Her heart was shattered after all the excuses, after the continual disappointments, she finally had to face the fact that it was time to love herself. For so long, she had looked outside of herself for validation, for compassion, for hope -- but now? For the first time in her life, she realized that if she wasn't able to validate, hold compassion, or birth hope from within herself, then how was she ever going to be ready to accept it when it came from somewhere else?
All of these relationships, they're self-fulfilling prophecies, her brain murmured at her as she sat alone on a park bench this chilly afternoon.
In her hand was her phone, email app open to one of the least caring correspondences she'd ever received. It had been more than a week since it had first arrived in her inbox. In so many ways, she was still numb to its contents. It was hard for her brain to process why this person she valued so much was demonstrating such little value of her -- and if it was so hard for her brain to process it, she had no idea how to reconcile any of it with her shattered heart.
This latest round of struggle had begun over a month prior, the time and place of their latest fight. She didn't know why she had more vicious encounters with this person she considered to be her best friend -- why so much of their dynamic could result in such mean-spirited verbal arguments whose wounds left deep scars. She'd never had to deal with physical violence, but she could readily attest to the harm that emotional violence could cause. Her friend could, at times, be so caring and loving and nurturing around her history of such abuse -- but with more and more regularity, also seemed quite willing to use this information against her. She didn't understand why her friend could be so fickle -- and it would be many years in the future before she could appropriately label it also as abuse -- but back then, she felt dependent on her friend, dependent on them as a source of inspiration, a source of support, a source of unconditional love.
Later, much later, she'd wonder if they ever were any of those things.
But not yet. So much would come later.
That's the path of healing -- in so many ways, it's simply another path of learning. Before she could get to any of that, first, she had to block out the noise, block out the intensity, block out the reflex that in the past had always made her panic and drop her right back in the repetitive cycle of abuse.
Her friend -- her friend -- had watched her go through it with her mother, with her employer, with other people in her life. Her friend -- her friend -- had offered hugs and paid their tab on many a drunken night. Her friend -- her friend -- had listened, sagelike, and offered steadfast support, advice, even money when it was necessary. She had come to believe that her friend -- her friend -- truly loved her.
But now, here she was, on a park bench, reading an email from this friend that outlined how she was out of bounds, she was demanding too much, they wanted nothing from her, they saw their relationship as about as inconsequential of a relationship as any relationship could be.
What was most shocking, though, was it wasn't the first time her friend had lashed out in this way. This was part of the pattern. And what historically would happen is that her friend would make her feel small and stupid and unimportant and she'd return the volley with all of the evidence to the contrary, to pick apart her friend's nonsense, point by point, until they'd be in all-out war for an undetermined length of time (sometimes a day, sometimes as long as a month or two) until something clicked them back together and it was smooth sailing until the next dust-up would occur.
This time, though, was different, and she couldn't exactly explain why. Something buried so deep in her soul or her subconscious, something at the cellular level was hitting the alarm bells -- the get out now or else cry that she simply could not ignore.
Maybe it was just time.
But more than that, maybe her friend had simply convinced her so solidly of her worth that when this latest round of toxic bullshit swept through, she was finally strong enough not to be swept along with it. She was finally strong enough to resist.
She was finally strong enough to break free.
Sitting on that park bench, she barely even registered that's what she had done. She'd hardly even cried since she'd mentally left her best friend behind. It would be years before she even realized she'd left without saying goodbye. The retrospect of this time in her life would mystify and amaze the more healed version of herself. That healed version of herself would barely even be able to remember what it felt like to be the version of herself who'd finally had enough and had walked cleanly away. She'd sometimes think about those inexplicable bouts of strength, where someone could lift a car off a body trapped underneath it -- wild moments like those where it made no sense that a mere mortal could do something so unbelievable. Call it adrenaline, call it mind-over-matter, call it super-heroism, she had done this remarkable, seemingly-impossible thing and lived to tell the tale.
Her future-self would be able to look back at this moment, this monumental decision, and feel immense pride and gratitude and compassion not just for having made it but for choosing to learn, to grow, and to heal from it.
Sitting on the bench, though, she just stared at the words she'd read an unknowable about of times in the few days since she'd received the message and she felt that tiny seed of self-love start to sprout as she closed her email app, shoved her phone in her pocket, and got to her feet, ready to be anywhere other than here anymore.
First line by Meredith Brown
2023
Virtual Tip Jar: Venmo @sarahwolfstar
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