How to Lose a Guy Friend (In 11 Years)

I'm going to cut to the chase real quick on this one, everybody. The advice train is barreling through here at rapid speed today, so here it is. Ready?
If you want to lose a long time friend of whatever sex you're attracted to, go ahead and sleep with them.

Yeah, that's right. Your old pal, Lea, isn't a stranger to making that rookie mistake. Now let me be a little more clear, because this doesn't apply to all friendships. It's true that sometimes people can have those types of arrangements and be just fine. Sometimes, it's a classic case of one thing leading to another, and everyone agrees it was no big deal. I do believe it's the type of friendship you have before the sex that determines whether or not smashing is the single most absurd, unnecessary, and ultimately heartbreaking decision to make. For instance, if your friendship is very surface level, and you aren't particularly attached, or particularly attracted, or maybe you guys just party a lot, then you could probably get away with laughing off a drunken night spent with a buddy. Depending on your level of comfort, getting over it could take minutes to months to years, but you recover just fine. Maybe your other friends even find it a funny story later. Maybe it becomes a running joke among your inner circle. Maybe you end up marrying his best friend. Maybe at the wedding, someone makes a slurred, inappropriate allusion into a microphone, in front of God and everybody, to the time you screwed the best man. Maybe that turns into a running gag, and the hilarity of you banging whatever that guy's name is becomes the friendly ghost that forever haunts you and your family. Who's to say?
However, if the friendship you have with someone is a close one, look out. Especially if you're both attracted to each other, and a common trend when you go out is that nobody understands why on Earth you two aren't dating. Double especially if they're one of your very closest friends, and they often tell you how much they love you. Triple especially with super duper bonus points if in public,  when inevitably asked how long you've been dating, despite the fact that you are not actually dating, he likes to proudly throw out how many years you've known each other. If that's the case, DON'T FUCKING DO IT. YOU SAID NO FOR TEN YEARS FOR A REASON, YOU STUPID, STUPID BITCH.

Ahem. I apologize. That was harsh. What I meant to say is, if you have the sort of friendship that looks a lot like a romantic relationship to everyone else, and you spent years refusing to sleep with them (whatever the reason), then the best way to make sure it goes down in flames is to start sleeping together. Just don't do it. It's a trap. Even if he looks like Matthew McConaughey and treated you like a princess for a decade, that shit will shut down. I promise you.
Of course, you could be one of the lucky ones. One of the people who ends up all happily ever after with this type of friend. If you're one of those, then good job. You landed the big one, and we're all very happy for you. Now get out of here. This post is for the slightly bitter. We'll call you in for the next one, but this class is full.

Anyway, what happened to me did hurt, but I've recently come to grips with mourning the loss of a person who's very much still alive. We were friends for years. We met outside of a shopping mall. As it turned out, he was there to dump a girlfriend who had cheated on him. I didn't find out about the girlfriend until a few weeks after we'd exchanged numbers, but I forgave it. We went on our first date, which turned out to be both humiliating and hilarious, but maybe a story for a different day. From there, we decided not to continue dating. If I remember correctly, it was due to me making up with my on again/off again high school sweetheart, from my first high school, but this friend actually attended the one I was transferring to, and we were inseparable once I arrived. We went everywhere together. If you saw one of us, you saw the other, and teachers just assumed we were attached at the hip. He skipped class, so did I; he wrecked his truck, I was in it. On it went that way, for years (thankfully with only one wreck). Our friendship grew, and I loved him dearly. He moved away for college, and I moved around the state a few times, but we always kept in touch. He had relationships, and so did I. We were supportive of one another, and I knew I could always count on him to be there for me. I always knew he'd visit, and I always knew he'd care. He'd been there for several major life events, and I had no reason to really believe that would ever change. We had proven over and over again that we would not forget one another.

