I feel like this letter is needed. On a larger spectrum. Not so much for you or for me but for others that struggle with wording these feelings, these relational slights.
You see, I realized recently that…we might not be friends. And that’s my fault.
I called this a friendship because we connected on some level. I created this vision of who you were based on the information being given and I realized, much like what Shonda wrote about in her book, that I wrote the character, intention and standing of someone I wanted to call friend.
I listened to your cries, I came to the rescue when needed because that’s what friends do, right? Help each other. Personally, professionally. I stood in the gap as needed, I held your worries in my heart and provided as much as I could both physically, financially and emotionally. I gave my time and came when you called.
The thing is, when 2+2 started equaling 8, I took notice. When stories didn’t match intent, I cocked my head and paid attention. And I say this because I must mention…that suddenly, I began to see what I’d created.
Related Post: This Is Who I Am
My friendship is mine. The one in my head. The one with the person that I shared so much in common. My sister, my friend. The keeper of feelings, the reliever of stress, the one that came to the rescue to clean up the mess.
But…that didn’t exist. And I’m not writing this to call you out or to make you feel a ways about what happened. This is on me. I didn’t notice it before. That I’d made you up. Created an illusion. A person with character and depth who gave as much as she took. Someone who held on tight no matter how much the ship shook.
So it’s on me. It’s on my head that this falls. It’s my perception that my conscience now calls. It’s the reason why you might feel me distant and the reason why it’s no longer on my heart to come running when you claim need. You see, my mama made me take heed…about people using and abusing. Perhaps because she knew of my insistence of creating characters in my head of seeing what wasn’t there and creating false friends instead.
I do not wish you ill. On the contrary, I root you on as you climb the mountain. But I am aware that many times you jump on someone else’s back and scale the length on someone else’s strength. I can’t say I judge. I can now just shake my head. I pray you find what it is that you need. That happiness comes your way because you deserve it as does everyone else.
As for me, I can’t continue to give and merely have someone take. And because my mama didn’t raise me to be fake, I can’t act the way I used to. So, forgive me if I keep my distance. Forgive me if I honor my space. It’s just that in this life of mine, you no longer have a place.
I wish you well, my made up friend.