Dear Diary,
After 20 years of living, I’ve finally come to the conclusion — I’m a pathetic pathological people-pleaser. That night when I realized it, the moon witnessed my helpless wailing. The memories crept in slowly, killing me and piercing my heart excruciatingly. The years of desperation for validation that I am wanted, I am a good friend isn’t normal after all. I thought that it was just an act of kindness; that I did it out of love. They always spit out the words of how much they loved me, but it contrasted their actions. I’m a backburner when their real friend isn’t around.
Always the friend, never the best friend.
I guess being a people-pleaser stemmed from when I was a kid— aiming to meet my parents’ expectations — that I should act like the eldest, be outstanding in school, or be like the other kids with shimmering medals. The comparison that “they” are always in the limelight and I’m just a useless child. Hence, my parents would express their doubts that I’m not good enough or there is nothing to be proud of.
Because of that, I started to reach for the stars, and I would always feel guilty if I had not achieved perfection.
“Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay?”
There was not a single day I questioned, “Why did they leave me out?”, “Am I not good enough to belong with them?”. In the first place, they only wanted me for convenience because I’d do anything and everything to keep them. They would secretly meet up without inviting me. I thought it was fine, maybe they just forgot. Maybe next time, I’m included.
All of them received birthday surprises. While I’m only surprised by how they continue moving forward without looking back. I chuckled at the thought of it, even my presence was unwanted. They won’t even bother to check if I’m still there; they’re actually waiting for me to leave. How ironic that I always keep them close, calling their name to know if they’re still with me. Without realizing I’m the one who’s not there; leaving me in pitch darkness. I was not needed, I was eradicated.
“All of my enemies started out friends. Help me hold onto you.”
I would never do that to them, but why? Did I deserve it? I apologized for the things that may hurt them. But even a little fucking sorry, I did not hear it. They gaslighted me that it was all my fucking fault. That I’m the root of all evil. I had a hard time overthinking, trying to comprehend, and finding where to gain strength — for the confrontation, for the closure. Why did they do it? Why did they betray me while hugging me from behind?
They became the embodiment of my grudge.
Even if they did ask for forgiveness, it would never be sincere. I don’t forget to forgive, I would just choose to be distant and get rid of the knife that is the reason I’m in shambles. I was full of rage because both of us had cuts, but mine was bleeding mad.
I hate it when there are times I miss the memories, how we laugh together at useless jokes, the way we go side-by-side together — like birds of a feather. They were a part of my life, ages 13 and 18.
I pleased them, and to pleased me as well.
Sincerely,
The Archer, The Prey, The Grudge