I've been through a fair amount of rough times, but if I ever for any reason needed any saving, I always knew who to call. Most young women would first call a brother, her father, or her boyfriend, but I almost always called my friend. He saved me a million times, from various disasters, with various solutions. One even involved a casino in Biloxi. It was quite an experience, and a memory I cherish. I'll always be grateful for all of those times. For years, he defended me, he challenged me, he laughed with me, cried with me, taught me, loved me, and he spoiled me rotten. He's single handedly responsible for my mild princess complex, and never denies it.
However, when one of the most important aspects of friendship is honesty, and another is respect, it gets frustrating when you feel you aren't getting those things anymore. Resentment begins to set in like a cancer, making the maintenance of the relationship, and the repairs of minor damage from general wear and tear more and more difficult. It started as soon as the sex did. It was just a bad idea, but I had no reason to believe so. For years before, we would talk about our feelings, and it would sound as if we were going to move forward. We'd weigh the pros and cons of being together, and on several occasions actually decide to follow through with being together, briefly considering ourselves a couple. As you can imagine, it was pretty easy to let my guard down and sleep with my own boyfriend. Unfortunately, each time we "dated" he would end up getting scared after a few days or weeks, and running away. It was infuriating, as I'd watched him easily commit to other relationships over the years, even when he wasn't that into them. I couldn't understand. If we both really had the same feelings for each other, like we always said we did, then why the constant hesitation? It wasn't coming from me. He'd always tell me he was just too afraid to lose me, but if that was the case, he was doing a piss poor job at making me want to stick around. I would be upset for a while, eventually forgive him, and we'd make up. Everything would be fine, and we'd be friends, until I would let my guard down and it would happen all over again. It quickly turned into a vicious cycle. I'm not saying I didn't say and do my fair share of stupid things, all told, but I am saying I guess I viewed it differently. For him, it was more "we're such good friends, why are you so mad? You're just as much a part of this as I am! You can't be angry at something we've both done!" But for me, that wasn't true. I didn't feel we had done the same things. Worse, I didn't feel he even wanted to understand how he'd hurt me. He literally didn't want to hear it. He had shut down. Personally, I was beginning to feel like a place holder. Someone he would be with in between girlfriends, or as a rebound, and I felt disgusting. I couldn't handle it anymore, and eventually I told him I couldn't. With all of my feelings, I couldn't be all right anymore if this was what was going to happen. I told him I truly appreciated everything he has ever done for me, and I truly do, but I couldn't participate and be a good friend. My emotions were clouding everything, and I had to wish him well. He'd made my dating life hell for years, and I knew that as long as he was giving me an inch of hope, I wouldn't be able to get over him. I'd been living the same heartache over and over again for years, and it was getting worse every time. It had eclipsed our friendship, and all I could do was hope that the eclipse was temporary.

Over the course of the next year, I made several attempts to reach out and bury the hatchet. We'd make plans and not follow through with them. I'd never hear from him until I again reached out after a few more months had passed. It was painful. With the rapid decline in my health over the last few months in particular, I decided I had to try again. The truth is, I've never gone through anything quite as tough as what I've been going through, without my old friend. It was so hard to imagine making it through to the other side of this mess without his support. We talked, and I expressed this through a billion tears while hardly breathing, but he listened. That Friday, I saw him for the first time in over a year, and it did not go as planned. At all. His sister was actually going to have a baby within the next day or two (nobody had even told me she was pregnant), so his parents came to visit. They're great, it was just unexpected, and I was already holding on through waves of panic. It was a personal disaster for me. I also definitely wasn't prepared to meet his girlfriend, whom I had been previously assured wouldn't be joining us. Especially when our falling out had to do more with failed romance than anything. All I actually wanted was to spend a few hours catching up with a person I felt I needed in my life. I only wanted to spend some one on one time that didn't involve entertaining others, meeting any strangers, answering uncomfortable questions, or getting in a fight with each other. My anxiety was through the roof, when I'd only wanted to escape it for the evening. When I left his house that night, I knew we were changed forever.
It's been a while now, and a few weeks ago, it occurred to me I was all done. I never received an update on the baby, or even a picture, despite asking my friend for such things, and despite knowing the family for years. In fact, my old friend has not thought to check on me or even answer a message once since I last saw him. But you know what? I'm not angry. I think I'm sort of liberated. And while I did lose someone close, I do have to remind myself that he lost me, too, through his own words and actions. Like I said, it did hurt. I will never say it's been an easy place to get to, but I have now accepted his absence. For the first time in nearly twelve years, I don't actually want him to be around. I no longer trust him or his heart, and as far as I'm concerned, his actions have shown me that he just isn't the same. Maybe I'm not the same, either. Actually, I know I'm not. The reason I'm writing this isn't to bash anyone, it's the final piece. This is a eulogy for the amazing friendship I was fortunate enough to share with a wonderful man for as long as I was able. People change. Circumstances change. I know now that if I'm not feeling valued, I can have the strength to let go, and the courage to forgive. Sure, I could stay angry forever at the mean things we said, or some of the events that occurred, but that just seems like a whole lot of effort for no reward whatsoever.

