Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Enough is Enough

It is hard to explain to my husband why I am somewhat whacko about some things. He doesn’t want to hear the details and I find it hard to explain without the details.


Perhaps I should adjust my attitude and just start with the premise that I do not need to justify my stance. If I cease to allow others to make me feel guilty and just say what I think or need it might work better.


Recently an old friend sent a message to me. She apologized for being a bad friend and appeared to want to be friends again. My husband thinks this is sweet. I do not.


Let me explain it in a letter:




Dear X--

Thank you for your kind words.

When our friendship ended your words were not so kind. You did not speak them to me, but to others-- others who believed what you had to say although none of it was true.

I have been confronted for my alleged unkindness to you. Friendships have been tainted to the point that some of my friendships have been badly damaged or have ended. I could not make excuses for behavior that I did not commit, so I remained silent. I still have people confronting me regarding things that you have said.

You have approached my friends and family in attempts to speak to me. You have sent a friend request on Facebook, which was ignored. Again friends have approached me asking why I am so persistently cruel to you.

I do not hate you. I just am not interested. I cannot trust you.

It has been 18 years. Let it go. Your persistence amounts to stalking. The attention is creepy and unwanted. Please stop.


Will I send this letter? Probably not. It isn’t my goal to hurt anyone, but at least I can now articulate how I feel. I don’t know why this person wants to be friends. I do know that I spent two years crying over the lost friendship and the horrible things that were said about me. My sorrow was deep and, at the time, endless.

But I learned to end it. And I learned that what was said and done was not my fault. I got past it and don’t think any reminder of that time is sweet.


And I don’t want to go there again.


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