. I had neighbors who picked up on it and told my mom and sister and me that I was on my way to being an old spinster, I always heard people ridiculing and pitying friends or family members of theirs who haven’t been getting any or worse never have in the first place and judging & ridiculing religious abstinent or celibate people, calling them pathetic, boring, unfulfilled. I have even heard people who said they were done with dating and sexuality but still glad for the experience they did have, ridiculing and feeling sorry for those who never have. It was my deepest darkest secret.My asexuality that has been with me & haunted me since birth. My body relives the trauma of the threat of ridicule.
Growing up asexual in a s*x/romance crazed society has brought me nothing but pain, embarrassment, fear…I would never change my asexuality even if I could. But there has been nothing easy about it except not getting sti’s and pregnancy scares. And I guess not getting into trouble/making d*mb decisions based on attraction. It has always brought me such deep pain knowing I can never be truly loved because romantic love is considered the best love, and I cannot love someone back that way so they will move onto someone who can. I can only experience “second best” love and have “second best” relationships.
When I got to be over thirty years old and still did not understand what a crush is and what horny is even when I looked it up online, my s*icidal thoughts and urges began to become stronger. It got to the point where I knew I was going to have to end it because I thought I was the only one like this, and I couldn’t keep up with the facade any longer. I just couldn’t. It was too empty feeling and too fake. I was afraid people would eventually catch on, probe too deeply and find out, put it all together once & for all and realize I’m this. But what this is, I couldn’t quite say. But I was still afraid they would know and that I would be the freak of the world. Until one day I got up the courage to explore my own identity and understand me and that there is a word for what I am, and there are more like me. Asexuality is a spectrum, and I am hardcore thoroughly ace. Some do have those feelings just rarely. I have them never, no sexual attraction, no sexual desire, no sexual interest. No trauma or illness. Born like this. I can remember hints of it even in elementary school. I remember my little friends at five years old asking me when I want to get married and me thinking “Ugh! Never!” One day my 5th grade teacher explained sexual activity to us (we had parental consent), and she told us one day we would all want to do that with someone. I remember thinking “Ugh! Never!” Other girls and boys were giggling and saying they couldn’t wait. I refused the hpv vaccine at twenty years old (I wouldn’t now because it wouldn’t hurt to have, I totally don’t recommend refusing it, I actually regret it because while I won’t ever be sexual, I do have a body that technically can get hpv, and hpv can result in cancer, it’s rare this way, but even sharing a towel can transmit it) because I knew I would never be sexual so wouldn’t get hpv. I remember the doctor asking if I want it in case I become sexually active (she knew I wasn’t yet, but I never told her I don’t have those feelings, I was too mortified to tell anyone and did not even know how to put it into words), and I remember thinking “Ugh! Never!” Just like at ten years old. At thirty years old, I was still thinking “Ugh! Never!” And now at 37 years old, still the same.
I do not know what romantic feelings feel like. Let’s just say for simplicity’s sake that I only experience one kind of love or love everyone the same way, just some more than others (I have homoromantic leanings, I can be especially close to other women, emotionally in a way that is akin to romantic but isn’t). I have never experienced a crush and only understand it as a concept. I don’t get butterflies or feel that rollercoaster feel or chemical surge that the romantics speak of. I don’t pace floors waiting for my love to call (though I can certainly light up upon seeing the name of someone I adore on my notifications and can’t wait to see them again, I can get giddy) or go insane if I love someone and don’t see them for a while. I don’t experience new relationship energy/infatuation and have never wanted to “build a life” with anyone or live with anyone as a couple. I never wanted to date anyone I ever knew or looked at. I went to high school Prom alone and danced with friends. No interest in having a date. When I was a little girl, my Barbie & Ken dolls were sister & brother. I loved playing baby dolls. I played with boys & girls. The girls would always pair off with a little boy to be Mommy & Daddy, wife & husband. I would think of the boys as my brothers and my baby dolls’ uncles. I was a single mom to my baby dolls. I always imagined growing up and living with a girl bff or a gay man as my roommate. I imagined us having separate bedrooms and sometimes having sleepovers in each other’s rooms, watching movies, eating snacks, painting each other’s nails and doing each other’s hair and makeup, them bringing their romantic interest over sometimes and all hanging out together. It never occurred to me to grow up and live with a life partner. When I tried to imagine it, I would always imagine it with a man, and that felt so unnatural. Now that I understand my identity, I can imagine having a woman as a life partner but without any sexual aspect and no romantic feels on my part. I’m very loving and can return affection.
I knew I am different even then but couldn’t say how. In romantic movies, I thought it was a downgrade when two friends fell in love. I never dreamed of my wedding day, and romantic love songs always made me think of people I love platonically. “My Endless Love” makes me think of my pets ๐
While I have always thought romantic love looks beautiful, I still saw it as inferior to platonic and found it offensive when men friends liked me that way. I wondered why people cry over romantic breakups. It’s just romantic. That’s all. I did not understand even at 30+ years old. No one explains it because everyone thinks we all feel it and know. I knew something, just not what.
Because I never experienced romantic love, I never fully understood how beautiful it is to those who do and how very painful it is to lose or be rejected that way. I always wondered what all the fuss was about. I knew I don’t experience it, but I did not consciously know or know how to articulate it.
I have never had low self esteem. But even as a little girl I knew I could never be fully or truly loved. Because I cannot experience the love that everyone else can and that society says is the best kind of love. I have struggled hard with feelings of inadequacy as a human and as a woman knowing I cannot feel what everyone says is the best feeling in the world. It is a painful struggle sometimes to know that I lack these feelings that society places so so much emphasis and importance on. The lack itself does not hurt me. While I’m curious what it must feel like, I don’t particularly wish to experience it. But society’s invalidation and sometimes just being so different in that way, does bring pain. It also brings pain knowing I likely cannot have my special person as I lack sexual inclination, which is important to most.