And so, my dear friends, I leave you with just a little more advice. If there is someone in your life whom you absolutely adore, you must must MUST communicate with them. It's all about communication, y'all. Most arguments can be boiled down to misunderstanding, and it's best to tackle those while they're still small. Don't let it snowball into something so painful. With open, honest, loving communication, there's hardly any challenge too tough to handle. Once you've done your part, it is up to them to do the same. If they don't, and you cut them off, at least you'll know you did what you could. Don't keep toxicity around, guys. Even if letting go hurts sometimes, you'll be better off for it in the end.

xoxo


Ps. I know what you're thinking. "But, Lea, you don't know MY friend. He's basically Prince Charming! That would never happen!" Well, ma'am, I have just two suggestions: One, read this again, but maybe a little slower. Two, smack yourself in the face real hard. Just kidding. Kind of. Definitely re-read, but please don't ever hurt yourself. Of course I hope your story doesn't end like mine, but an overwhelming majority of the time, these things do. Remember, if someone wants to be with you, they will put in the effort to do so. If they don't, just keep moving along, because you are undoubtedly fabulous.

xxooxxoo

Florida, But Three Times

Growing up, my grandparents lived in a beautiful little condo community on Longboat Key, and it didn't take long for me to fall in love with Florida. I'm still smitten. Ah, Florida. The beaches, the salty air, the marvelous sun, the friendly people, the drag queens of Jacksonville, the fact that murder is basically legal... I could go on and on. It's a fascinating, wonderful state. In fact, it is so wonderful, that as an adult, I have made several (three, to be exact) trips there, completely on a whim, all of which I feel could be novellas of their own. The planned trips I've taken there just aren't the same. And so, since I don't write novellas, I've decided to compile all of the very abridged versions here, for your reading pleasure, and for my nostalgia.

