Some endings don't get goodbyes.
On finally accepting the end of a cherished friendship.
This morning I woke up incredibly sad.
I was fresh out of a dream about a former best friend. In the dream, or nightmare, rather, I received indirect confirmation that I had been phased out of her life. In the dream, she treated me differently from all our mutual friends in attendance, and when I brought it to her attention, she gaslit me. I woke up sad and hurt because the dream played out similarly to how I experienced things in reality over the past years whenever I brought up our changing dynamic.
I was often paranoid that I had missed some fracture in our friendship, or maybe caused irreparable harm in some way. And I’m no stranger to paranoia. Living with bipolar disorder means I already spend too much energy questioning my own perceptions. Wondering if I’m overreacting or being dramatic for my intense hurt feelings. During certain episodes, my brain convinces me that everyone secretly hates me and is simply tolerating me. Experiences like this don’t create those fears, but they certainly feed them.
This friend was someone I once considered one of my favorite people, a sister, an auntie to my child, and I’m admitting that our end hurts like hell. She was someone I often talked about growing old and doing life with. Sharing and supporting the facets of our lives, no matter where our careers or personal lives took us. And this ending isn’t anything new; I’ve just finally accepted it for what it is. The end of our connection, as I came to know, experience, and cherish it. The last time we spoke was over a year ago when I called to tell her about the passing of our mutual friend. I can’t recall the last time we spoke before that call, and I was hesitant to at first, but that wasn’t news I could text her.
Honestly, the friendship being over isn’t what hurts anymore, I guess? I’m okay with not being friends anymore. I came to accept her absence long before now. And I honestly have no desire to be friends anymore after this (not that I had much say in the matter). What hurts for me is that the love and friendship we shared weren’t worth at least a conversation.
Even if it was simply “life has taken us in different directions, and I don’t want to be connected in that way anymore.” Or maybe “You’ve been quite a few different people over the duration of our friendship, and I don’t think I want to be in community with this version of you.” Something other than the gradual phasing out of a friendship over a decade.
Because I’m chronically online oversharing my feelings, I posted about this experience and my sadness on Threads. In doing so, I received a few messages wishing that I find better friends or saying this end is making space for new connections, and it gave me another opportunity to brag about how wonderful a village and community of blood and chosen family and friends is. I lack for nothing in the friend department; this was just a special connection for me that I wish had ended better. And at one time, I tried like hell for it not to end at all.
Later in the day, a close friend sent an unexpected voice note; she affirmed and validated me in ways neither one of us knew I needed to hear today. One line in particular brought on the tears: “You have been doing this while life has had her dirty ass foot on your neck for quite literally six or seven years now!”
I spend a lot of time minimizing my own exhaustion with life. I tell myself I’m being dramatic. I remind myself of how far I’ve come and where I was just a year ago. Someone always has it worse. Other people survive harder things.
But when I mentally list everything the last six or seven years have held—loss, illness, motherhood, financial stress, grief, diagnoses, disappointments, reinventions, medications—it becomes harder not to feel bogged down. I only have energy for the bare minimum, and I barely do that well. I feel like I have endured blow after blow since well before the world shut down in March of 2020, and I want a fucking break.
This evening, I almost broke down at another close friend’s dining room table as we caught up on each other’s lives. Just recounting my stresses from the past few months was enough to keep me wiping away tears, not wanting to let them flow in fear they wouldn’t stop.
After thinking about it more, maybe that’s why the dream hurt so much. It was just another reminder of a loss that I am still grieving, still feeling aches from years prior. But I am officially ready to release it. I can’t keep holding on to the hurt and racking my brain trying to figure out what went wrong and when. I’m allowing myself to grieve its ending while also reminding myself of the wonderful village of loved ones I still have by my side.
Currently.
Book Progress — Once I stop being depressed, I’ll get back to writing. That’s the short answer.
Feeling — Numb. I’m pretty blah these days. I’m looking into withdrawing from my meds and going unmedicated for a while or switching to something else whose dose I can increase.
Reading — Kennedy Ryan had me in a chokehold these past seven weeks. I have finished five of her books, and I’m deciding whether I’m going to pick up another one.
Anticipating — No longer being my daughter’s primary parent. I need a break.
Contemplating — What I need to do to implement the changes I want in my life. I feel like I’m in a holding pattern right now, and I’m never good with those.
Affirming — I will be alright eventually.
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Hey Ashleigh,
I understand this heartbreak all too well because I also went through the exact same with a person I thought would be a lifetime friend. I saw the distancing happen gradually and I tried to do anything and everything to keep it alive. But I got exhausted and finally let go.
The grief takes its time with you. But I promise you, it will get better. 💕
With an oversharing heart,
Nobuhle
🤎