I can love deeply, and I have longed to be someone’s everything and someone to be mine. But it cannot be romantic/sexual. I have been pained to know that I likely will never have the importance to anyone that a romantic partner holds. It’s something I generally have learned to live with. But it flares up and crushes me on occasion. Some aromantic people are ok with this. I admit though I am not quite there yet. I do want to be someone’s everything. I want to be someone’s person, the first one someone calls when they have happy or sad news, someone to do life with, though not as a couple, someone to hug in a way we only hug each other, I want good morning beautiful, and good night love, texts sent to each other (I can only have this with another woman though, I only have that inclination for women). But I am aromantic and asexual (they are not the same thing, I’m both though), and most people will never value me the way they value a romantic partner/s. It’s possible, just not likely. That brings me pain.
When C told me he was in love with me, I knew what that meant. It was over. Our friendship was over. A friendship I cherished.
He sent me a long e-mail that night telling me everything he loved about me, my smile, my laugh, my sense of humor, my compassion and playfulness, the way my eyes light up when I speak of my passions. He called me beautiful inside and out and told me what an amazing woman I am who anyone would be lucky to know. And many more things on his list of amazing things about Kim. The truth is, it grossed me out so much. It repulsed me. I just couldn’t. I couldn’t see him that way. I saw him as brother, friend, platonic soulmate. I couldn’t imagine that kind of emotional intimacy with or investment in a man (I can experience some kind of emotional and non sexual but sensual attraction to some women/women aligned people that I can’t to men, but not romantic) or his hands on me the way I imagined he wanted. It grossed me out. I ignored his e-mail.
The next day I was having lunch alone at our favorite place on campus when he walked in and saw me. He walked over to me looking emotionally hurt. I felt disgust. I shook my head to express that. He sat at the table with me, and I saw that doughy romantic look in his eyes, and it disgusted me even more. I was angry. I felt betrayed and used. He asked me if I hated him. I just scoffed and got up and walked away.
He yelled after me “You hate me, don’t you?” I heard the desperation and pain in his voice. I did not care. I saw him as a traitor. Just like every other heterosexual man I have had a friendship with.
We never spoke again.
I would see him around campus, our eyes would meet, I would see the hurt and confusion in his. And I would look away and go about my day.
I was grieving too. I told all my friends and coworkers that he was a terrible friend who was using me for romantic purposes and was pretending to be my friend all along. I wasn’t lying, this is how my inexperienced and young brain interpreted it. My friends basically thought he was one of those a-holes just trying to get in my pants and was trying to manipulate me. They loathed his guts on my behalf. One day when one of my friends saw him on campus, she flipped him off. She told me later. Another day I got to work and one of the girls I worked with said “That pr!ck came by looking for you yesterday, I sure told him off, the creep.” My other friend wanted to punch him. My neighbor’s boyfriend and her ex boyfriend threatened to kick his @$$ when they saw him near my house. The fact that he was coming to my work and house and trying to contact me seems stalkerish when viewed through the lens of the picture I painted of him. But we were good friends, and I never gave him closure or verbally told him to stay away. Though my actions clearly did. But he probably thought our friendship was strong enough that it was ok, it wasn’t like he was just some creep I was dating or whatever. We had a solid relationship for a while, just weren’t on the same page.
He’s everything you want
He’s everything you need
He’s everything inside of you that you wish you could be
He says all the right things at exactly the right time
But he means nothing to you
And you don’t know why
He was probably so confused. Because he did nothing wrong. But I did not realize that. I made him out to be a creep. I thought he was. I thought that romantic/sexual love is inferior and that he liked me in some shallow way that would benefit only him when I loved him in the real way. The platonic way. The genuine way. My love was real. His was only romantic. And there was something carnal about it that grossed me out, something I did not understand then but understand now as sexual attraction, which usually accompanies romantic love.
I was a 21 year old aromantic asexual girl who did not yet understand my own identity or sexuality as a whole.
Was I wrong for how I acted?
Yes, it was a big @$$hole move for sure. It was. It was immature and whatever else. But my youth along with my genuine lack of understanding of how sexuality works as someone who was born without one, I truly felt used, lied to. I likened him to those men who truly do try tricking a woman just to get in her pants. But I understand now he wasn’t. He was just a boy who fell for a confused girl who couldn’t love him back that way. We both did not understand. I did not understand my fullblown asexuality, which in my case includes aromanticism. I have no sexual feelings at all or romantic ones. I can only imagine what they must feel like. I always felt the lack but could never explain and was too mortified at being different to try.
At the risk of this sounding like a humblebrag, men have always fallen for me, and it has brought me pain. Even in a group of girl friends/coworkers where some liked a man friend, the man would always go for me. I saw this as them loving the other girls more. Platonically. While they only liked me romantically. Why was I only worthy of romantic feelings while the other girls were seen as sisters? Sometimes it was hard not to feel so low. Like why I’m only good enough for romance but other girls are valued as cherished friends. Even now as I remember that pain, my body recoils. It tenses. It feels physical pain. But I understand better now, intellectually, that romantic isn’t necessarily less, just different. Sometimes I have to remind myself.
It wasn’t until somewhat recently at 30 something years old that I began to understand some things better after a couple conversations with my mom and sister and an online friend who explained to me when I was complaining that when a person becomes very emotionally close to someone they can be attracted to, they will very likely catch feels and that it’s not their fault and explained some other things that it all just clicked, and I felt like a total @$$ for not understanding all along. I was embarrassed to not have understood something so basic and nearly universal. But I was born this way with no firsthand experience to reference to understand all the things I hear/witness around me. And sexual education is a joke. When we don’t grow up heterosexual, we can be totally lost and even if we do grow up heterosexual we can be lost as sexual education often is inadequate even for heterosexual youth.
Society values romantic/sexual relationships and love way more than platonic.