The first time I took off on a random beach adventure, it was an accident. I was 19. I worked as a waitress, in a bar just north of Atlanta, lived with my boyfriend, and I was the proud owner of a hand me down 1992 Chrysler LeBaron Lx convertible, with a busted back window, and a blown convertible top motor. Truly, I had it made. Unfortunately, I was restless. It's not that anything was terribly wrong, but there's something about dating a close friend that people forget to mention. Sometimes, when there's no conflict or adventure because you both know each other too well, and you're only 19, one can start to feel...bored. Suffocated. Not that your partner is boring or suffocating, but relationships sometimes have periods of stagnancy. That night, I was bored with everything, and with everyone. I got off of work, and began to head home, but took a detour. Instead of turning onto 41 North, I turned onto 41 South, and kept going. After about an hour, I told myself I should get home, that it was really late, and Jon might be getting worried. I usually got home right after he did, but I kept driving. Around 3am, I heard my phone ring, and didn't answer it. The voicemail rolled in, but I didn't check it. I kept driving. It was as if I was possessed. I needed to keep going, I needed to be away. Not for long, but just for a little while. I stopped for gas, and told myself to head home, but I just couldn't. I didn't even know where I was headed, I just knew I had to go. Before I knew it, I was in Florida, and it was around 6am. My busted up Chrysler had fared well. I stopped off to look at a map, and realized if I kept on, I was headed straight for Sarasota, right near where my grandparents had spent the rest of their lives. Something in me was telling me to go there, and I didn't deny myself the opportunity. When I arrived, I sneaked into the complex, and headed straight for the beach. I sat in silence, all alone, for only a few minutes before my dad called. I figured Jon must have called him to see if I was all right, and I was super not looking forward to explaining that I had driven my run down vehicle hours away, without telling anyone, and with no real backup plan for possible disaster. I decided not to answer. I called Jon back. Part of what makes this such a fond memory was the reaction I got from one of the people closest to me. For a while, I'd been struggling with not feeling understood and I was frustrated because I knew I needed something, I just didn't know what it was or how to ask for it. That morning, even if he was a little confused, he was very much not phased by my brief escape, or my need for space. I felt completely validated.
J:  Hey! Where are you? Are you okay?
L: Hey! Yeah, I'm good. In Florida.
J: What?
L: I'm in Florida.
J: What do you mean?
L: I mean what it sounds like. I am currently in Florida.
J: ...You're where?
L: Jon.
J: Yeah?
L: I went to Florida.
J: You didn't come home?
L: No.
J: Oh. Are you going to?
L: Yeah.
J: When?
L: Don't know. Probably in a few minutes.
J: But you just got there. You aren't gonna have a beach day or something?
L: Nah. Just came to say hello to the ocean. Been at the beach for a bit. I'll be home in a few hours.
J: Do you want to talk on your way back?
L: No, everything's good. I just needed a long drive.
J: You got one. Hey, did you take the LeBaron?
L: Yeah.
J: Really?! Damn, glad it made it.
L: Same here.
J: Call me if it blows up.
L: Will do.
J: Your dad's gonna be pissed.
L: I know.
J: Are we telling him?
L: We are not.

And that was all. I felt renewed. All I wanted was to see the water, and smell the salt, and it was exactly what I needed.

The second time I found myself on a last minute road trip, I was with a dear friend of mine, Eric. I was 21, I think. We had become pretty close, pretty quickly, and he was introducing me to some of his friends. Sitting in his buddy's room, we were trying to plan the rest of the day. He asked me what I wanted to do.
"I want to go to the beach."
"What beach?"
I shrugged. "Any beach?"
"Okay, well let's go!"
He asked his friends if they wanted to come with us, and they all declined. They didn't believe we were serious, but we were. They told us there was no way we were going to go on a road trip at 4 in the afternoon, but they were wrong. Eric and I left to go gather supplies, make the necessary schedule adjustments, and call around to see who was going to join us. We lucked out, and recruited one of our favorite friends, Pat. We all agreed to take Pat's truck, and his parents even packed us some snacks. Everything was smooth sailing. We hadn't chosen a destination, we only decided to take 75 South, and we'd pick a beach later.
Along the way, I realized we could stop off to see one of my best friends in Valdosta. Eric and Pat didn't need much convincing, since we already had no schedule. As luck would have it, my Valdosta friend was having a little get together. We all hung around, shared a bunch of laughs, and took some pictures with our road trip mascot, a bobble head Boba Fett. Eventually, we were back on the road, and had unanimously decided on Cocoa Beach. Upon arrival, we found our hotel, and immediately started in on one of our two handles of Captain Morgan. For the next few days, it was nothing but great friends, sunshine, and shenanigans. To this day, we have so many jokes that came from that trip, and I still have a hundred pictures. It was yet another situation where I felt so valued by those close to me. My boys made sure I was safe, happy, and comfortable, and I love them for it. At that time in my life, I really needed a getaway. I got one.

