Posted by Anonymous on 2013/03/31 under Uncategorized As time went on, we would discuss my issues in the privacy of a car, whether it was in hers or mine. I didn’t really enjoy talking about it, because I was always worried I would say something that would scare her off. I felt like any second she would say that I had nothing wrong with me because I couldn’t answer her questions. How could I answer the same questions I had asked myself a million times, when I didn’t even know the answer to them? I just knew that I was different, I didn’t like it, and I didn’t know how to explain any of it. One evening, I really wanted to tell her how I really felt about her. I wanted to let her know that I cared for her, and not just because she was my best friend. Of course, when the time came, I chickened out. She saw some pictures that I had found that described how I was feeling, but I suppose she didn’t quite accept it since I didn’t have the guts to tell her. Nonetheless, I felt awkward. She swore up and down that there would never be awkwardness between us. For the longest time, I believed that. I mean, any situation is as awkward as you make it, right? Well, we continued to hang out. Now I only got to see my best friend about once a week, twice if I was lucky. I was in high school, so wrapped up in homework and extra-curriculars that I didn’t have time for a job. She was four years older than me, so she was in college and she also had a job. Scheduling around the events in our lives was very challenging. Well, I got to hang out with my best friend the Friday before Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Then we hung out the next day, which was awesome! Already, this was a new record, and I was pretty happy because I enjoyed spending time with my best friend. We then hung out Sunday at church (this was typically the one day a week I would get to see my best friend) and a little bit before life groups. (For those who don’t know, that’s basically a bible study group.) Then, since she didn’t have class or work Monday, and I didn’t have anything either, we decided to hang out. She came over and, after watching Phantom of the Opera, we looked at pictures from her recent trip to London, which was absolutely amazing. (She’s an amazing photographer.) We decided to go out for lunch and we came back; my mother had asked me to pick up lunch for her and my brother. Then Mom decided that she was going to suggest going up to the church to look at dresses for Homecoming, which was fast approaching. Crap, I thought, This isn’t going to go well. I told my mother and my best friend that I didn’t want to go to Homecoming. Of course, they both kept pointing out that it was my Senior year, and that I should go just because of that. So, after tons of begging on my best friend’s part, I agreed to go up to the church, hoping that I’d have the courage to go ahead and try on the stupid dresses. After all, I didn’t have to choose a dress from there. I could say that I didn’t like any of them, which ended up being the case. Sadly, we got up there and I couldn’t bring myself to try them on. Mentally, I was on the verge of a breakdown. I knew that my best friend would be upset/disappointed, but at the same time, she knew how I felt about dresses. I realize that “only you have the power to decide your happiness” and all that Kumbayah crap, but I just felt like I would keel over and die any minute. Not because I was fighting sinus congestion or anything like that, no. My best friend hadn’t texted me the way she normally did. You know how when you text people for so long, you start to realize when something’s wrong, just by the way they respond to you? Yeah, that’s how it was here. I sent her my daily “Good morning” text, and she just responded with one word answers. Very short. Brief. To the point. It felt like she was giving me the cold shoulder. Of course, I didn’t have the guts to just ask what was wrong; I already knew. I couldn’t get my head out of my ass long enough to just try on a f***ing dress. Excuse my language. Even thinking about it now, months later, makes me angry at myself again. But I digress. So there I was, being all down in the dumps, just listening to my music instead of doing my homework, and suddenly an envelope drops onto my keyboard. It paused my music, annoying me even more, but I turned it over and saw who it was from. My. Best. Friend. Eventually, everything seemed to turn back to normal. We were having no plan days, which was absolutely amazing. One of them involved us giving blood and then walking around Macy’s looking for bridal shower gifts. I suppose it was about as great as I could get. Of course, the sappy, romantic side of me wished I wasn’t stuck in the friendzone, but considering the circumstances of the friendship, I was okay enough with it. But, for some reason, it always seems like something has to hit the fan.
So we got in an argument. Not like an argument that turned physical or anything like that. But my best friend put the dresses up, walked out the door, and acted like she was going to leave me. Of course, since I don’t live that far away from the church, I could have walked, but it was so cold. So she took me home, and she left almost immediately after. I felt awkward. She looked so mad; I was actually worried that our friendship had ended. Mom walked in and asked where my dress was. I told her I didn’t pick one, and she asked if my best friend left. I told her she had, and my mother asked if she was upset. I nodded, tears welling up in my eyes. (Side note: In my family, we don’t let anyone see us cry. We go off by ourselves, get it all out and then go back to normal.) Then my mother, of all people, had the audacity to say, “I don’t blame her.” Granted, she doesn’t know about “the text” or any of that, but I told her before I told my best friend that I didn’t want to go to Homecoming. I was so mad at my mother and so frustrated at myself about the way things had gone down, that I went in my room and blared music. I listened to the Brave soundtrack, just because I knew that there’d be a lot of instrumental music (scores and whatnot) so I wouldn’t have to listen to a lot of lyrics. Then I got tired, and I went to bed at 5:30. I slept hard. I woke up twice: once at 9:30 that night to go to the bathroom, and then at 6 to get ready for school the next day. Most people would be wide awake after that much sleep, but not me. I don’t know if it was guilt, or just consequences of going to bed angry, but I felt like I had stayed up all night. I went to school and I just didn’t feel like doing anything. I pretended to be sick, sort of. I did have congestion from the freaky weather; there’d be cold, rainy days followed by warm, sunny days. My body couldn’t handle that. So I didn’t have to do a lot of work in class, which was great. But to sum up those few days: they sucked.
Terrified of what it would be about, I went to my room and opened it, which was a good thing, because the first words said the letter was for my eyes only. Basically, my best friend was apologizing for “not being a better best friend” because of the dress situation and other things, which don’t particularly relate to any of whatever this is. I’ve read that letter probably fifty times now, and I’m still baffled. I’m not used to people apologizing to me, or writing letters to me for that matter. The fact that it was written, and not texted, made it that much more meaningful (duh), but I couldn’t grasp the fact that she apologized. This woman has heard my deepest, darkest secret. I expected her to take off for the hills, but she had continued to stick by me through it all. True, it hurt that she was upset by my refusal to try on dresses, but that was because I was too stubborn. To this day, I’m not sure if I don’t understand her apology because I feel like I’m the one who should be apologizing (don’t worry, I did!) or because I feel like she could do me no wrong and therefore never has to say she’s sorry. Either way, I didn’t allow that to interfere with our friendship; I continued to jump at every opportunity to hang out with her. I mean, I still loved her, even as just a best friend. Why wouldn’t I want to hang out with her?
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If you actually want to read about the whole situation, you can always go here: Link removed... so you can leave a comment or just email me. Whatever works.