But platonic love is love too. And we (anyone, not just aromantic people) can grieve hard over the loss of a friendship. To many strictly aromantic people, platonic love/relationships is all we have, all we are capable of, so where all our attention goes, so it may hit especially hard to lose a close friendship. It’s not overshadowed by romantic feelings or longing for a typical romantic relationship (many want a close relationship, often a platonic best friend).
Even today I am thankful for our friendship even though it ended. I still cherish the memories, especially the bellylaughs. I love knowing a connection like that exists. I just love having that experience.
I can totally be friends with a man who likes me like that as long as he knows how to act and now that I understand sexuality better and my own identity. I understand now that romantic love isn’t less than or shallow, I just don’t experience it.
This title is not completely accurate as I totally can love. But in terms of romantic it’s true. This is the title of a story about another aromantic girl that someone else wrote. I stole the title. Lol
In case anyone doesn’t know, aromanticism and asexuality are identities, not disorders. Those of us who are this way are born this way usually. We grow up not understanding what is driving everyone else to want to date, kiss, do sexual things, get married, everything associated with sexuality. When everyone around us develops serious romantic & sexual feelings, we just never do. Some of us wait and wait and it just never happens. Others of us don’t know what to think and don’t know what is going or not going on with us. Some of us confuse other feelings for sexual/romantic then years later realize all along it wasn’t romantic/sexual. I always felt like I could be a gay girl but that something crucial to being gay was missing so knew I’m not fully gay. I could very much identify with gay women but not enough to feel that the term “lesbian” is applicable. I identified as hetero since society gave me that label. But it always felt off and wrong. At 30 something years old, I discovered the truth. It was liberating but also made the unpleasant feelings more defined, knowing it’s a real thing and has a name and basically set in stone.
random pic of me recently! โค๏ธ
This experience is just one of quite a few that I’m thankful to have experienced even though it’s not all pleasant.
just a random great song lol โค๏ธ
I hope you are having a beautiful day & night wherever you are! โฅ๏ธ
Never underestimate the difference YOU can make in the lives of others. Step forward, reach out and help. This week reach to someone that might need a lift โค๏ธ
I’m inspired to share my experience of a very brief but sweet friendship that took place nearly 20 years ago.
What inspires me to share this is a comment in a somewhat recent social media thread I saw. Someone said if a very young couple is happily married or in a romantic relationship for only a couple years and one of them dies, the other will eventually forget about them by middle or old age and hardly be able to remember them and lose all feelings for them, and it will be like it never happened. I don’t know if it’s that person’s actual experience or just an assumption. Recently I saw another comment similar to that sentiment about how relationships lasting of a short duration don’t ultimately matter. For some reason that brought me pain even though I have never experienced this myself. I just found it sad that someone can be so easily forgotten, especially someone who at one point was so much a significant part of someone’s life. At one point they were each other’s everything and now it’s like that person and that love never even existed?
And I realized it’s not true, at least not for everyone. Even a very fleeting relationship, romantic or other, can have an everlasting impact or inspire lifelong memories.
When I was eighteen years old I met another eighteen year old girl named Asheen. We had a college class together. We were both quiet girls. She sat in the back of the class, and I sat in the front. One day after a class ended, she walked up to me and asked me if I wanted to have lunch with her. I said yes and was very happy for the invitation. I was very shy but very social and always up for having a new friend. I currently had no friends except high school friends who I rarely saw or talked to after graduation and a couple acquaintances I met over the Summer but did not see them often after Summer ended. It wasn’t enough socialization for me.
She bought me lunch that day. We chatted for a while, and she told me about her religion and beliefs. She was a Muslim girl who wore a burqa. I never saw her without it. She was born in Syria, and her family moved to the U.S when she was younger. She had no problems with people of other faiths or no faith at all. She told me homosexuality was against her religion, but she personally had nothing against it. After that, she would frequently surprise me with lunch that she would buy me. It would make me laugh because she was not permitted to eat certain food and would always adhere to her religion and her family’s wishes, but she would buy me the food that she wouldn’t eat. She would say “I can’t eat this because of my religion, but you can.” We would both laugh at it. I loved how she was so religious but so laid back. She never judged anyone or anything even though she took her religion seriously for herself.
We connected over the fact that at 18 years old we both never been on a date or kissed a boy. In her case it was because of her religion, in my case it was because I secretly never liked boys like that. I was usually so embarrassed to tell people I never been kissed or been on a date. Most people I lied to about it and said I did have experience with boys. But with her, I felt I could tell her anything. She was a safespace. I did not tell her I never even like boys, just that, like her, I had no experience. She did not judge, feel shocked, or require an explanation like many/most people when finding out someone has little to no dating experience.
The thing we connected most through was our sense of humor. We could just laugh and laugh at everything and nothing.
Everyday we would talk and have lunch together and laugh together. She was my only consistent friend.
The memory I love most is one day when we were walking up a street together laughing hysterically, belly laughs so deep we could hardly talk. It was the kind of laughter and joy and silliness only an 18 year old or someone in that age bracket can experience. That’s not to say older people can’t laugh hysterically and be joyful and silly. I’m still like this today! But it’s different when you’re eighteen years old. I can tap into that memory and feel it still.
After that college semester, Asheen transferred to a different university, and we lost touch.
Our friendship was very brief, but I remember it vividly. I probably wouldn’t recognize her today if I saw her. But I remember her well back then.
My friendship with Asheen reminds me that out of the blue when we need it most, someone can reach out to touch us for the better. It reminds me that someone can be thinking of us and we don’t even know it. And it just gives me the gift of sweet memories to always cherish and smile at. In general I don’t think of Asheen or our old friendship very often. But when I do remember, it fills me with warmth. Sometimes I even miss her and having a friend like that. We were so different in our upbringing and culture and beliefs, but at our core we were so similar, and the differences only made our friendship unique not challenging.
Even a brief relationship at a young age with someone we never see again can have a lifelong impact. There may be someone you touched for the better many years ago sitting here today remembering how your made their life better even in just the briefest encounter.