The third whimsical excursion to the great state of Florida actually began in a bar on St Simons Island. I was 22. I lived on the mainland, in a cozy apartment with Jon. We decided to go out to the island for dinner and drinks. In a dingy dive, I spotted Cameron. She was beautiful, and had gorgeous tattoos, and seemed full of life. She was also being hit on by a very persistent young man, and I noticed she was starting to get annoyed. As far as girl code goes, I take it very seriously when I see a woman getting bothered by some guy at the bar, so I stepped in to make friends. It turned out Cameron really didn't need much saving, but she appreciated the gesture, and came to hang out with me. I introduced her to Jon, and one of his friends from school. Of course, Jon's school buddy had quite the crush on the new girl. She let him down easy, explaining he just wasn't her type. She preferred women. For some reason, that made me laugh harder than any of the jokes told all evening. I think it was the look on the guy's face. Still, we all had a blast that night. Swapping stories, roaming the street, and taking a walk out on the pier. My new friend was actually on a family vacation, and although she had to head home in a few days, she suggested we hang out the next night, when her friend was going to visit from Jacksonville. I was still pretty new in town, and even though she didn't live there herself, it was nice to feel like I was making friends and fitting in.
The next night, we all met at the same place, and I was introduced to the charming Elizabeth. She and I hit it off right away. After a while, she mentioned there was a drag show she was going to be missing, and the ball started rolling. The three of us girls were suddenly hellbent on going to that show. Jacksonville was only about an hour away, and how much fun would it be to run off for an impromptu girl's trip? Jon wasn't thrilled, but found the whole thing hilarious. "No, no. By all means, run off with two lesbians you don't know to hang out with a bunch of drag queens you also don't know, in another state. I kinda wish I was going, too!" We all promised in unison to be very, very safe. And we were. Sorta.
We all climbed into Elizabeth's car, and off we went. The drag show was too much fun. I can't even recall everyone I met, and there was an incredible amount of dancing. After it was over, we went to Elizabeth's apartment, where Cameron and I insisted we break into the pool. Against her better judgement, Elizabeth conceded, and gathered some towels. After climbing the fence, breaking my phone, skinny dipping, then streaking through the complex and accidentally flashing two Army soldiers, we all decided it was time to make food and nap. The night was a whirlwind. Only a couple hours later, we were hungover and exhausted, but it was time to go. I drove so they could sleep. We dropped Cameron off at her hotel, and then headed to my place, where we recuperated briefly before Elizabeth had to head home.
Of all the random new friend adventures I've been on, this was probably my favorite. When you meet people you can immediately be comfortable and laugh with, it is a truly beautiful thing. Especially when you're new in town, and feeling like you'll never connect with anyone. I haven't seen those girls since, but we try to keep in touch.

I try to remember all of these times when I feel crowded or restless. It's nice to know that through all things, and in all situations, the universe will find a way to give me what I need, even if what I need sounds ridiculous.

xoxo

My First Crush

All throughout elementary school, I was in looooove with one of my friends. Doodled his name in my binder and everything. He was funny, and cute, and smart, and for some reason he liked spending time with me. He would hang in the woods behind my house, and was always excited to run into me there, in the treehouse my oldest brother helped me rebuild twice. I could always count on him for an adventure, and we had plenty of them for the first couple years we knew each other. His name was David.

We got a little older, and he got a little more popular. He made other friends, who didn't think I was as cool (or maybe I didn't think I was as cool), and instead of being sweet to me, he started picking on me. He didn't have much fodder at first, but eventually he found a way to hit me where it hurt. In fifth grade, I had to switch from the gifted program back to regular classes because of a B I received. Social Studies, I believe. I've always been horrible at geography somehow. No clue how; it's not like continents will move enough in my lifetime to prevent me from memorizing the globe, but I digress. When my class realized the switch had been made, they were ruthless. David led the verbal assaults, snickering about how the Target Program must have finally caught on that I was dumb. When the rest of the kids in the program got up to go to the other classroom, I now had to stay behind. It was insult to injury.

"HEY! LEA'S NOT GOING TO TARGET! HEY! LEA! WHY AREN'T YOU GOING?!"
"I'm not going anymore."
"Yeah, I know! Because they found out you were TOO STUPID!"
"I'm not stupid."
"Yeah, okay. You only think that because you're too stupid to think anything else."

