‘Hurt, Pain and Old Friendship…’
Some friendships go thin… Some, rusty and shallow… Time is the determinant of the strength of friendship, and then there’s trust and patience. A very important factor.
Years, five, ten, fifteen, twenty — a very long time to hold on to a friendship. It is beautiful, that kind of strong commitment, year after year after year. But this comes with a price to pay — piles of old, some very saddening, some unwanted memories.
When shared, these memories might become easier to carry along, but without ever being unloaded, they become big and strong and powerful to hurt enough, even after the blind rush of years.
I had had such memories, memories that come suddenly without a warning. Like a lightning. Memories that will put me in a lull of depression.
I know, I am to blame. I am never the one for confrontation, never liked serious discussions. And always, always had the streak of ‘Remembering Unwanted.’ It’s pathetic, the way those old memories can put a damp in the newness of happiness.
At times, when I wake away from old memories in dreams, it still hurt. It still angers. It still make me hate them the slightest. It is all in the past, old, worn out memories, but thousand times after remembering, they still carry the sharp sting.
Is it because, these memories are still new to me? Is it because I have let them fester without taking care of it? Is it because those friends never knew that time they hurt me? Is it because I have hidden them away in secret?
Now I regret never going for the confrontation. Now I regret holding on to people who have the power to hurt me.
Does that makes me pathetic, sadistic or just strong?
I don’t know…
What I know is, I should’ve said the things they’ve done to me — intentionally or unintentionally — to them. I should’ve made them understand, understand why it hurt so bad when they did it, than when someone else did it. I should’ve let them know that I treasure them, even after the pusses they have put in my heart.
But it is too late for that now. Too late to dig old and new hurtful memories, to spread it in the table for display. To put them in that place to answer, to give excuses.
Because… Even if I did it right now,
They will think… ‘It’s already over three, four, five years. Why is she over-reacting now?’
They would give me reasons — reasons that wouldn’t matter much. They would give me excuses — excuses that would make me angry and sad and just plain hateful. They’d give me nothing — and that neglect would brand, sharp, hot.
So I pretend with them, with myself. I will smile at them, but sometimes that smile would be a lie. I would talk with them, normally, but sometimes I would think of that old hurts and feel that pang just like I had felt before. I would hold hands, but wouldn’t completely forget the time they let go of my hand, for someone, something else.
They would never know…
I would always remember…
And we will continue….
I will continue…
Because, after all these sting and hurt and pain, after all the words they said to hurt, all the action that injured, their friendship still matters.
Or I would’ve cut them off long, long before…