If you have an experience with a brief relationship many years ago that still has a positive impact today, please share!
Sending love to all and hope you are having a beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are
I don’t want some pretty face to tell me pretty lies ๐ค
Trigger warning: โ ๏ธ body image/mental health/s*icidal ideation…nothing very graphic, just briefly mentioned, that’s not what this post is about, there is quite a bit about body image/talk though that could be very triggering to some, I would suggest not reading it if you’re someone with serious body image issues because it’s nothing positive or inspiring and is not even my experience, just me mentioning someone else’s experience with it
Censored words are in case I share on FB where we can get our accounts suspended or because the words can be triggering for someone with trauma history.
If I could go back, do it again, I’d be someone you could call friend, please, please believe that I’m sorry. ๐ค
It’s a confession session!
This is one of the more unpleasant things about me most people don’t know about. I am APPALLED with myself for this.
I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I feel I want to put it “out there” for some sense of something, not sure if it’s to cleanse my conscience or whatever. Lol It is something that nags me on occasion. It’s something that was wrong on so many levels or in so many aspects. It’s something that I wish never happened and I feel guilty about when I think of it. It’s only when I think of it, not a general thing, and I don’t think of it a lot. But unfortunately I still have much of this fake relationship in writing online. I haven’t looked at our conversations for years after we ended our friendship and rarely thought about it. But one day a few years ago, I went back and skimmed through our old conversations and was APPALLED with myself. There have been occasions shortly after I revisited our conversations where it kept me up all night. After this, this experience has stuck with me and resurfaces in my mind now & again. I forgot so much of what I did til I read our messages. I cringe so hard.
Once something is out there, it’s out there. I wish I could delete the whole thing, the whole relationship and all evidence of it, not because it’s unpleasant or unkind or whatever but because it’s so fake and was never real. I don’t mind that my cruel messages are still out there because I felt that all sincerely when I wrote and sent it. The cruelty was real. But the fake stuff I wish was gone. Lol She told me she kept everything, screencaptures and all, of my cruel messages, and that she would keep it forever to remember what kind of person I am. I don’t think I would say I was a cruel person. But I did choose to be cruel in the moments I was. What I regret more though is the fakeness. The false flattery, the empty I love you’s, I need you’s, the meaningless gifts, the whole show I put on for ten years…
Don’t fear the enemy who att*cks you, but the fake friend who hugs you.
I was that fake friend.
I’m embarrassed about who I chose to be back then. But it was ages ago. It was 10+ years ago, and I was 20 something years young.
I recently was looking at writing prompts while in a creative mood, and one was to share something that could make us look like a bad person or something unpleasant/unkind we once did.
I thought of many years ago when I was in a ten year long ongoing frenemy situation with a girl I met as a teenager.
When I met her, I currently had no real friendships. I had kids to talk to at lunch in school and chat online with, once in a while walk around with after school. But they were casual friends, not really general friends or anything of substance, and never anything that carried out of the context of school. I longed for a real friend. I did have good friends for a while and loved them, but we had very different lifestyles, and I felt we were incompatible. At fifteen years old I chose to stop being an active friend to them. We talked online once in a while and saw each other around, giving each other hugs here and there, still, but no longer hung out in person. They were into drugs and criminal activity (but were the kindest people you could ever meet), I wasn’t into all that and just felt our friendship wasn’t going to really work out. I never judged them or anything, just couldn’t be involved with that. I was into watching movies and going to restaurants and shopping, playing board games and cards. My friends were into alcohol, other drugs, stealing, breaking into soda machines, cutting school, sneaking out at night, being delinquents….I did not care, but I couldn’t relate.
At sixteen years old, a casual acquaintance of mine introduced me to her new friend. We instantly clicked and became good friends. She was funny, outgoing, bubbly…and she was a “good girl” like me, never touched alcohol or a cigarette or cut school or anything. She loved clothes and makeup and shopping like me. We were almost identical in personality except she was outgoing and bubbly while I was quiet and reserved. She also cursed while I did not. She said things like hell and sh!t and damn and called other girls b!tches and s*uts (I began to do this just to impress her, and it felt so unnatural and wrong to me). She wouldn’t say f*ck though. She was religious and pro-life, she knew I’m an atheist and judged me for it. I did not use the word “atheist” back then but did not believe in the whole god stuff. She judged me for not going to church and not praying. To her, I began to pretend like I did believe in it to a point, so she wouldn’t think less of me. As adults, I pretended to be pro-life so she would think more of me. She did eventually have kids but at one point was told she may never because of health conditions and weight problems that could affect her heart and stuff. She said it wasn’t ok that women who are lucky enough to be able to have kids can just “k!ll them.” I pretended to agree. I would sign up for Pro-life stuff and make pro-life arguments to impress her, she said my debating skills for any topic absolutely amazed her, and she couldn’t imagine being that good at debating and writing. (I have been told this by teachers and professors and others all life long, so I believed her) She said sexual activity outside of marriage is wrong and judged women for it. She said it goes against “god.” I disagreed with her on all this but just played along. She wasn’t homophobic or racist so there’s that. Lol She liked girls too.
At sixteen years old, we quickly became best friends and already after only a couple weeks of knowing each other said we would be close friends forever, never losing touch. We made plans for a future together. I remember us sitting on a bus together planning on taking each other out to celebrate when we got our first grownup jobs, she planned to have me in her wedding as her bridesmaid or maid of honor with her sister (I never planned to get married but told her she would be my maid of honor if I did along with my sister) and to tell me first when she had her first kiss. We even planned to be roommates in the future. At this point I genuinely believed we were friends.
We hung out together for hours after school and took the bus home together everyday. We had the same sense of humor and interests. We met up on the weekends, often with other girls, going to movies and shopping malls. I loved it and felt like I finally had a true friend, someone I could relate to. I loved our sister-like friendship. Something about her always rubbed me the wrong way though, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I was able to just brush it off for a while because she was a lot of fun, and I could call her friend. But there was a resentment brewing beneath the surface. She was extremely judgmental and jealous just in general.
