In between feels, I have to laugh at myself.
I have fresh-strawberry brownie in hand, straight from the oven, piping hot and chocolaty as sin. I've had two pieces.
I'm planning a couple days of beloved old movies, to staunch the wound. (Though I'm having issues locating mums copy of P&P...).
And I have a head cycling through all the things said, adding up all the hurts hurting, because apparently it's wired into our biology.
"I'm a lot closer to a lot of people I didn't tell you", he says. Turns out, 'I just didn't tell you I stopped caring about you. Completely.' Of course, I was still more than willing to take advantage of your good nature in the mean time. And text you for entertainment whenever I was bored. But hey! Now you know! Huzzah! I don't have to bother pretending to be your friend any more! Win!
Of course I'm sure it helps that I am no longer in the same city, and the advantage-taking had to end as a result. And you know, not having to see me, to deal with anything.
I genuinely, actually never realised how all those bullshit romcoms and chicklit and so on, could reflect real life.
Yes. Yes I am that pathetic.
I am exactly the friend-version of Iris in the first half of The Holiday. Foolish. So hurt.
But I guess you find out who the people are who do indeed still love you. The ones who don't throw it around. The ones who keep meaning it, even after the fact.
After being there for them, when they needed someone to be there for them. After they decide they want to forget about the hard times and hey, sorry luv, but you are so entwined in that I'm cutting you out. It's easier than dealing with things. It's easier to have shallow, meaningless friendships with people who don't care about the important stuff, who are more than happy to accommodate your rubbish behaviour.
Turns out you were blind. You should have listened to your friends all those times when you defended his character and stood up for him and smoothed over the shitty consequences from his shitty behaviour. Turns out you should never have shielded or cajoled or reassured in the background, you should have let the shit hit the fan and let him sort out his own clusterfuck of consequences.
How could I have been so wrong?
Rhetorical question, of course. It used to be different. In a couple days I'll endeavour to remember that good stuff, and not this.