There comes a point when it's hard to decipher what's good and what's bad; over time the lines between the two get blurred. It's awful to start on such a clichéd note, but for the sake of this letter that cliché is important. To be honest life is a cliché. We are all stereotypes and we keep allowing ourselves to live our stereotypical and, quite frankly, archetypical lives. We are like overused tropes in a piece of literature. We try so hard to be different that we end up being exactly like the people and things we don't want to be.
I'm writing this because I'm trying to come to terms with a friendship break up. I've never been in a serious romantic relationship so I can't tell if a friendship break up is worse than that of a romantic one. What I can say is that the abrupt ending felt like I'd been thrown in my jujitsu class and forgot to tuck my chin. It felt like I'd been sucker punched in my gut and all of my breath had been taken away from me. This sounds like an overdramatization, but I promise I've never felt anything like this before.
What I don't understand is why I allowed myself to live in this illusion I created. I don't understand how I got so tangled and so far away from reality that I almost forgot who I was and what I stood for. I begged and pleaded with myself to end the suffering I was feeling by finally shattering that god-awful funhouse mirror. But there was something so beautiful about the way it made me see myself.
It's funny how someone can make you feel beautiful and ugly all at once. How someone can build you up and keep you safe, only to sweep your legs out from under you and watch you go crashing to the ground. The thing about toxic relationships that no one tells you is this: you don't realize you're in a toxic relationship until it's gone too far. You only realize the true meaning once you've broken your tailbone hitting rock bottom. You only realize what you've done and what they've done once the emotional damage is so embedded in your very existence.
It's not love or friendship or romance or familial if you're constantly being broken down. Love is not supposed to hurt so bad that you're sad and angry more than you're happy. Jealousy and envy are not part of a happy or healthy relationship or friendship. You are worth more than that, but you don't realize that until you no longer feel what it feels to be happy. Little white lies turn into big white lies and big white lies turn into unfathomable truths. What's the truth behind those lies?
Another thing is this: it's not your fault. Stop blaming yourself. Stop telling yourself that you were stupid to not have seen the truth. The thing about this friendship that ended is that they allowed me to continue to believe in my illusions and they fueled those little sparks of hope. I was on fire at the prospect of my fantasies and wildest dreams coming true. I felt like maybe, for once in my lonesome life, something would go the way I so desperately needed it to go. But what did I need so bad that I would abandon all of the self respect I once had? What was so important about this friendship panning out the way I so desperately wanted it to that I was willing to sacrifice my dignity?
So here I was, the girl in all of the young adult clichéd novels. The girl who falls for the boy who is so clearly not right for her, but he's so handsome and manly and build cars and tells beautiful lies. So I go for it anyway and land on my face. The only difference between my archetype in the literary world and the real world is I never got the guy.
Life is weird. Life sometimes sucks. But life is beautiful. So to whomever is reading this, allow your life to be beautiful without sacrificing your self respect and your dignity. You are worth every bit of happiness. When that funhouse mirror is shattered and you see your real self practically naked and alone and in your most vulnerable state, let yourself grieve, but only for a moment. After you mourn the loss of your beautiful lie, allow yourself to become.
If you're still reading this, and I hope you are, please understand that every illusion shatters and those little tiny fragments of broken glass might pierce your skin and scar you, but that scar doesn't define you. Your scar does not mean you were weak. Your scar does not mean that you did nothing right. What is right? What is wrong? How do you unblur those lines once they've already been blurred? You'll figure it out, but only after being cut by the fragments of your shattered illusions.
No matter what you do, keep going.
Sincerely,
Amy Elisabeth Wright