Tag Archives: trust

Friendship and Me

Sometimes I wonder if friendship is a real thing.  I find myself looking back over the years and seeing who has been with me through and through.  Truthfully?  Only my immediate family.  And even then, only as much as I allow.

I variably keep in touch with childhood friends.  My best friend from my teen years is still someone I hold very dearly, but we have spent a lot of time apart now and don’t connect as often as we used to.  And people I consider friends today… well I actually have a hard time coping with my understanding of them as friends at all.

What is the criteria?  What kind of things can and should I expect from a friend?  I like to think nothing.  I don’t want to–nor do I know how to–expect or anticipate anything from anyone.  I don’t trust anyone’s feelings towards me.  I don’t expect anyone to regard me as a friend.

Whose to say I don’t quit my job?  My only two friends in the city were met through work, and one of them has already become very distant from me since she left.  If I leave, what makes me feel safe enough to trust that someone should want to spend time with me outside the realm of convenience?

I wonder of this has always been a problem of mine.  If I just grew up expecting that people weren’t drawn to me so much as they were drawn to formality.  Heck, I can’t even keep myself interested.  Why should I anticipate any better from these strangers?

Over the years, people have changed, and I have not.  I have found that it is impossible to become a constant in another person’s life if I continue to remain a constant in my own.  How long before I have no one left at all?

My chains.

I think that I am sad.  Perpetually, perhaps.  I think that I do not feel the capacity to be happy without him in my life.  That is sad.

I’m in a lot of turmoil.  Every day brings new opportunities, new horizons, new faces, but I am restrained.  It’s a tough pill to swallow–knowing that you are holding yourself back, but not being able to change that.  I am bound by chains he never freed me from.  And I’m sure it wasn’t intentional.  I think he was a good person–albeit a lost one.  I don’t even dare to say it’s his fault anymore.  He’s allowed to find what he was missing.  He’s allowed to explore this world and discover the kind of person he will become.  I am allowed to do this as well.

I think that there are many things I wish I could be doing.  I am so underdeveloped in my life.  I am lacking in an environment I should be thriving in.  I feel silly even typing this because I know I could be pursuing something I’ve always wanted to do right in this very moment, yet here I am, pitying myself.

I posted an entry from my summer journal on my blog today.  Apparently on July 19th I had already come to understand what our breakup meant for me, and where I was going to take myself.  I feel like I was perhaps on the right path for awhile.  I remember when I returned to the city after the summer–my kittens in tow–I was ready to start a new life.  I was feeling comfortable in my own skin for the first time ever, and my outlook on life was rivalled by only the sun making it’s first break through the downtown core in the early hours of the morning.  I look back fondly at this time.  I remember applying for my job and being really excited about being hired.  I remember surprising myself at how quickly I was settling into a new life in the city.

It all kind of… stopped.  It stopped when I had him over to visit late August.  It stopped when we kissed and touched and found eachother in a mess of blankets in my bedroom once again.  It stopped when he continued to touch me and flirt with me and seduce me inbetween fawning over his new relationship.  It stopped when he made me feel disgust for myself again.  When he made my body and my mind feel exhausted and used again.  When he stopped talking to me, and started, and stopped, and started, and stopped.

And here I am blaming him again.  It’s not really his fault.  It’s mine.  It’s mine for knowing that I am vulnerable, and allowing myself to be vulnerable in front of a man who saw that vulnerability as something fit to be toyed with.

It’s my fault that it has been so long since I’ve known my own heart.  It’s my fault.

And it’s good for me to realize this.  Self-hating.  Self-blaming.  In this instance it is good, because in this instance it is allowing me to see that where I am right now is where I’ve left myself in the wake of everything that has happened.  He did not leave me like this–I left myself like this.

I am not ready to be with someone.  I am a fool to always be so heavy hearted.

I am on the verge of rising to my feet once again.  Like a young fawn, my knees will wobble, and they will buckle, but I will learn to stand for myself someday.  And no, I can’t say when that day will come, but that is alright for now.  I have accepted my circumstance.

The next person I fall in love with will be myself, and that is a commitment I can make without another’s presence, validation, or trust.

I validate myself.  I trust myself.

Sunday, July 29th

I made a mistake last night.  I messaged you.  More importantly, I made myself vulnerable to you again.  I’m so stupid.

But it’s too late to have regrets now, what’s done is done.  So in the event I never hear from you again, this is for you:

What went wrong?  A week before you left me you were telling me how you’d love to come visit me while I’m away, and telling me every night that you love me.
How did that change?
I just don’t get it.  I know we had our issues, but we never went to bed mad at eachother (you would never even let it happen), and we always resolved everything.  At least my worries and concerns were always resolved.

Do you remember the day a few months ago, when we were arguing about I don’t even know what?  You insulted me on something in regards to me still being dependent on my mother for some things, and then I got mad and stopped replying.  Do you remember texting me until I would agree to let you come over so we could set things right?  Do you remember standing in the elevator, for 11 floors, and making everything better before we reached the top?
I remember seeing how upset you were in your eyes.  I remember recognizing how stupid we’d both been and how much you must have cared about me to be standing there, reaching for my hand, crying.

