You Couldn’t Be More Wrong, Darling

I am so confused about my life. I don’t know why I try to make sense of it. Growing up in Terrace, I had a best friend. I always thought myself really fortunate for the kind of relationship we had, because we’d been friends all our lives. For as long as I can remember we’ve been friends. We were friends right up until senior high school, just before all of the biggest experiences in my life began, just when we stopped being kids and began to become adults. More than anything I felt we were fortunate because we are cousins, and people in my family are not known for being close. I was scared to start growing up without him. We promised to keep in touch. He moved to Vernon, and I tried to keep in touch. We chatted on IM, we emailed, I called sometimes. I even visited. But that visit it became clear that we were beginning to drift apart. We used to have this groove that nobody else could really get into, this sync that was all our own. I felt it disappear, and for the first time, spending time together I felt like the outsider. His new friends made fun of me, and eventually he stopped talking to me.

I tried at first, to keep in touch. But the stretches of time without contact began to grow, and I graduated. We completely lost touch after I moved from home. We were both starting our lives, and understandably it was several years before we got hold of one another again. But that wasn’t for a lack of trying. Over the years I had emailed him without response, asking for a number, telling him where to find me. Eventually he did call. It turned out he was gay. In high school people suspected, but he was my best friend, so when he told me it was a lie, I believed him. And at the time, I don’t think he realized he was wrong. We didn’t lie to each-other. Or maybe he was afraid of what I thought. I wasn’t surprised when he told me he was gay, and perhaps he found that offensive. Maybe he felt if I’d truly believed him I would have been shocked. Instead I was happy for him. At least he was being himself, and prepared for people to accept him as he really is instead of who they perceived him to be. I was really excited to hear from him. We friended on facebook and made plans to meet up for coffee or lunch. He called to tell me he couldn’t make it. I tried a few times but he always bailed out on me. I figured he was just busy, or as I had become accustomed to, I was just not as important to him as his other friends.

Then the catastrophe of my life happened. I died. I lost everything. I moved three times. We lost touch. Rather, he made no attempt whatsoever to keep in touch, despite how the news of my health scare spread through our family. When my life was finally not all over, I began to try again to get in touch. So much had happened. By now I knew for sure we were strangers but I hoped that at our core we were still the same. His email address closed. He unfriended me on facebook, he refused my friend requests. Without speaking a word we had somehow become enemies, not just estranged. I didn’t even know that I was persona non grata, nor was I ever told why.

So last night after finding a message from him to a friend of mine on my facebook news feed, someone, might I add, who is neither related to him nor living in the same city, even the same half of the province, I sent him a message and confronted him. I asked him what I did, why he cut me out, if I was ever going to speak to him again. My inquiry was simply met with this: “Have a nice life.” Then I was promptly blocked.

People I care about have been doing this to me all my life. If there is something I’ve done, something about me that causes people to just up and walk out, I want to know what it is. How can two people without touching hemispheres of life become enemies? Every year I marked his birthday on the Calendar. Every year I thought of him. I always kept the contact information I had for him in my phone and email, even if it was wrong. I never forgot him. I missed him over the years, waited for him to get over whatever narcissistic bullshit he was going through, and I was ready to forgive him for being such a twat.

What the fuck is wrong with me that so many people in my life have done this exact same thing? My own father, with whom I was so close until after Graduation, told me he wouldn’t visit anymore- couldn’t visit anymore. My own Father, for fuck sakes, stopped calling when I turned 19. My own Father asked me not to call him anymore.

Someone tell me what the fuck is wrong with me.



~ by Kд§$ị (ИovΔ) on 05/01/2011.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: