One friendship has died.
The past weekend was full of surprises and drama. Lots of drama. More than enough for a while at least.
The Hamptons. Once again, I decided to go there, and expected to spend a good time. Two days of no sleep, arguing, cursing, and breaking up with my best friend of three years doesn’t really qualify as good time, does it?
But the break-up felt justified. People show their true colors after a while, and she happened to pick that weekend to reveal the bully that she was. My patience and kindness reached their limits. When someone takes me for granted and starts treating me like garbage because they think I’ll always be by their side no matter what, basing everything on their selfish needs and throwing numerous fits every time something doesn’t go the way they want it to, that someone gets to experience a dreadful wake-up call.
Many circumstances added to the already tensed interaction between the two of us. Alcohol never helps. And being surrounded by a group of strangers as your witnesses certainly meets the Real World analogy.
She isn’t a bad person. I think she just needs to find herself. That weekend drained us to the core, and the relationship we took time to build deteriorated like it never existed in the first place. I got to say one thing about the whole ordeal though: whatever happened, happened for a reason. And the drama caused this weekend won’t be repeated.
I take responsibility for my actions. Everything I did, said, and thought, I’d do it again. Nothing I regret. Nothing I’d do differently. I reset boundaries that had been crossed a while ago, and they should never have been crossed in the first place.
So here I am. I lost a good friend. Maybe she’ll become a better person because of this event. I hope so at least.
And what about myself?