After not very long, I began to see some red flags but ignored them. My mom noticed before I consciously did. She told me the girl wasn’t a true friend. But she was my closest friend and so much like me, I wanted to overlook anything wrong she did. She was so fun. And she’s the one who held our whole friend group together. We were all friends but more friends with her, she was the “leader.” (I have had a few friend groups like this, and unfortunately if we have a falling out with the “leader,” the rest tend to take that person’s side. ) The problem was, I wasn’t genuinely overlooking the red flags, I was taking notice and secretly harboring resentment. I wasn’t genuinely letting it slide but tucking it away and keeping inventory.
That resentment began to seep into my words and actions and gestures and saturating my motives, in discreet but still destructive ways. Gradually, it molded me into someone else when I was interacting with her, someone who looked like me but wasn’t. Even in the encounters where we just talked about our mundane day or whatever mood we were in, even in my most honest moments, there was an underlying fakeness, a secret agenda. Even my truths were laced with deceit, fabrication. I saw it all as I looked back through our years worth of conversations. No one else would notice, but I know. I saw the show-offy underpinnings, the secret selfish agenda, the exaggeration, the shock value…Even when everything I said was true, none of it was really true. It wasn’t genuine.
She struggled with body image and low self esteem while I did not. Her body was her biggest insecurity. And I think this is why our friendship ultimately did not work out. I noticed how her attitude relating to me would change for a while if I wore a short shirt while we were out together or if I wore short shorts during girls movie nights. She would tell me as adults not to ever be alone in a room with her husband and not to ever hug him (her husband never looked at me that way, and I am not into men{she did not know this back then, I never told anyone til many years later}, even if I was I wouldn’t go for a man who is already taken, I chose to sink low back then, but even I wouldn’t sink that level of low lol). One day the girls and me were in the kitchen with her man while she was in the living room, the girls all walked into the living room while I stayed helping with food in the kitchen (before she told me not to be alone with him), and she ran so fast into the kitchen and escorted me into the living room. She would ask how I got my body to look like it did. I wasn’t sure exactly what she meant. I never did anything, it just looked that way naturally. She wore loose large clothes trying to cover her body and said she felt unsexy in clothes like that but that she felt very self conscious if she wore more revealing or tight clothing. She was also very jealous of my long hair. Her hair wouldn’t grow longer than her shoulders or it did but looked unhealthy or something and had to be cut. Basically she couldn’t have hair much longer than her shoulders and wanted it very long. She frequently told me I don’t know how lucky I am to be able to show my whole body in pictures and have hair almost to my hips.
Throwback to when I was young and my hair wasn’t damaged by the sun – I work outside now for seven years, n it takes a toll on my lovely locksAnother throwback! ๐Throwback ๐ค I look mostly the same now (see first picture of this post above) but a bit older and hair not as long because of weather damage working outside
She would look at me in disgust when I wore short shirts or shorts and then make remarks about something not looking good on me, a certain color not being my color or an accessory not looking right. Back then, belly chains were a thing, thin chains that would go around the abdomen and hang down a little bit, with like a cute butterfly or heart or flower charm almost like a necklace but around the waist. I wore those with belly shirts, and was told by her they don’t look right on me. She tried to wear one, but it wouldn’t fit around her waist. So she tried to make me think they weren’t good on me. It did not work and only provoked resentment in me for her. But I suppressed it because I wanted her as my friend. I also had my bellybutton pierced at sixteen years old, and she told me I did not have the personality for that and that people would get the wrong idea of me. She said only a certain kind of girl had a belly ring, and I wasn’t that kind of girl. In school and when we would hang out right after school, she would only see me in my school uniform. But on the weekends and evenings if we hung out, I wore my regular clothes and stuff, and it would trigger her. My mom said she was super jealous of me just by what I told my mom. I never believed my mom til I saw years later. With my intuition, I knew something wasn’t right though, all along. She wasn’t a friend.
If I would tell her something unkind someone said to/about me, she would say “Well she has a right to her opinion/can say whatever she wants.” Not long after we first met as teenagers, we brought Christmas cards/gifts to school for each of our friends. She gave them each one except me then claimed to have forgotten to get me a gift or write me a card. She pretended to feel guilty and kept saying sorry. I kept saying it was ok. I believed her back then but years later realized the truth after stuff like that continued to happen frequently through the years. I was disappointed back then but not angry. It’s not that I wanted a gift or card but disappointed that she wasn’t thinking of me. I remember the feeling, a feeling of her not caring about me enough to remember but caring about all our other friends. None of the others were left out, and we were even closer to each other than to them, she always said she felt closest to me than anyone, even closer than her actual sister. As adults she told her husband everything important first then me second then everyone else, even her own family found stuff out after me. I would have felt so honored, but my intuition told me something just wasn’t right all along, and I ignored it. An honest mistake is ok, it happens, and in some cases it truly doesn’t mean someone doesn’t care, someone can slip and leave someone out, I probably could. But she intended for me to have this feeling. And that is a big red flag. When a friend or family member intentionally tries to make someone seem unloved, not cared for, abandoned, forgotten, that is a big red flag. That was probably the first red flag. And I did not see it. I totally believed she meant well. In fact, I actually felt sorry for her because I truly believed she felt guilty and sorry, and I thought my card and gift to her probably added to that guilt.
