an existential keekah

I haven’t posted because I’ve been lost in a sea of confusion and regret. Yes, I said it. Regret. I’ve always prided myself on never looking back at past decisions and regretting the choices I made. After all, these decisions – good or bad – shaped the person I am today. But now that I am reviewing my past and looking at the loss of a dear friend because of a choice I made, well I have to admit; I regret.

Once upon a time I found myself falling in love with a good, good friend (not the friend above but another good friend) who did not return my feelings. It was wonderful and horrendous at the same time. There were times when it was just the two of us and the world was perfect. But there were also times of much confusion when his signals would cross and he’d pull away from me.

It was one of these nights where I lost sight of wrong versus right. I’d been rejected, rebuffed by the man I was falling madly in love with – in front of all of our friends no less. Humiliated and dejected, I desperately needed comfort and proof that I was desirable. Unfortunately that comfort and proof came from my dear friend’s husband (yes, the one I mentioned in the first paragraph.) Down and out himself about problems in his marriage, and alone that night, he made a pass and I didn’t refuse.

Never in my life have I regretted a decision more. Nor have I ever felt the amount of remorse as I did the next morning. And yet, it was done. I couldn’t take it back. In my pragmatic way of thinking, what I had left was damage control. I’m ashamed to say that my one and only thought of what to do was to hide this bad thing I’d done so as not to lose my friend. I vowed to take it to my grave, I swore the husband to secrecy under fear of death and I tried to cast it aside.

But I couldn’t really cast it aside because, basically, I’m a good person. I couldn’t live with the lie and remain friends with her in the same capacity. Instead, I pulled away from her. It wasn’t a conscious decision but I did take advantage of a sudden rekindling of her marriage and stepped aside to pursue my own life.  Life is funny though. Several years later found my dear friend and me in swapped roles. I was the one in a serious, committed relationship, and she was the single gal, having divorced her husband of her own will. We reconnected on so many different levels as we both grew in our new roles.

My friend had always had me on a pedestal that made me nervous – even before my transgression. As we grew even closer, the adoration/admiration from her towards me grew and that pedestal she placed me on grew higher and higher. At one point, she said to me that I was the person she trusted the most to tell her anything, and she believed me to be the most honest person with her.  I felt shameful and remorseful to be living a lie with her. This woman who meant the world to me – I loved her and I was lying to her. I had these two warring sides within – I wanted never to tell her to protect her from the ugly truth, and I wanted to tell her so I’d be worthy of the love and trust she gave me so willingly. One drunken night, I spilled everything to her.

It took one night to betray her, six years to tell her the truth of that betrayal and about a year after that to lose her friendship. Ten months later, I sit here confessing to all of you.

I consider the reasons for my confession to her after six years. I’d thought that confessing to her would make me worthy of her love and would also absolve me of the guilt, shame and remorse I felt. I thought that would be the end. But it wasn’t.

I consider the reasons why she couldn’t find it in her heart to truly forgive me. I wonder if the betrayal itself wasn’t as awful as how long it took me to tell her. The ultimate betrayal was my silence. Or perhaps the ultimate betrayal was my telling her at all; because ignorance is bliss. Or worse, maybe what hurt her most is that I didn’t do this to her specifically. She was never even a consideration that night – she was just fallout from a really bad decision.

I consider the reasons for my confession now. My friend commented on one of my blog posts right after she stopped talking to me and questioned how I could talk so freely about the pain of my broken triad, and yet, I had nothing to say for lost friendships. I wonder now if what she wanted from me was this confession – to all who read this blog – proof that she matters, proof that she was a victim of a careless and uncaring act.

So, I say back to you all now – talking about the dissolution of my triad was easier because I gave 110% to that relationship. But I did not give 110% to our friendship once I made that fateful choice all those years ago when her husband hit on me. I didn’t even give 110% when I confessed because I didn’t allow her to grieve in her own way; instead I placed my own expectations of forgiveness and absolution on her shoulders. Worse, I made it sound like my confession was a gift of truth to her, when what it truly was an outpouring of my own grief and agony.

And I regret that most of all – not that I told her the truth but that I made it all about me. All I have left to give is this last confession – with no hope for me that it will mean anything at all except one last act of contrition.

I wish I’d given even 1% thought for her that night, oh so many years ago. She deserved better.

Stranger than your sympathy
And this is my apology
I killed myself from the inside out
And all my fears have pushed you out

And I wished for things that I don’t need
(all I wanted)
And what I chased won’t set me free
(all I wanted)
And I get scared but I’m not crawlin’ on my knees

Goo Goo Dolls, Sympathy