Sure, his joke writing needed some work, but it was enough to make me miserable. Week after week, I was left behind in my regular class. Week after week, I was laughed at. Week after week, I began to believe what they said. My grades plummeted. I remember wishing I wore glasses or braces, so they could make fun of something I could change. Unfortunately, me being a "slow" kid caught on.
By the end of the year, I came to forget what it was like being his friend. I could only assume he hated me, and my heart was broken for the very first time. I began to dread running into him. I hardly went into the woods all summer, but my heart broke further when I discovered one random Wednesday, that someone had set fire to the treehouse. My brother had already left for the Marines, so I deemed the whole mess unsalvageable, and never touched it again. To say I was devastated would be quite an understatement. That was also the summer I lost one of my first friends to a freak accident. Needless to say, I learned a lot about loss between elementary and middle school. Probably much more than my family felt comfortable acknowledging. Looking back, it was one of the more important years I've had, in terms of life lessons. I took comfort in the idea of a new start in a new school, and maybe making new friends, but on the first day of sixth grade, in my first day of science class, within the first few seconds of arrival, I noticed him. My old friend, my huge crush, too cool for me now. I saw him and didn't say hello. After a few minutes, he yelled across the room to me.

"Hey, Lea! You see the treehouse? You like what we did to the place?"

It felt as if I had been knocked flat on my back. All air left me, all color drained. I started to feel hot, and the room began spinning. I asked to go to the bathroom. With shaking legs, I made my way out of the room and down the hallway. There, in a stall, I cried for half of the class. I cried so hard I made myself ill. In between heaves and sobs, and the occasional vomiting, I struggled to make any sense of my feelings. I had never been so upset, and I had never felt so betrayed. Every breath I managed to take would echo against the cold walls of a colorless middle school bathroom, and my own heartbeat sounded like someone banging pots next to my ears. It went on that way for so long. This is a memory that stuck with me for years, and it sticks with me now. How could he do this? How could anyone do this?

High school came, and David became more involved with sports, more involved with his friends. We had gone a few years with zero interaction, but he suddenly started being nice to me. He would try to talk to me in the mornings in the cafeteria, and I would only cautiously respond. If he complimented my hair, I never wore it that way again. One morning, he told me I looked beautiful. I sneaked out and went home to change my clothes. I was convinced that everything he said had some double meaning, and his football friends were mean enough to me. I wasn't willing to be the butt of any more of his jokes. I eventually left that school to attend an alternate one, though not because of David. Not seeing him again was just a bonus.
I carried legitimate anger around for this kid until a just a couple years ago. It was a Friday night, and I was alone in my apartment. For whatever reason, I found myself very, VERY drunk, and very, VERY upset about my brother's passing. I thought of the treehouse. I thought of David. Fueled by bourbon and the ghosts of both my innocence and my dignity, I found him on Facebook. I wanted to send him a message, and finally had the nerve to ask him the questions I never thought I'd have the courage to ask. So I did. Why would he have ever done such a thing? Why had he hated me so much? What had I ever done but be his friend? Why any of it? His response blew me away. He started off by telling me how great it was to hear from me. He then said he wasn't actually the one who burned the tree down. He had no clue who it was. He said he didn't even remember telling me that he did, but he assumed it had to have been to get a rise out of me. And he was sorry. He had no idea how I felt about his actions back then, hardly remembered picking on me at all. He hoped I was doing well. He said we should catch up sometime. We never have. The end, basically.

And if you think this story fizzled and had nothing left at the end, you would be correct. That's how it felt as it happened. All said and done, I felt ridiculous. It has no real moral, other than to remind myself to have the courage to speak up when I need to speak up, and let go of things that need letting go. It would have saved me years of hurt. I don't know where that man is now, but I'm sure he's doing fine, and not at all concerned about the broken heart of a little girl from nearly twenty years ago. I'm sure we still have common friends, and I wish him nothing but health and happiness.
Anyway, you never can know the impact you have on others, and I can really only hope that nobody has a similar tale involving me. If anyone does, well..man, am I sorry.

xoxo