Today was a pretty good day. I got some stuff done, made some tasty food, and then relaxed and watched a good movie, all on a few hours of sleep. It's the first truly functional day I've had in a while, and it feels great.
The only thing that's really changed, other than being tired of being a broken, blobby houseslug, is that I decided that there was no real point in sitting on the apology I wrote a while back to my friend who I am no longer speaking to, so I sent it along to him. I rewrote the damn thing a bunch of times, and I'm glad I did, because it was important to me to accept responsibility for the things I truly felt regret for without taking on the blame and guilt of the entire mess. Simply, it's because I don't feel like I did anything wrong except for when I reacted pretty badly to a lot of hurt and anger. And, well, I'm human, mental illness or no. Strong emotions tend to make you do stupid shit sometimes.
I wrote it for me more than for him, though I'm genuinely apologetic. I don't even know if he read it, and I give about zero fucks if he did or not. He's still not a person I want in my life, and too stubborn and prideful to admit he did anything wrong (or too ashamed? I don't really know), but I would be pretty surprised if I ever got an apology back. Even if I did, I don't know how I'd react. There's a bit too much betrayal there for me to forgive it completely, I think. (See my writing blog: Trust. I wish that wasn't where I was at, but it's pretty accurate to how I feel about the whole thing, even if I exaggerated the evil intent. Probably.) But I don't hate him. I think he acted a lot out of fear and self-preservation, which is something I understand pretty well. And he did truly care about me at one point, and helped me a lot at a time I needed it... so no, I don't hate him. No, none of that excuses him treating me pretty poorly and all the hurt he caused, but, in the end, I'm not the sort to hold onto hate and resentment for too long.
So, I've mourned the loss of the amazing friendship I had, however briefly. I've wallowed in my misery and hurt feelings and anger. I've spent the time I needed to rage and cry and let it all spin around in my head until it drove me mad. And now I'm truly, honestly done. I said my last piece, as succinctly and plainly as I could, and I hope the door to that part of my life stays shut for good.
There's one decision, one moment I do truly regret, because it may have salvaged what was good before it was too late. When he first pulled away, before he knew that was a trigger and thought it was the best decision at that moment, and when I had first expressed the need for space and time to sort out my complex feelings (*cough*)... just before everything spiralled into chaos, I let fear make a decision for me. To be fair, I was triggered pretty badly by something he couldn't have foreseen would have that effect, and it scared me shitless and put me in such a high state of anxiety that I'm not sure I could have chosen otherwise in that moment. Even before then, I was pretty terrified basically all the time. I barely managed the move out of my marriage and into a new apartment and new life with a lot of help from others. I was a pretty broken wreck by that point and I'd spent 7 years being mostly dependent. The thought of being on my own filled me with large amounts of dread. So yeah, the thought of losing even part of the close friendship I'd found was unthinkable, and I panicked.
No, I don't think I could have made the 'right' decision, the one which agreed that space was a good idea, but I regret what I did choose... and that was absolute, raw honesty. I let him in to the scary places in my head and trusted him when he reassured me, time and again, that I couldn't break what we had. True trust is something very precious to me, and as such, there are a very few, specific people I let in beyond the thickest of my walls. At that point, it was four people total, and now it is three. And I let him in further than anyone else previously, even the husband. When it became evident that we weren't as unbreakable as he said, I still trusted him, because not to do so beyond that point was too devastating. And it was when everything finally, and inevitably, fell apart beyond repair.
You'd think having your marriage fall apart after realising it was a toxic situation you needed to break free from and moving out on your own while too ill to work would be enough stress for the year/decade/lifetime, but no... being betrayed so completely by someone you left yourself so very vulnerable to, well, that's just the icing on the cake I needed this year. But I finally understand why it's taken me so long to process, adjust, cope, and finally pull myself back up once again. This shit just needed time to sort itself out inside my head.
And I'm pretty grateful and proud that I'm still here, that this hasn't broken me completely, cause it wouldn't be unreasonable if it did. But, if nothing else, years of coping with my mental illness has taught me a lot of resilience. You fail and fall down enough times, you get pretty used to picking yourself back up, too. And I've made it to 41 days clean from self-harm. You can't be too broken if you aren't self-destructive. Not that I haven't been tempted a lot, but I know it won't help anything except add to my collection of scars. Even in this last couple weeks of extremely depressed blobbiness, there's been a small voice within me forcing me to keep pushing, to move forward, and to survive. I'm finally free to live my life the way that makes me truly happy, so I know it would be silly to give up now, no matter how awful I feel.
And so, I close one door behind me and open another. No more looking back. I'm still only just beginning.
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