Rejection From Friends and Lovers

When I was eleven, my therapist diagnosed me with being “too sensitive.” It came as no surprise; my mom was puzzled how I ever remained hydrated after all the crying I did, and my friends wondered how I could ever get through the day given all my worrying. I was “too much:” too caring, too fragile. My titles: “drama queen,” “weird,” and “emotional.” What was wrong about caring? Were my expectations for others too high, or was I choosing the wrong people to be in my life? It seemed like most of my relationships, platonic and romantic, were frowned upon by my parents and closer friends who told me how much better I deserved. When one such friend told me I should move on from a guy she deemed insufferable and selfish, I believed her because I loved her, because I trusted her, because I idolized her, because I really thought she loved me.

When I found out weeks ago that she was secretly seeing that very guy (the one I dated for a whirlwind six months), I was once again reminded of the words of my first therapist: “too sensitive.” It was bad enough that she set me up with him, that her boyfriend of two years was his best friend and roommate, that the four of us would hung out, that my ex and her would go on walks and smoke and I trusted them. They were “just friends.” That was bad enough, but now it was clear she hadn’t believed he was this terrible person (despite his terrible treatment of me), that he was selfish and incapable of caring for others because she had, for months, been seeing him. It was during these months that I sensed her becoming distant, even telling her “I care too much about this relationship and can see I am doing something to drive you away. Can we please talk about it?” To which she only replied that everything was “fine,” work was just “overwhelming,” and she was “tired.” Lying through it, with seemingly no guilt, while I continued to wonder what I had done wrong. Why had she lied to me for so long? Why did she get involved with him, seeing how disposably he treated me, the hours I spent crying, her shoulder the one gleaming with my tears and slobber. How could she choose him, this guy that had hurt me, over me, a friend that had been there and cared so much about her? I think about helping her move into her apartment, or sharing a bed for weeks while we traveled together, or her comforting me in the bathroom at a frat party, or bringing her to a jazz show for her birthday. All those times shared, growing closer to her, now nauseating, dirtied by her and her betrayal. 

I wonder what more I could have given to our friendship and when I can think of nothing, I think there must be something wrong with me. In the daze of the news, I ran on the treadmill until my brain went blank and budding tears turned to sweat and exhaustion. (I am not a runner. I hate running.) I couldn’t eat knowing that my ex had cuddled me while probably thinking of her. Sleep promised escape, but most nights I would wake from a reoccurring nightmare in which the two new lovebirds are the center of my friends’ and family’s admiration. When my grandparents innocently asked how this friend was doing, I replied, “apparently she’s a bitch.” I was only saved from my dad’s reprimanding by my grandfather’s faulty hearing aids and my grandmother’s oblivion. Though I was thankful to escape what would’ve been a lengthy lecture about being appropriate around my grandparents, I wanted to reveal all she had done to become the terrible, unloving person I now saw her as; one who didn’t mind doing something she knew would destroy me and end our friendship. I wanted to stir anger in them, too, but as I struggled to hold back my rants of rage, I also couldn’t help but try to find a way I could forgive her… because I missed her, because I loved her. 

I tend to cling to relationships, to happy memories from past relationships and wonder what went awry. Was I lacking something? Even in my relationship with said guy, I wonder what I did wrong. Because even though I had no intention of starting a relationship, I slipped into this rhythm of caring. At first with autonomy, but then he became vulnerable with me, the lust like running currents underfoot, taking me out. Fastened to the flow; obsessed. I would plan dates, yearn to see him every night, want him to tell me how pretty I looked, or how impressive I was. I believed all the things he said about remembering meeting me years before, thinking I was pretty, and how he really cared about me. I believed this despite him taking many days to respond to texts, ignoring me at date functions he brought me to, talking about his ex and how his ex “did it” while hooking up, and mentioning how his friends had crushes on him (and it was complicated), yet spend days and dinners with them. I had already started caring, I was already tethered and lost my confidence that I had worked so hard to build. I was suffocated in emotional thinking with only glimpses of wisdom and rational thought. 

The turbulence of the relationship kept me hooked, as though he was more than me, or someone I should fight for. I kept up with his wanting to get with other people, with hooking up with his friend while we were together, and prioritizing Python over my needs. And for six muddled months, I gave myself to this relationship, trips to Milan, meeting parents, growing closer, only for him to end it days before he had planned to visit. Was I not pretty enough, smart enough, mysterious enough? While I can easily pick out the flaws in this ex partner and cringe at his comments about idolizing Mark Zuckerbeg (specifically as depicted in the social network, yuck), I think about my friend and the reason for her complete disregard of me and cannot as easily find her flaws. 

I am plauged by the possibility of eternal loneliness, of never trusting, of thinking I am truly the most annoying, ugly, dumb, person there was and no wonder I was rejected. I’ve sat in my room wondering if there will ever be someone that loves me like I love others. Will I always care more, or will I find someone who can reciprocate? And at the moment, it is so hard to believe I will ever find someone that truly wants me as much as I want them. I listen to my parents and best friends when they say I deserve so much more, and I try to believe them, I really do. Sometimes it works, and I do know my worth: I think about all that I have accomplished, how understanding I am, how I can love, the talents I have, or my complexities. But that confidence slips away as I think about my rejections, from friends and lovers, and I fall back into this self-hating spiral. 

I used to be unable to cultivate my own confidence, constantly outsourcing from guys groping for my number on a night out or the amount of likes I earned on an Instagram post. So when faced with rejection, my confidence waned. So here’s my very YA, coming-of-age epiphany: my rejections don’t mean there is something wrong with me or even some flaw with them in choosing to let me go. Simply, some people aren’t meant to be in my life. Even though I thought this friend of mine was the kind I could call at 3am in a panic, or would have at my wedding, I see now that I have to let the friendship die, and, I have to mourn its loss because she doesn’t care, (as heartbreaking as that is to admit to myself) and I can’t hold on to people that have hurt me so terribly. Why would I want to be friends with someone that doesn’t care about me or would so easily gut me? People are weird and complicated and do bad things, and sometimes they are bad people, and sometimes there is no explanation. I can’t let the people who have deliberately removed me from their lives define my confidence or consume my time. And I can’t cling onto them in hopes of ‘winning’ them back, even if I continue to miss them every day.

I think of the people in my life who show up for me: they hate my ex for treating me so terribly, and wouldn’t think give him the time of day let alone start a relationship with him in secret! I think about the friends that call me when they are feeling anxious, and the ones I call when I’m anxious too. The friends that tell me how incredible I am and would come rushing if I was in need. I know they are lucky to receive my care, and there is no point in chasing someone that doesn’t see how fortunate they are to have me. 

The start of 2023 brought New Year's resolutions, which I continue to write though I seem to forget them by the first of February. In keeping with tradition and wanting to better myself, I wrote out my New Year's resolutions again. I am trying to let go of those that do value me. I am letting go of those that cause me anxiety and hurt me. I am giving more to those that give back and truly love me. Most of all, I am not letting others skew my confidence because there is nothing wrong with me for being sensitive. Though it may be a curse during times of discomfort or upset, it is also my strength: to care so deeply, to live so fully, to be so thoughtful.