Your words mattered to me up to that point. But as you only wish to hurt, even this dialog is now done. And I will not open your journal again. I considered pulling down this almost embarrassing series of posts. But I'll leave them up for me. For now. I may still just pull them down.
For now, they will remind me that I am human and can be completely misunderstood and unappreciated no matter how I attempt to convey the heart of the matter. For some, it just becomes a game of, "Nuh unh! You're what I say you are!" So, recreate me. Make me into what you will.
Be well...or not. I was so very very wrong about you.
I rather thought that my response was enough to show that I do still read your words. What difference is my picture in your last 10? I'm neither clever nor have I ever used anything against you. Why is it that you must make me into some evil person who is just like everyone else who ever hurt you? I'm just me. One small lady in the world doing her very best to be healthy and intact.
And you still failed to see that you hurt me. Why do you shy away from that fact? Can't you own it? Or can you truly only see your own hurt? How sad that must be to not be able to see how you affect others because you are so focused on your own perceived hurts. I don't try to tear you apart, but you won't or can't see that, either. I said "Be Well." to show that while I do not agree with how you handled our still new friendship, I hope you are well.
In case you can't hear that, I'll repeat it. I truly hope that you are well. I just cannot be along for the ride as I'd incorrectly thought. You are a one-way ship at the moment and I need patience and understanding that you cannot offer.
It isn't about an inquiry over my health, although you are free to twist it into anything you like. It is about being told after only a day and a half that you have chosen to stop contacting me because "for whatever reason" I have not answered your messages. That the "hint had been taken."
It isn't fair to say that I don't have time for you. I was working on a favor for you, trying to do a good job as I thought it important. You made assumptions about me and dared to write me off without giving me a little time to get to you when it was right for me to do so.
What kind of friend does that? You like to talk about how good and supportive you are, and mind you, you can be. But you consider your own feelings and needs as superseding everyone else's. I had needs then, yet I was still being a good friend and you knew it since I'd told you less than 2 days before that I was working on the favor you'd asked of me.
I apologize that I have problems and constraints on my time and that instead of the reactions you have, I sometimes need a little understanding that involves patience. I am cutting out people from my life who cannot be healthy for me. I didn't need that little tantrum of yours. I'm not going to list the things that made my week shitty. I know you listed yours. Your real life and your problems intervene in your life as mine do. Here's the real truth that you don't want to see: YOU cut off the friendship. You are the one who said you wouldn't contact me and that you'd taken a hint. YOU betrayed the delicate friendship by reading in rather than giving me the benefit of the doubt. If you meant it, why are you so surprised that the friendship has ended?
If it was an attempt to manipulate me, it failed. I carried through YOUR wish. I'm sorry you don't see how badly you hurt ME. In your musings over the whole thing, you failed to even take a look at that possibility. Honestly, I wish you well and I hope that you take this experience and learn from it. If you want to gain friendship, be a better friend. Only ever be honest and don't back a friend into a corner over your own angst. If they have not done anything but ever be kind to you, perhaps give them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe a message like, "I was wondering why you haven't responded. I miss you and hope you're ok. I'm here whenever you need me."
Yard work. I do yard work now. It's strange to me, handling his things. I am now out with the neighborhood men cutting, whacking, trimming, blowing, spraying. The very names scream out, "You're a girl, what the hell are you doing? Is there a man who knows you're touching this stuff? Do you know not to whack with straight gasoline? Do you know the rule about making concentrically smaller squares?"
I cut and whack and trim and blow and spray. I sweat and press on. The neighborhood men glance over curiously, but I get no sports updates or ant poison tips. They seem to be battling with whether to wave or come and take over for me. This is the underscore of my new narrative, punctuating that I am alone.
Nobody brings me iced tea.