If somebody had told me, “Let’s hang out sometime” meant you might not ever see that friend again, I wish I had known sooner. Because when I had said “Yes, for sure!” I really meant it.
The onslaught of silence was a lot to bear. I felt I couldn’t get through this no matter how hard I tried, especially when the slack to bear came in the form of missed calls and unanswered texts and a lot of heartbreak.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the reflection of my bandaged back in the hospital mirror. This was yet another instance that reaffirmed my undesirability and worthlessness. It must have been this unexplainable medical situation that scared them off.
In moments like these, captured by the harsh cold reality that none of the ‘families’ of friends I had created throughout high school or university would come to bear witness of my suffering, I broke. I cried for a long time, not for my own pain or my family’s, but from the selfishness of portraying an image that I had those Instagram friendships of #squadgoals.
Now as my father gingerly brings the wet sponge to clean my back, my eyes are blurry from the weeks without my contact lenses. As he washes off the grime from my back that’s built up from lying down all this time, I feel as if I’ve been able to see more clearly than ever before.
It was the unconditional love of my parents through this difficult time that brought me back to life.
No matter how harsh their observations that I had placed my identity into these other ‘families,’ I had to realize this now that ultimately it was always my family who came through for me at the end of the day.
I was too hard on myself and broken, but I couldn’t ask for help. I didn’t want to ask my real family or my other families.
It took me until I saw my father crying for the first time that I decided: if the day I stopped breathing wasn’t going to end in me dying, then I had to decide to be myself and love that self. I had to put down my pride and realize that my real self was always going to be a person that cared way too much. A person who would over-commit to relationships and try hard to make it work.
For me, the meaning of life comes from the depth and quality of relationships. I understood that when I found myself on the brink of death on this hospital bed — the grades, the job, the reputation became pointless.
Maybe I was just too hurt to come to terms with the fact that I cared for and valued others a lot more than they needed or valued me. Not seeing the faces of my friends or hearing from them in the months and years to follow would end up hurting me much more than my surgical wounds ever could.
Change happens and it’s inevitable. The biggest ebbs and flows of different relationships and the mess that comes from them are concentrated during the early adult years — years where we start work or go to school while we navigate the responsibilities and freedoms of adulthood.
It seems as if there’s no better encapsulation of this than the Friends theme song where the “love life’s DOA” and “it seems as if we’re stuck in second gear.” But the point is about having people who will be there for you no matter what.
I’ve learned that, sometimes, life happens. There’s no one particular explanation that can encapsulate why some friendships will trickle out. Change is constant and we can’t count on circumstances to always be conducive to establish long-term friendships.
Even if this concept of friendships phasing out is nothing new and is a lesson we all learn, it doesn’t hurt any less.
We get older and our commitments crowd out the capacity to nurture the friendships and families we’ve created through childhood and young adulthood. It’s tough on our psychological well being and people are, well, messy. Why bother? Why bother if most of these friendships are to inevitably end?
The thing is, I’ve realized the eventuality of friendships ending. The death of certain relationships fostered new growth within me. It was from spending time with myself — when I had no one else, post-op — that I began to foster the love I so craved from others.
Rather than searching and finding, it was creating. A form of renewed self-creation.
So images of friendships have faded and my created families disappeared, but that process in itself was beautiful.
It was those old friends who taught me it was time to decide for myself who I wanted to be. To accept and acknowledge all the good and bad parts within me. I am someone self-sufficient yet capable of depending on others when times get tough. Someone who recognizes their inherent value enough to truly allow genuine, meaningful friendships to form. Enough to let those friendships take root in a solid foundation, sprout into a beautiful flower, die and give birth to new life.
I don’t know the answer to why some friends have to leave. I do know this, though — regardless of the pain and nostalgia that comes from the dissolution of meaningful and relied-upon friendships, life will have its ups and downs.
Those friendships will also have their ebb and flow.
Sometimes, people may not be there when you really need them, but I hope you take the chance, nonetheless, to appreciate them while they are still there. It’s not worth the risk to not tell someone they are loved or appreciated. Life is too short for that. Don’t forget the magical moments that come from our families.
We may both get hurt but I’m going to choose to love anyway and I hope you do too.