Do you remember all the nights I cried, never knowing where we stood and if you really loved me?  Do you remember all the times I felt insecure because you wouldn’t let me into your life?  Do you remember noticing every time I was upset with you, and pleading for me to help you understand why I am upset?
Do you remember our long late nights crying together because we were having such a hard time figuring things out?  You would be so upset that I couldn’t find any confidence in what you were offering, or how you were treating me, and you would say you feel like shit, or like a terrible boyfriend.  Do you remember crying?
I remember seeing how distraught you were.  I remember watching you from behind as you wipe your tears and blow your nose and blubber like a lovesick puppy.  I remember reaching for you and laying my hands on you and telling you how confused I am in my feelings for you, but reassuring you that they were there, and feeling so happy that you could cry for me.

Do you remember when I would ask you about your family.  How I would tell you how scared I am that you can just up and leave me someday, and have no responsibility to me to explain what had happened? Do you remember how vulnerable I felt knowing how little consequence I was in your life, regardless of how much you said that wasn’t true?
Do you remember how we got to where we are right in this moment?
Do you see how betrayed and inconsequent I feel?

I remember everything.  I look back and see every fight, and every happy moment, and every insecure moment.  I remember always looking at you and wondering how someone who complemented my life so perfectly insisted on remaining so disconnected from me.  I remember having regrets, and having fears, and wondering what kind of person you might have truly been.  But I also remember you’re warmth.  I remember kissing you and forgetting everything.  I remember feeling weak in your arms and in your embrace, and pulling myself away from your lips to see a face that reflected how I imagined my own.  Eyes closed, softened face, a euphoric expression.
“The face” I would call it.  I remember how happy I was to see that face everytime, knowing that when we share a kiss and hold eachother, every fear and insecurity is quelled.

And I look at where we are now.  And I know that we are no longer together, and I know that you have moved on, and I can’t help but feel sick at the thought that it was all a lie.

I trusted you during our relationship.  I didn’t always trust what you were doing, but I always tried trusting what you were saying and I gave you everything I had to offer to prove that.  I gave you myself, in ways much more intimate than sex.
I gave you a look into myself.  I gave you my thoughts and opinions and insecurities and worries.  I gave you every definition of myself, and shared every grievous and every joyous moment with you.
I told you that I didn’t trust you, but I always had faith in you.

Did you use it?  Did you exploit it?
Why did we have 5 months together as a couple who loved eachother only to one day wake up to find you’ve been “thinking about me”, you “aren’t coming to visit me at home” anymore, and inevitably you are “breaking up with me” after I finally ask you what’s going on.
How did it come to that?  What clicked all of a sudden for you to do this, when only a day before we exchanged I love yous and went to bed knowing we had someone else to live and love for?

I hate assuming things.  I hate pretending I know your reasoning behind things.  But you never give me anything, and that’s where my mind goes to find answers that you refuse to share.  And these are my thoughts.

Within two weeks after leaving me, though you had promised me that you were not going to go looking for anyone right away, and that you were not interested in dating for a long time, you were seeing someone new.  Why did you lie to me?  Why did you go back on your word so quick, and make me feel like my whole existence only bore two weeks worth of impact on you?

Why did you lie to me for so long?  And for how long?  You told me when you left me that you’ve been unsure about us for a long time, and I want to know since when.  I need to hear how long you’ve been taking advantage of me.

Tell me why all of this happened.  Tell me how you could use me for so long and hurt me so deep in the end and not give me any explanation aside from “I just don’t like you anymore”.

My emotions this past month have been all across the board.  I’ve felt bitter, I’ve felt anger, I’ve hated you, but I’ve also felt guilty, and felt sorry for you, and felt like I’ve let you down.

How could you leave me–someone so enthralled in your life and concerned about you at every turn–with no answers.  How do you go to sleep at night knowing the pain you’ve caused me and sleepless nights you’ve given me?

I just want answers.  I want closure.  You failed to acknowledge my feelings when you had said that you loved me, the least you can do is acknowledge them this one time, and tell me what I’ve really been to you and how that relates to the way I’ve been left.

Those whom children bond with.

I feel a child is both the most naive and intelligent of all people.  A child’s trust is not hard to earn, but it is also not hard to lose.  Children will look at your soul.  They will see all your actions and praises and misgivings deliberately.  When you are a child, you don’t weigh the stresses and emotions that play into a person’s demeanour, you just see it for what it is.

Those whom children bond with are those who provide sustenance in life, love, and learning more so than any other.  They are someone who has witnessed you at every stage of life and every turn of fortune.  They know you, and they know you on a deeper level than that which you can even contemplate sharing.

I feel like I don’t have anyone like that.  I feel like I am detached from most people in my life, because no one really understands me the way a childhood companion would.  Who do I look back towards fondly?  Who do I relate my experiences with?  I haven’t grown next to anyone.  I’m always branching further away in my own direction.

Children are lucky.  They get to network and learn and thrive.  They get to make mistakes, take chances, and fail.  They get to grow into a world that’s devastatingly hard to handle, but they get to share that burden intimately with a safety net of people familiar to their cause.

As good a childhood as I experienced, there’s a part of me that lends myself to the notion that a childhood is what I never had.