She wouldn’t let me in pictures when we all took pictures together. She would stand in back of the other girls and not let me in at all. She would tell me she was embarrassed by her appearance/weight especially when people saw us together. As adults, she shared many of her wedding pictures online, and I was in none of the ones she shared. The only wedding pictures of hers I was in were ones that family/friends of hers shared. There was a group photo of us all hugging that someone took with her phone, then she asked me to take one of her and the girls all hugging, basically the same photo but with me not in it. That’s the one she shared on her own account, the one I took, without me in it. She wrote something about being thankful for her best girls and thanking them for being a part of her big day, tagged them all in it, leaving me out. There were also pictures of her hugging each of her closest friends/sister/sisters in law, individually, and she put each picture on except the one with her and me hugging. I was not one of the bridesmaids, just received a very last minute invitation as an afterthought. So it makes sense that some pictures would just be the girls who were in the wedding. But not one picture had me in it even pictures with others who were not in the wedding. (And I graduated college that year and spent all my cash gifts n gift cards to me by family as graduation gifts on her and her man, bought them house gifts, bought her jewelry, and gave them cash because they were poor, they would have me paying for all the food ordered during hangouts at their house, n my money would go missing out of my handbag during sleepovers and even at mutual friends’ houses, but that never happened at the mutual friends’ houses when she wasn’t there)
I did not see this in a compassionate understanding way, I made it about me. That she wasn’t including ME, that she was being a terrible friend to ME, that I was left out, poor ME. I do think it’s toxic to a friendship how she handled it, she could have communicated and straight up said she’s sorry but too self conscious to share pics of us together. Even if she did though, I probably wouldn’t have handled it well and still felt abandoned and excluded and angry. If I had a friend who did this today, I still would see it as toxic and cannot say for sure if it would put a strain on our friendship. It would look like she cares more about image than friendship. But I would understand to a point and not make it all about me. I wouldn’t passive aggressively post pictures of me in skinny jeans with low cut shirts and captions like “Thin girl with big boobs” just to get at her like I did back then. I would consciously try to feel compassion more than resentment even if I chose to distance or I would communicate and say how it affects me and our friendship and see if we could work it out or have to distance or even if I could just s u c k it up and still be close friends but with proper communication. I can see both sides, it has to be really challenging to have such low body image and be around women they see as much prettier. But it also s u c k s to be on the other side and not be included by someone supposed to be our friend all because of jealousy, image, and appearance. There is an adult way to handle it, and communication and boundaries are crucial. The problem by that point though was that I already stopped liking her ages ago, our friendship wasn’t worth salvaging. All these little things added up and culminated to me having no positive feelings for her at all, just wanting her to allay some lifelong insecurity, like when someone doesn’t love someone but loves the idea of them or their relationship with them.
She frequently told me that I was the “hott one” of the group and that she wished she had my body and my confidence. I would reassure her she was beautiful just the way she was. One Summer day at seventeen years old, a group of us girls were clothes shopping and trying on clothes in the changing room, we would all come out and show each other what the clothes looked like on us. There was this really skimpy outfit we all liked, made really tight and small, a one piece outfit with the back exposed and boobs showing a bit and cooch!e cutter shorts. I don’t completely remember it but something like that. She said this outfit won’t fit any of us so don’t even try. She said none of us had the body for it. We tried it anyway except for her. It couldn’t fit any of them in any size but did fit me, and I did in fact have the body for it(still do). I came out and showed them it on me. They all said it looked really good on me. But she said I looked like a s*ut and that people would get “the wrong idea” and that I shouldn’t buy it. So I put it back. After that, I noticed more subtle remarks she would say to/about me that were meant to get at me but could easily be brushed off as a joke or as her trying to “help” me. I always let them slide. She made remarks frequently that I look like a wh*re in my clothes and make-up (this worsened as we became adults) and that no wonder men flirt with me everywhere, that I seemed like I was “asking for it.”
Whenever we knew/met a man who liked me, she told me it’s only because I look like I easily put out. She constantly told me I should “cover up” and not post pictures with my full body showing. She claimed it was for my own good. She would also tell me she wished she could dress like me and not feel self conscious. One day she did wear tight revealing clothes, and her own mom told her she did not have the body for it and shouldn’t dress like that. It made her feel even more low about her body.
She made comments that my hair was ratty looking, that my nail polish was always cracked and I was in desperate need of a manicure… If I would get a manicure or fix my hair up or anything, she would make a remark like “Finally” or “I see you finally decided to fix yourself up…” Then follow up with something like “You know I’m only playing” or “Just saying. Our friendship is strong enough so I can be honest when it’s needed.” I totally agree that true friends should be able to be honest when necessary even if it’s not pleasant or is awkward, and I can totally take a real joke. But this wasn’t like that. It was intended to undermine my self confidence and make me self conscious or think I don’t look presentable to others. This may seem obvious like why still be her friend, but it was done in a subtle way thrown in with a bunch of “I love you so much like a sister, you’re my closest friend, I tell you everything more than anyone else…” Sometimes I would stop contacting her for a while when I was really ticked off, and she would send me a bunch of messages all day saying please don’t be mad at her. So I would write back that I wasn’t angry, just busy.
She would frequently host girls nights out, sleepovers, movie nights all kinds of stuff with girls we both knew and not tell me til it was over then act like she forgot. Just like with the Christmas card in high school. It carried into adulthood. Sometimes this would trigger depressive episodes in me. Her and her husband were big horror fans, like me. I saw a horror movie back then that is not very well known but really good. Don’t remember it now. I knew they would love it and sent them it in the mail as a surprise gift for their wedding anniversary. She sent me a thank you message, and we mentioned how we’ll get together and watch it even though I already saw it. We loved watching movies together and commenting on what we were watching throughout the movie. Next thing I’m getting messages about a girls movie night where the girls got together to watch the movie I bought her, and it was so fun. Without me. Rubbing it in how much fun they had and how much they loved it. There were a few occasions I bought them a movie or let them borrow mine (back when dvd’s were a thing) and they had movie night at their house watching those movies without me. I frequently mentioned that I would love to be part of their get togethers more often and was always told I would be invited to the next one. And wasn’t. I admit that this is something that still affects me now, emotionally. It can be difficult sometimes not to internalize it, particularly because I have had this happen at different stages of life with different friend groups, even as an almost middle aged adult. It’s not about me personally, just how people are, it’s unfortunately common, bullying, ghosting, breadcrumbing, exclusion, at all ages. But it can be easy to take personally. I’m not perfect, myself. I haven’t been the perfect friend. But I’m not someone who is generally toxic and don’t do anything that warrants this.
