A Memory from the Depths of my Brain
I know somebody who I once considered one of my best friends.
Realizing very early on in our lives that we had a great chemistry, we talked about the drama we experienced from our counselors as we scraped our knees playing dodgeball games together and sported our pink skorts that we thought were sooooo cute at the time.
I always spent time with her until somebody else abruptly interrupted our friendship track.
This new person gave me a small taste of how impactful conformity was and would be for a long time afterwards.
I would try to get the shortest shorts I could find, read the cool books she read, and be envious of her iPhone while I had my iPod touch that was ‘too wide for her liking’, as if those should have been concerns at the time.
I knew these ‘cool things’ I tried to show weren’t me, I knew I didn’t have the money to afford all of the things they had, and I knew this wasn’t part of a normal friendship.
They slowly started to separate themselves from me, especially my supposedly life long friend, as they would call each other by thoughtful nicknames, ignore me on purpose, and buy things to please each other.
And thus began the wrong step in the wrong direction.
I silently observed my old best friend’s transformation over the years.
From me not hesitating to say anything that was on my mind to her
to being surprised that she would act so modest
to not understanding why we wouldn’t see each other as often as we used to
to sadly see her become an attention seeker with money becoming the parasite that affected her day-to-day life.
Partying, drinking, clubbing, shopping excessively, etc.
The nightmare never ended.
Doesn’t it familiar?
But in all honesty, I don’t fully know what led to that point.
And though I have been a critic of the curse of having too much money, I understand that having a certain minimum amount of money is essential for life. What else can afford clothes, rent/down payment for a house, food, cleaning, and so many other responsibilities? And what person would want to raise their kids in poor conditions?
All I can do is keep looking, feeling a mixture of empty pity, irony, and discomfort.
Until she decides to reach out for help.
But for now, I move on with my life.
C’est la vie.