Let me vent a little.
When I was in year twelve, I managed to find myself in a conversation during my arts class. I had two prepackaged cake slices, which were literally the size of my finger, and was about to eat them. Heaven forbid a 45 kilo girl get a little hungry.
A girl asks me, “Are you really going to eat all of that?”
And I mean she really got on my ass for what was probably 200 calories in sweet treats. I remember her using the words unhealthy, and in general just being exasperated about my own personal food choices.
Guys, I had an eating disorder like a year prior. It was the type of disorder you get when you want to attain control over your life. I’d binge and then exercise it all off, trying to prevent my body from ever changing on me.
So, you see, the comment this girl made was in pretty poor taste considering my personal experiences. I never really fought back or anything at the time, because I truly didn’t care about it. Sure, I was surprised at her comment, but I had developed enough to realise that nothing I could say or do would change her opinion.
The thing that did get me, was how my friend sided with her. My best friend. The one who knew about, at the very least, the presence of my illness. A year before that, my dad had been diagnosed with cancer, and she was basically the only person in school I told. She remained completely silent on that matter, never ever asking me about how I was coping. It was completely bogus, we were close.
Friends, I should have stopped talking to her such a long time ago. Whatever hardships you experience, you are entitled to the love and care of others. Within the relationships you make, there should be at least someone with whom you feel a mutual social responsibility to care. The type of relationship where you uplift each other instead of remaining a bystander to their silent suffering.
I regret having ever been the person to bear the brunt of her problems. I regret my kindness, I wish that I saved it all for myself. Now she talks to me about arguing for the liberation of women, about the oppression of people of colour. How can you bring yourself to care about the entire world, when that same care failed to touch me. Not a single mention, never even an apology, nothing.
Wolves, I know what it feels like when your own suffering is some open secret. It isn’t a good feeling when other people know, and they don’t do anything. I still feel a little angry about it, about her. I kick myself for having to greet her with an open smile, hug her and joke around like we’re sisters.
When my dad got diagnosed, he needed a surgery. Invasive in nature, he ended up losing a kidney and being hospitalised for a while. Each day, a sheltered version of me made my way out all the way to the hospital he was staying at. I had never really travelled alone before like that, and yet each day I made the trek. Unfeeling, I trapped my thoughts somewhere I could never perceive them. My existence at that time was to care for my father, and be there for him. Sure, I was still ill, but I couldn’t imagine his mortal fear, or his visceral pain.
I imagine that, in that sort of situation, had I ever talked to someone responsible about it, maybe it would have been easier to access support. If one of my friends divulged such a situation with me, I’d definitely be on it. I wouldn’t be afraid to ask them if they needed help, or ask about updates in the situation. And maybe because of my experience, being at the brunt of some sick ignorance, that I find strength.
I mean, the type of strength in being able to conquer situations all alone, or with my close family. Wolves, there is nothing wrong in trying to fight through situations by yourself. Sometimes, when nobody is listening, it is the only way. However, oftentimes there might be someone who cares, obscured from your radar.
Maybe I shouldn’t blame her for her silence. However, I can’t punish myself for moving on. I’ve found new people who care, who look out for me.
Wolves, be safe out there. Enjoy your friendships.
End.
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