On the friends who refuse to forgive...

For a while I was angry at all of us- we all have the blood of our friendship on our hands. 

Then, I pretended you were dead. 

Then, I realized that's silly because you are very much alive and life is short. I reached out but never heard back. 

Now, sometimes I catch myself wondering if I'm the dead one, really. I could be living cluelessly in a pretend-reality as part of an afterlife. I have my dream job, my work is challenging but personally rewarding (and one day it will be monetarily rewarding as well, I hope). I am engaged to a handsome, caring, intelligent man who really, really loves me. I have other, new friends who are a blast. 

The surreal thing is that I can't share it with you. What if the fallout was part of some elaborate façade of this pretend life as a way of explaining why you aren't here? What if the reason we aren't speaking is that I'm the dead one and you're alive? 

Then I think about all the Sallie Mae debt and I wonder, in all my death conspiracy, am I in hell?

But there are people in my life, gems and diamonds, who have been there for years, who have forgiven and also forgave, people who equally had the blood of friendship on their hands, who made amends, and how there's no death there. 

And I realize, this forgiveness issue isn't mine. I wasn't so horrible in an isolated display of aggression. I was a human being losing it because she'd been pushed to a point. That person feels so different from who I am today. Through my forgiveness, I've grown, cleansed my soul, made peace with the equally inappropriate actions of myself and others. 

Still, I pity those unable to forgive. It doesn't mean they are unchanged or unmoved, just that they move on with the blood of a lost friendship still on their hands.