Welcome (back) to the pink room! Grab a seat, get comfortable… we might be here for a little while.
Two days ago.
was the birthday. of my now. ex-friend. What an odd thing to call someone.
A week ago.
they called me.
After months and months of not calling me.
After I did every backflip in the book (metaphorically, of course). So as to believe that… well these gaps of time were in fact not heavy with meaning. with loss. I had lost too many friends already. And we were these kind of emotionally intelligent friends. For sure he would tell me if something was wrong. He wasn’t the kind of person to ghost someone. He was just busy. It didn’t mean anything. And if I had to delete his number so as to calm my nervous system. so be it. It didn’t mean anything. This is just adulthood. You can’t be needy in adulthood. You can’t actually need your friends in adulthood. So don’t be crazy. Don’t ask them to call you. They will call you when they remember. These are the rules. And he is a good one. He makes you feel safe. Don’t be too much. Not again.
And yet. here we are. two days. past. the birthday. of my.
ex-friend.
He was ghosting you.
He did lie to you. He told you everything was okay. You believed him. You are anxiously attached. So you believed him. You trained yourself to deny every impulse that even whispered, maybe he is leaving. or perhaps. he has already left. So it’s odd. Now. when you hear his voice coming out in fits and starts. He is crying. He did not tell you before the start of this call what the purpose is. You did ask. And he lied. And you kind of knew it. but also for a second, thought the crazy charade of pretending a friend who never replies is still better than no friend at all might go on. But now. As his voice whimpers. you know. You are used to it. How crazy is that? You are used to people crying on a phone about why they are choosing to leave you.
And you.
are silent. Calm. formal. and very emotionally healthy. You say. with no real agitation or animation. okay. So this is final? And then you wait. And they cry more. And then they say you’re such a good person but I have this feeling and I can’t deny it. You wait. another break for tears. Then finally. So yes. This is final. This is a friendship break-up. And then you say. okay. And garner up gratitude. which is, I think, real. in the moment. But never rage. You never seem to grab rage. Sometimes you wish you could. Even though for sure you would lose your title as emotionally healthy. But shouldn’t you feel rage. I mean you have been routinely biting your nails, pulling your hair and deleting and undeleting their number for longer than even now you wish to share. And here you are. grateful. And they are. crying. because they have decided you make them feel dread.
Phone call ends.
There is something about the click. You always end the call. It doesn’t feel like your responsibility. But who else will. So you end the call. You end the breakup call you were not even informed about. You provide the relief. A final act of care. and.
And.
nothing.
NOTHING. just. nothing. You don’t even cry.
You feel.
used. unreal. They used you. And now they are done with you. Because they feel dread. Because being friends with you feels too hard. because you are like sour grapes. because they don’t like your mysterious voice in their heads. because you wanted to exist in the friendship too.
So you don’t tell them you also have felt dread. you don’t tell them friendship with them is hard sometimes too. You don’t tell them how you took 10 showers when you got home haunted by a touch you figured you asked for. you don’t tell them how hallow their emotional walls left you after every real call not in your head you had with them. You don’t tell them shit. You hung up the fucking phone. You don’t tell them about the panic attacks. the loneliness. you don’t tell them about the ache. the ugliness that every one of those god damn calls seems to leave you drenched in. You don’t tell them. How you chose them. How that meant fucking something to you. how that meant everything to you. How you thought that’s what friendship meant. It meant choosing someone again and again. You don’t tell them. You hung up the phone.
you don’t say. how when shit got hard for you, they didn’t choose you back. You don’t say anything. And still. no fucking rage. nothing. you don’t even feel calm. just hallow. And that’s when you wonder
how long you must have disciplined yourself into non-existence.
to be exactly the kind of good. healthy. friend who is not too needy. does not have needs and get’s abandoned on a monday after months of silence by a person whom is perpetually missing from their phone contacts on a fucking phone call. And. no rage. no tears. just sickening composure.
When did you become the person who was so easy to abandon? When exactly did it happen?
The person who helps their own murderer with the murder. So as to not inconvenience them. Because at least they fucking chose you. I mean it’s a big deal to get murdered. Once in a lifetime. so you don’t want them to know about the searing pain because maybe they’ll choose someone else. And nothing worse than being almost murdered but not. I guess.
What good is rage anyway? What use is it to scream? Doesn’t rage consume? Wouldn’t it consume you? What if there is no one who actually wants you? What if you can’t return from it? What if that is adult friendships? A perpetual rejection of needs so that when they abandon you, your body won’t even register the shift. So. You end the call.
Phone call ends.
I wish you did though. Get angry. I wish. you fucking cursed him off the phone. I wish you gave him something to actually dread. i wish you became dreadful. I wish he had to fucking hang up the phone himself. Not you. I wish he felt the soccer punch in his gut. he felt even half the grief in that call that you had all year. being so entirely alone. while lying to yourself that this is what healthy friendships looked like. I wish you felt indignant and he felt shame. I am not sure what it would solve. And I wish for once you might feel indignant about yourself. You might feel rage.
“No. I don’t want to be casual friends.
No. I don’t want to say hi.
No I don’t understand. You are a bad friend. You are a bad person. Your tears are making me queasy with rage. don’t insult me. don’t call me”.
Phone call ends.
Okay. That’s all… friends, see you back here again in pink room, real soon.
From the Pink Room 