He asked "What's wrong?" as if he didn't know...

For nearly three years, I have been struggling to understand my relationship with one of my best friends. He says he is straight, but has latched onto me like a life preserver in the middle of the ocean. He is troubled, and has a lot of emotional issues that he needs to work through. He knows that I have never been in a relationship - have never even kissed someone - yet he allows all sorts of physical and emotional intimacy. Around a year and a half ago, I confessed to having serious feelings for him. It's led to some big fights between the two of us, but we've also both held on. I couldn't be more confused. He moved away four weeks ago, and has been in constant contact with me. Over the weekend, he let me know that someone in his new home was interested in him. A text, as impersonal as possible: "There's this great girl, and she's crazy enough to like me back..." I tried to be happy, but when he told me that I should feel honored to be the first to know, and that he hopes this trust makes me more comfortable with our continued friendship, I was crushed. He asked "What's wrong?" as if he didn't know...

I wrote this in response to him, but I never sent it. I'm posting it here hoping that you all can help me find reason to hope again...



What's wrong? What's wrong is that it was always supposed to be me. What's wrong is that the story wasn't supposed to end like this. What's wrong is that there was this great guy who was crazy enough to like me back. And I tried my best to give him the space he needed while making sure he knew that I would always stand by his side. He was dark, and difficult, and draining, but he was worth it to me. I put up with the whispers and the rumors and the constant stabs to the heart, because for the first time, there was a whisper of a chance that I might get to be happy. He knew everything about me, because unlike him I didn't flee from vulnerability. He knew how inexperience I was in everything except for pain. And yet there he was. I was more physically intimate with him than I had ever been with anyone. I shouldn't have to recount the weird near-kisses, the shirtless back rubs, and everything in between. And still I stood by him. When it got bad, and everyone who has ever cared about me told me to run as fast as I could before I was destroyed, I ignored them all. Instead I pushed them all away, trying to make room for him. Eventually I broke. The burden on me was too much. I told him that I had serious feelings for him, feelings that I thought were, on some level, somewhere inside this mess of a human being, reciprocated. His reaction was anger. Not at me, never at me, but at everyone else, all of the people who already assumed we were together. So I just stood by his side, gave him space, and waited. He made a big deal about not being alone with me, that he wasn't comfortable with the idea, but after two months, he was back, wanting to do dinner-and-a-movie once, twice, sometimes three times a week. For six months I let it happen, being desperately confused but also wanting to be there for him, and obviously enjoying his company. Then it all stopped. I don't know why, but it did. No more dinners or movies. No more hourly texts about every little inane things that happened to him. After a few months of confusion, I confronted him, and we fought. Why had he latched on to me like this? Blank stare. Why had there been so much physical intimacy for a long time? Blank stare. Why had he decided that he wasn't just okay, but clearly wanted, to be alone with me? Blank stare. Why had it suddenly stopped? Blank stare. And still I stood by him. We rebounded a little, but it was never the same. And then he left, with barely a goodbye. It could have been a fresh start for me. A clean slate, a chance to heal. But he popped back up, and I figured he would still need a friend. Not just someone to hang out with, but someone to really depend on. And I still loved him. Oh, did I ever love him. The first person I ever uttered those three words to. Maybe moving would do him some good, maybe he would grow up and grow into himself. Was I ever wrong. He took away my desire to help others, my reliable instincts about people, my innocence. He soaked in my love like a sponge, let me writhe in agony, and then found a girlfriend. I was happy for him. How could I not be? For more than two years, all I had wanted was for him to be happy! I had just been stupid enough to think that I would get to be happy too. I didn't know that my happiness wasn't fated. He got to take advantage of me while he needed it, and then leave behind the empty husk for a new host. One he was probably a whole lot more comfortable with, one that wouldn't push his limits or challenge him. And still, more than anything, I wanted to stand by him. There was this great, amazing, sexy, wonderful guy, and I was crazy enough to think anyone could ever like me back.

And yes, believe it or not, I am actually happy for you. I only ever wanted you to be happy. Love isn't selfish or jealous. But damn it, it hurts like hell. And it's going to hurt for a very long time. I feel duped, and used. I'm sorry if this all is hard for you to read, but my feelings exist, too. I can't just censore myself for your sake. I feel like shit, raining on your parade. If you know me at all, you know that's true. I'm your friend, just like I always have been, and I will always be here to join you in your happiness or support you in your sadness, if you still want it. Right now, though...right now I need to hurt.