elegantwaste's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- best friends and self-hatred I used to date my best friend, back when I was trying to convince myself that maybe I really do like boys, maybe I was bisexual, because although I had no attraction to this boy at all, he was lovely and smart and hilariously funny. After a few dates, I was so full of self-hatred for dating a man that I kind of forgot what a sweet, open person he was, and started being kind of mean to him. I broke it off. He was adamant that we stay friends. I was all, "um. i guess." So he'd call me all the time, enough that my roomie at the time would be all whispers when he called, to see if I wanted to be out. I'd talk, usually while doing other things. But he held up the conversation. He would always say how good a listener I was. Eventually, my weird self-hating thing went away, and I realized again that he was trying to be a friend, and it was working. And he's a little egotistical, and a little too proud, and thinks he's a lot smarter than he is. He pretends to know about things he doesn't know about. But if I need him, he'll be there, or try his hardest, and he'd do that even then. So in that juncture of annoying guy who calls me to friend, one night he was upset, and was telling me stories, ones that I wouldn't dare record here, about his past, his family, stuff like that. And I was doing something else, my latin homework, or watching tv. And he told me some story, the most important thing in his life, and at the most important part? I wasn't listening. I was declining nouns or watching Ally McBeal, or something equally lame. He cried, and said I was the only person he'd ever told that too, and that I was such a good person to listen quietly. And I had no idea what he was talking about. That's when I realized just how bad a friend I am. I didn't tell him I didn't hear him, and I still haven't, and he's alluded to it often enough that I know what he was talking about. But that one little thing? I really hate myself for. This little story was brought to you by more self-hatred, and a little bit of bitternes towards the best friend, since he never calls me anymore, not because we're not friends, but because 'he's so busy!' and he has a girlfriend he's blissfully, overthetop in love with. And I miss him. I want to call and talk and tell him what's wrong - I've been thinking lately that I don't really have any friends I can do that to - but when I call him, I can't bring myself to talk about it. It's like the last year, with him dating her and being really crazy busy and our schedules not meeting at all, has taken him back to the beginning, where we weren't best friends, we were friends who didn't listen. Anyway. I don't like myself very much, lately, but one good thing? I'm writing my little heart out. Nothing very good, but it feels like the old days, when I would always want to write. When writing wasn't a chore I did to please other people. My confidence in writing might just be up a tiny bit. Yay. 10:41 a.m. - 2003-02-07 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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