When I went to college, the other girls still saw each other frequently. We lived close enough that I could have easily met up with them. But she wouldn’t invite me then would call me and tell me all about the fun they were having together. She knew I had an insecurity about being excluded and stuff because it happened to me as a younger teenager by other girls (this is what triggered the initial onset of my depressive disorder). When I first went to college I had no new friends yet so it was important to me to keep in touch with her. She rarely called me or responded to my messages/phone calls to her. Eventually I got new friends who were actually friends, not fakes. But I still wanted her because she was my longest friend and the closest I had to a childhood friend, also I always wished I had a sister-like friend. Most of my new friends were men, which is still enough to fulfill my social desires/needs, I just wished I had a best girl too. I had women friends, just not exactly like that. I have had this insecurity about wanting a friend since we were kids. I thought that would make me more whole and mean I’m more loved. So even though I loved my newer friends and knew she wasn’t a real friend, she could fulfill something in me that they couldn’t. And my new friends all had childhood friends they still kept in touch with. I felt excluded like I wanted one too. I was the only one in our friend group who had no real friends outside that group. So I tried to force a friendship with her that just wasn’t.
Through the years, after high school, sometimes we would see each other frequently and sometimes not much at all. But we never lost contact completely. I was the one reaching out to her much more frequently, and she would say she was so glad to be back in touch after months or sometimes almost a year. She knew about my insecurity about feeling I need an old friend since we were young and would rub it in that her and the other girls we were friends with still see each other frequently since high school and are like a group of sisters. She knew this would just k!ll me inside. They were not in on this with her, she’s just like the one who kept the friendship group together. We were all more friends with her than each other, and most of the hang outs were hosted by her and her husband at their house. Her husband also had nothing to do with it. He was very quiet, meek, socially awkward, introverted, she “wore the pants” in the relationship, and he just went along with everything. I always knew me being excluded and all the remarks and insults and all were all her, not any of them. None of them saw it like I did. Sometimes they even asked me why I wasn’t at some of the friend gatherings. Or they would ask me if I was going to one coming up that I never even knew about and would tell them I wasn’t asked to go, and they would say “You never told Kim,” and she would say something like “oh I’m sorry, I forgot, of course you’re invited!”
I developed resentment for her through the years. It was building up all along, but I just ignored it. I wanted the image of a sister-like friendship since childhood/adolescence. Our friendship became even more passive aggressive on both our parts. We mostly kept in touch by e-mail and phone through the years, but eventually I decided to find her on social media and contact her after almost a year of not seeing/talking to each other except a phone call/hang out here and there. I sent her a message on FB saying something like remember me, we used to be friends. I was saying it in a passive aggressive way but in a way that could also come off as me being friendly and playful.
I remembered her years ago saying she needed to be needed by a man and friends. So I pretended to need her, pretended she was all I had, just because I wanted a girl friend since we were young. Even though I currently had true friends. I did not have a long-term friend or a sister-like friend and tried to force her to be both. Not “force” like control her, she went along with it, just tried to force something that just wasn’t real.
I acted like someone I wasn’t with her. I used language/words/cursing/phrases that I don’t naturally use and acted so clingy and needy just to keep her as my friend and impress her. I have many old conversations with her that a while ago I read through after not talking to her in years and throughout reading I would think “Da fuq did I write?, Da fuq did I just read?” ๐ I cannot believe how fake I was just to get someone I did not even like to like me. I trash talked all my true friends to her, trash talked my family, my coworkers back then (she did the same with hers), everyone I knew, just to make it look like she was all I had. I told her any problems I had and often exaggerated them to look needy. But at the same second I wanted her to be super jealous of me. So I also often would rub stuff in to try to make her jealous. When I would see her post about hating her body and wanting to lose weight, I would post pics of myself right after in a short tight dress or swimsuit. One night she posted that she ate too much and felt so bloated and ugly and was getting ready for bed, I told her she was so beautiful (I was faking the kindness and was secretly taking great satisfaction in her ordeal, I suspect she knew the truth, we knew what each other did), and then after she went to bed, I got all dolled up and posted a picture of me in a little black dress with stiletto heels so it would be the first thing she saw when she woke up in the morning, I knew her biggest insecurity was her body like she knew my biggest insecurity was not having a true long-term girl-friend). She did stuff like this to me too. She would frequently post about her group of girls who were like sisters and her childhood best friend she doesn’t know what she would do without and how often they all see each other. I knew them all and was rarely invited. One day I posted about an argument with my mom, and she posted about the amazing day she had hanging out with her mom. Another day I posted that I wished I had an IPhone but did not have the money. Next thing she was posting how much she loves her iphone and how she uses it all day to text her best girls, who also all had one, who are like sisters. So I took pics of myself in a bra and tight low pants and posted them. ๐ We knew exactly what each other was doing. One day I told her my closest friend other than her was on vacation and I was in a depressed lonely mood (this was true), and she said something like aww I’m always here for you, I love you so much like a sister. Then later that day all the girls were together for movie and game night all loving each other like sisters, and I wasn’t invited. So I asked my dad for his credit card to go shopping and posted something like “Going shopping with Daddy’s credit card” and then posted all pictures of me in my skimpy new clothes & heels for her to see. She commented on some of the pictures with her subtle insults saying my hair can use a comb or be careful because men will love those s*utty clothes. And next thing I had trolls (her using different accounts) calling me an ugly s*ut and stuff.
