Nevertheless, I've been putting off this final chapter of SAD MOTH since the end of 2023, in hopes that there was an alternative ending in store. Given that there are a few exciting events coming up, I wanted to clear the backlog of experiences I have yet to write about, so here we go 😀
In general, I prefer beginnings over endings. Whether in movies, books, trips, or semesters, the infinite branching of possibilities at the start feels much less claustrophobic than the movement of a chip down the Plinko board, hurtling towards a singular outcome. Even in essays, when tasked with writing a conclusion, I wondered why the reader didn't pay close enough attention during the body.
Thus, this present task of trying to summarize how I imploded a friendship is one that I've kept on the back burner for a while.
~~~While drafting speaker notes on how to empathetically (but concisely) conclude our friendship, I recognized that the main theme was grief over a connection of the past. The act of trying to explain to a person what they have meant to you over the past decade or so of knowing them was actually really embarrassing and frustrating. Embarrassing to the point where I wanted to flee the unfolding social disaster, but could not, since I was perpetrating said disaster. Frustrating to the point where I wanted to cry when words to communicate the full context of the situation failed to come (not unlike a toddler I suppose). So much for preparing notes.
It was mortifying to tell a friend that they should leave first because I didn't think I could be the one to walk away. With an awkward pat on the back, we shook hands and saluted to the end of a friendship.
~~~
And as quickly as things escalated, it ended just like that. I remember crying, feeling annoyed at crying, and trying to rationalize my tears to a stop. Sometimes, a masochistic urge would arise to wallow in the emotion like picking a scab. Given that this was, realistically, a situation of low existential threat, the fact that I've mulled over this hour long interaction for almost half a year is just alskdfjlsdkj.
A variety of things were subject to grief: the loss of an adolescent best friendship, the casting away of an easy balance of talking about everything and nothing at all (what a cliche). It was a slow realization over many years that I wanted to talk more about somethings rather than nothings, and even actually do things rather than just talk. I can see how "random small stuff" can be synonymous with the trivial or quotidian, but whether I shared milestones or blurry pictures of cars, the fact that they were sent to you first was not random.
If I were to be more objective, I can see how the diode of information flowed one way, but not much in the opposite direction. I can also see the break point occurring many years earlier had digital communication not enabled this configuration of friendship.
Anyhoo, a nice brew of injured pride, rejection, indulgent lamentation, and eventual acceptance had been captured from the atmosphere and petrified in this SAD MOTH chapter, as we hope to do with carbon dioxide within stone.
While the jury is still out on whether this will solve climate change, at least I have some breathing room for what is to come.
