"yeah, i do. i said that before, i want to stay friends. actual friends, who actually care about each other, not just acquaintences who see each other on occasion and talk about the weather. what about you? do you still care about me? do you want to know how i''m feeling? do you want to be my *friend*?"
"I do. It's just - how to put this? You hurt me far more than you had to. You used me and exploited our relationship, then dumped me. You broke your promised and showed very little concern for me. You avoided me for a week and a half, knowing full well that I was desperately trying to get in touch with you. These are not things friends do."
"what the hell are you talking about? when did any of this happen? when did i not show concern for you? what promise? when was this week and a half, and how were you trying to get in touch with me? and how the hell did i "use you and expliot our relationship"? if anything, i would think that would be you."
I won't paste my (one, two, three, four, five, six) six-ICQ-message* reply here . . . grrr. I know I'm right - I know it happened this way, I know I was rejected and exploited. I know she often misses seeing every side of a disagreement, and I know that I often see every side. I know that I spent years getting better at remembering things like this, because it's the only way I stood a chance against my mom.
I also know that things *do* change in my mind - rarely, but occasionally. And I know that I've, occasionally, told myself something so many times that I start to believe it.
This is why I keep a log.
Excerpt from a New Year's entry . . . note that I have replaced her name with "Silvie", for no particular reason.**
"I kept asking, and she always had something more important to do . . . she had someone to talk to, someone she needed to say something to, always something more important. but I needed her, I needed to hold her, I love her, I LOVE HER, I need to see her, to hold her, to cry in her hair, I need you silvie . . . she never had any time for me, she kept being with other people. and I kept asking, and she kept saying yes, sure, soon . . ."
Don't think I was in good shape then :P No, I think I'm right, I think that is what happened . . . sigh.
Line from seven days later, when she hadn't talked to me for a week solid:
"Just forget it, Zorba. Some things are better not remembered."
(Yes, I call myself Zorba in my log :P I AM Zorba - I spend more time as Zorba than as anything else, really.)
*sigh* yeah. I figure if she isn't willing to understand, I'm probably better off not trying to keep her as a close friend . . . I don't need someone around who has such power over me and no concept of how I'm willing to have it used.
Before she changed, she understood . . . *sigh*.
Time to start looking again, I guess . . .
* ICQ has a 450-character limit for messages stored on the server. The limit's annoying, but at least it *can* store messages on the server, unlike AIM :P 6 messages would be about 2.5k of text. In comparison, this entire entry is about 4k. Including mood and music.
** okay, maybe not *no* reason, those of you who know who Silvie is . . . but, grrr, it was just the first name that popped into my head, alright? *glare*
*** anyone who has anything to say, no matter how trivial, is invited to respond. sometimes it'd be nice to get a *few* comments on here - even if you don't know me worth beans, go ahead :P Even if this entry is two years old, I probably still wouldn't mind . . . go ahead, speak your heart, even if all you can manage is unconnected single-word emotions.
**** I wonder if she'd mind me putting this up here? I wonder if I really care at this point . . .
***** no, *** through ***** aren't connected to anything. Stop looking.
current mood: like I want to stand on an outcropping of hill and gaze at the stars - the viewpoint is from behind me, and all you can see is my silhouette against the sky, moonlit slightly so you can see vague outlines and highlights, but nothing more.
current music: Chrono Cross end theme