I don’t like to cry. I don’t do it well, I look red-faced and awful when I do it, and so I avoid crying in the same way I would avoid a root canal without anesthetic. If there is a situation on my radar that may induce tears in me, I do everything I can to keep the tap firmly in the “OFF” position.
Unfortunately, I also do not have complete and total dominance over every circumstance in my life, so I am forced, from time to time, to cry.
There is a struggle going on in my heart right now that touches on this crying aversion.
My dearest friend, who happens to be of the opposite gender, has had a terribly rough time in his relationship. Without going into detail, I can only say that his partner a) has a tough row to hoe, and b) has lots of trouble with my presence. (Probably my existence, too, but let’s not get carried away.)
I received this evening an email from my friend that said he can no longer be my friend. I can no longer be even tangentially involved with him. (Fruitless, really, since a 20 year association doesn’t just go away like water down a drain.)
Of course, this is pretty unreasonable. None of us is in middle school anymore. I am not a femme fatale out to steal a man who is “hers”. But I am willing, out of respect and, yes, love for my friend to stand down. I won’t point out that anyone who would insist on cutting off friendships may not be in the best place for a relationship of trust and mutuality.
But it hurts.
It hurts that my friend, who has done so much for me and seen me through some real ugliness and fear, is not allowed to depend on me. It hurts that I can not deliver the support and encouragement he so obviously needs during a stressful, painful time in his life. It hurts that he can no longer rely on me, not because I proved myself unreliable, but because I am apparently some sort of threat.
I say this to the Universe at Large, since I can not say it to the one who should hear it:
The door is always open, and I am here if you need me.