We would write statuses about each other but act like it wasn’t about each other, we both knew it was though. I would write about “this jealous b!tch who is so jealous she can’t see straight,” and she would write about this “stup!d stuck up b!tch who thinks she’s something,” or we would write about fake friends. Then we would ask each other “Is this about me?” Then our responses would be something like “Omg, no! It’s not about you! Omg, I love you like a sister, you’re the best friend I have…! How could you think it’s about you?! It’s just some girl at work.” ๐คฃ
She also did creepy things online, making fake accounts and sending strange e-mails under different addresses, there was this thing back then to play a joke on people where it looks like a different e-mail address/phone number sent an e-mail/text, but for some reason the person’s real e-mail address/phone number would show up at the end, it made no sense since the point was to pretend someone else sent it. They never said that would happen. My sister tried to play a silly joke on me before, and I knew it was her because her real contact info showed up. My sister never knew that would happen. My sister and me would receive strange texts and e-mails with links to spam and viruses by an unknown number/e-mail address, but the friend’s real e-mail/phone number/name would show at the bottom, she never knew this would happen. I would also get strange messages by people online I’m sure were her. She would use names very similar to hers. I was always getting trolled and called a s*ut on my pictures by people who talked how she did, with names similar to hers. Sometimes she as herself would argue back with them saying “Stop talking to my friend like that!” Then ask me in person if I saw her defending me online. Lol She would even remember the names of the strange people trolling me when I wouldn’t even remember. One day in person, I said I have two new trolls now, and she automatically knew their names, both of which had the same/similar initials/names as her name. She also made an anonymous Twitter account to trash talk her family and friends. She used a fake name and told my sister what name she used. It was a name with her real initials. Just like the trolls on my account.
We would write some very messed up things to each other, she would write that she’s getting ready to cut herself with her razor blade, and I would write that I’m getting ready to drink bleach. We were messed up lol I admit it gives me a good laugh thinking back ๐
We had a falling out in the end and stopped communicating for good. I sent her the most vicious insults I possibly could come up with, drawing on her deepest insecurities and worst fears, including that her husband was going to leave her for a more beautiful woman (this was her biggest fear of all, she was obsessed with it, she told me she couldn’t stand summer because all the women were out in revealing clothes and she knew he saw).
I said something like get off your @$$ once in a while and take a walk to somewhere other than the fridge (she frequently complained that all she did was sit on her sofa all day and eat and get bigger and bigger)…and a bunch of other toxic stuff, it was mostly just regurgitation of her own criticism of herself. It’s a vicious thing for a woman to take another woman’s insecurities that she shares with her and throw it in her face later. This was very uncharacteristic of me and not something I have ever done again. We tried to drag each other down as low as we could take each other. And maybe one of us won. Maybe one of us was lower in the end than the other. Maybe one of us was sitting around lonely and depressed feeling like a loser who who has no real friends, a loser who always gets excluded because of being unworthy of sisterly love, and maybe one of us was sitting around self loathing feeling like an ugly hag whose husband is going to leave for another woman, a more beautiful woman. And maybe today, there are remnants of those insecurities lingering about, hovering in the distant corners of our minds, tucked away, just waiting to resurface at any given moment. Yay us, we succeeded. And what did we accomplish? What did that make us? A wonderful amazing person because one of us made the other feel like an unworthy friendless, loveless loser and one of us made the other feel like a hideous slob?
A rat is a rat is a rat.
I only did all this because of what she did first. But there is no justification. A better person wouldn’t have done what I did. A more evolved person would have proacted, would have communicated or distanced and set healthy boundaries, not reacted by sinking even lower. I held the philosophy “When she goes low, I go lower.” An emotionally healthy, emotionally intelligent, mature, well rounded, honest person would not have done that. A true safe person would have been true and safe even in that situation, not allow someone else’s actions to influence who they choose to be. My youth contributed but was no justification. Today, I am not that girl. Since then, I have had other friends who have done similar things to me, and I had the chance to react like I did back then. But I chose not to.
All the years of resentment that were building up all along that I kept bottled up exploded and overflowed. A while later she came back and tried to get back in touch, but I ignored her.
After cutting her off for good, my mental health became so much better. While it was going on, I did not realize the extent to which it was affecting me having her in my world, not just what she was doing but my reaction to it. It was unhealthy me pretending to be something I’m not, trying to always make her jealous, trying to always put on a show for her. The whole thing was just toxic. I began having less depressed moods and became happier overall after ending contact with her. She convinced most of our mutual friends to unfriend me also.
Every once in a while through the years, even now, something happens that really seems like her. Someone tries to hack my accounts or sends me weird messages. Stranger women who I can tell are fake write to me on all my pictures and stuff and friend request me. They’re all the same kind of women, conventionally beautiful, dress in revealing clothing, don’t have many FB friends or much content. I just have a sense that it’s her, using photos of other people, and know she did do stuff like that before. I’m surprised that she’s still playing games at nearly forty years old and with kids of her own now.
I think she really did love me, but her jealousy and mental health problems got in the way. I was only like that because of how she was to me first, but I think I was even more fake than her. I couldn’t stand her, just wanted the image of that friendship. I was even fake sometimes with other people if I knew she was watching, just so she would be impressed or whatever. I think she really wanted me as a friend but did not know how to show it. I was 20 something years old back then, still old enough to know better, but my youth influenced me to act that way.
It’s definitely not something I would do again. I could not imagine having that toxic relationship now or being that toxic to others and myself. Ten years of that nonsense. Wasn’t worth it. I’m embarrassed about how I acted.
I no longer have resentment for her and hope she’s doing well in life, but I wouldn’t be her friend again or respond if she ever messaged me. It was never a genuine friendship. It was built on insecurity and fakeness and neediness and clinginess. It wasn’t a friendship gone wrong but never one at all. Even if we are both all grown up now and much more mature and would never do that again, I have no interest in her. I just think that all is better left in the past.
The trouble with the rat race is that even if you win, you’re still a rat.
I hope you are having a beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are!
Xoxo Kim ๐
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