She Hated Me, Right From the Start

She was my first friend away from home.
Easy to laugh with, ready for mischief.
She used her car and my naive courage,
to enter all the places that would have denied her on merit alone.

She invited me to her hometown.
She introduced me to her boyfriend.
They introduced me to acid.
We dropped it the first time at a local bowling alley.
Then it was in the woods.
She left me defenseless when she grew tired of me.

No warning.
I was an outsider again.
I stayed with her boyfriend’s friend.
Dropped some more acid to entertain my lonely mind.
Dropped even more acid, until I tried to remove the vein in my left arm with cut glass.

In she came.
I remember her walking through the door.
This time, the drug du jour was crank.
Now they call it crystal meth.
The lines kept coming.

We parted.
We met again.
We were the same in that we were young.
Different in our hearts.
Hiding her jealousy, the best trick she knew.

I loved her like a sister.
Anything that was mine was hers.
Anything at all.
No questions asked.

She amazed me with her brilliant smile, her blazing mind, and her quick wit.
She was creative.
She was smart.
She saved her money.
She took classes.

I traveled the world.
I dated celebrities.
I was a supermodel.
Friendless, cruising cemeteries for comfort, where I thought I belonged.

We parted.
We met again
We were the same yet different.
My career soared.
She never made it past the stage of indifference.

I spent my money on people like her.
The hangers on with two faces.
Was I buying affection?
In retrospect, I was.
Surrounded by opulence and endless champagne, an outsider I remained.
That is how it was.

Ostracized at the age of seventeen.
Shunned and shamed, I lit every fuse.
Burnout empty soul.
Goddammit, it never worked.

We parted.
We met again.
We were different yet the same.
I found her many years later standing in the rain.
New York, the city filled with millions of disenfranchised go-getters.
There she was.
Instantly at ease.

Time faded the scars left behind.
She still amazed me with her drive and commitment to being a self-made woman.
I still made thousands of dollars representing the world’s most luxurious brands.
I was revolting.
My unexamined life was one of lust and excess.
Endless payback for bad choices rained down.
It was a hailstorm from hell.

She hated me because of my success.
She never knew how much I wished that I did not exist.
I never knew the extent of her jealousy.
Would never even consider that kind of thought.
Why envy someone who hated herself?

I was still the same.
Just like I was when we met in our teens.
Maybe she was too.
I never did look for the ugly in people.
Her heart was driven by the desire for fame at all costs.
My heart was broken the moment I was born.
We parted.

We met again.
Over the Internet.
A million miles away, I listened to her coo about her first baby.
I had three children by then.
My life was a chaotic brew of bullshit.
I told her to be careful.
My advice to her was not to listen to the opinions of others.
I received plenty of those, judgments and condescendence, a waste of time that would drive her insane.
I told her she would be just fine if she tapped into what is considered a natural instinct, mothering.

She sweetly said that she wished I was there.
She missed me.
She loved me.
I was her best friend.

We met again.
Her life was full.
Beautiful babies.
A wonderful husband.
The cutest house.

I admired her.
She was special.
She had it all.
She hated me.
I never noticed because I was busy hating myself.

We parted.
We met again, years later over the phone.
Time stood still.

She was sweet.
The kind of friend every girl would want.
Understanding, a listener.
I adored her.
She inspired me.
At this point she was successful.
I was a shell of who I once was.

She loved that I was broken.
My heart, not filled with hate, just bitter disappointment,
was barely beating.
I did not recognize the warning signs.

We parted
We met again.
We were different yet the same.
Her wish had come true.
We were in the same state.
We had big plans.
We were the dreamers of dreams.

In the meantime, she helped me.
I needed the help.
I could barely stand on my own – my destruction was almost complete.

“Never mind,” she said.
“You can leave. You can stay.
I am here for you, no matter what you choose to do with your life.”

She hated me.
I was still famous, in circles that revolved in bubbles of the past.
No one knew her name.

Those days were my favorite.
We were industrious and courageous.
It was she and I against the world.
Bittersweet, in retrospect, that time in our lives, was the beginning of the end.

She hated me.
This I came to realize when she introduced me to her friends.
The line was drawn, didn’t I know how to behave?
Condescending, insulting and inflammatory.
Jekyll and Hyde, when we were more than two.

She hated me.
I hated myself because I believed what she said.
Still, she caressed me with kindness and praise, when I least expected it.
She reeled me in like a bottom feeder fish.
We would laugh.
Share secrets and wish that our time together was not cut short by realities commitments.

She hated me.
Enough, oh just enough to abandon me again.
New city, new state.
Friendless, vulnerable.
No warning.
Snap.

Our plans still in effect but always one sided.
She had the keys and was quick to tell me that I lacked qualifications to do better, if not only just enough.
Paranoia crept in.
Battered with accusations, she confronted me with demands.
She insisted on taking ownership of what was born from misery.

She hated me.
I could see it now.
It was the way she insulted my integrity.
It was in the way she suggested that I diminish my charm.
I gave in.
I loved her.
She could have anything she wanted; she was my best friend after all.

Days turned into weeks then months.
Being excluded from her life hurt at first.
I thought we were family, but then I saw the pattern emerge,
colored in with bold slashes of green envy.

I tried my best to shine some of my light her way.
What was mine was hers even then.
Because I loved her.

No communication, I carried the load.
I was alone for months during that season.
New to the area.
Not a friend in sight.
Endless summer days to fill.

She is like this with everyone.
She has done this to others.
I know the truth.
She has never been anyone’s best friend.
She does not waste time.
The invitation into her royal court arrives only if you possess something she wants.

My health deteriorated.
Physically the wounds appeared.
Open, weeping sores on the palms of my hands.
Open, weeping sores on my face.
Open, weeping tears crisscrossed my cheeks.

We are different.
We have parted again.
This time for good.

I want to thank her.

Because of her constant insistence that I only displayed juvenile emotions and a lack of presentation skills,
I examined myself thoroughly.
If it were not for her ruthless denunciation of my character,
I would have remained blind.
I finally am able to see my life’s journey through another person’s eyes.

She always said, “People don’t help people who don’t help themselves.”

What she did not bank on, was the fire growing brighter inside of me.
She utilized every maneuver she could,
trying to snuff my audacious dream into cold embers.

She had no idea that the lit flame had grown inside of me,
it is now a roaring wildfire.
Swept along, uncontainable, fueled by wayfarers,
who like me, see the beauty tucked inside of pain.
Who like me know the brilliance of an empath’s mind.
We are unabashedly willing to traverse the sound of silence,
ultimately breaking free of the constraints of social composure.

Because of her, I will always pause before doling out judgment.
Because of her, I recognize that love vanquishes hate.
Because of her, I know who I am and what I will fight to achieve.

People do help people that can’t help themselves.
They are in my eyes, angels of mercy, the bearers of light.
We are different. We are the same.
Because of her, I have found my tribe.

She was wrong.

 

Photo: © Julie Anderson All Rights Reserved