I had a very good friend from the age of 10. We were both outcasts of sorts, enjoyed to read, and were changing into adults. We shared a lot. We discovered alcohol together (albeit much younger than I would want any children of mine to discover it), and boys. After a while these things weren't novelties anymore. They started becoming a way of life for her. Then they weren't enough. She wound up in abusive relationships (she did her own share of the abusing), doing all sorts of drugs- at one point Oxycontin pills that cost $80 a pop as a daily habit, and who knows what else. It was like a train wreck, I couldn't look away. I didn't even notice the train crashing until there were more casualties than survivors. If she sneezed she would either try to snort it back up or lick the snot not to waste whatever remnants might be left in there.
I saw her do that. It wasn't enough for me to watch her change from experimental to addict. It wasn't enough for me to see that she would never be there in a way a friend would. She would come over, inevitably drunk, high or both, and talk about how awful her life was. It was always awful. It was always about her, and how badly someone treated her, or how someone ripped her off while buying drugs, or how ill she felt, or how she didn't have enough money for things like rent and food. And I always listened. I was sad for her in a way she wasn't.
After years and of this a mutual friend and I (more him than me) called her out on her dramatic, drug preferring ways. The way we described it was breaking up. That's what it felt like. We were friends for 12 or 13 years. Years later I still think about her regularly. Whenever I hear a song by Ani Difranco called Two Little Girls I think of her. Or sometimes when I think of her I think of that song.
Breaking up is so hard to do. I have a tendency to stick around longer than what is healthy. Healthy for me, but also for the other party. I was enabling.
There is a part of me I identify with from that period in my life. I struggled so hard with depression, and I hated my self. I don't know if I've ever truly hated anyone beside myself. That person who I was is still a part of me. And sometimes when I get sad I'll wallow. Sometimes the world is against me today.
I don't hate my friend, although there is still an aching. I don't blame her for anything, but I do hope the best for her. I hope she finds a way out where others don't. Who knows, maybe she already has. But how can I harbor a distaste for myself I don't harbor for someone who caused me so much pain- someone who was willing to throw over 10 years of our lives out for a habit she couldn't afford.
I'm not sure how to explain it properly, but I think it's time to break up with that person still inside of me. I don't have to blame myself, hate myself, punish myself. I was young. Teenagers and young adults make stupid choices. I wouldn't hate another person for being the person I was, or behaving the way I did. I understand how it is to be silently screaming inside, letting the world pass one by, and not able (or think one is able) to do anything about it. Next thing you know, it's 5 years later. Then 10. (Here I go- digressing...)
Anyways, those are my thoughts on that. Maybe they should be better thought out, but that's the level I'm at right now.