Letter to an Unnamed Friend

My Dearest Friend

And so it comes:  the eve of the New Year, the end of the Old. A time when – wanted or not – we start to think back on all the things we have achieved and the many more we may regret.

I write to you now, before I forget them, all the deep and meaningful things which came to me in a moment of inspiration in the shower (of course, as all great philosophical moments do).

First of all, allow me to apologise for the absence of a name and proper address. You see, it is not without some amount of anxiety that I draft this little attempt to vocalize the thoughts in my silly head. Maybe I have over-thought these things, and no longer follow any form of logic in my words. Perhaps I have under-thought instead and will proceed to make false accusations.  No matter. I will proceed to put down these words (foolishly wise or wisely foolish, as they may be) because at one small point, they made sense to me. As well, the marvellous (bath-time) thoughts revolved around not one, but various persons who have walked in and out of my personal – and often volatile – space.  You, my “friend”, are therefore hypothetical and absolutely generic. I think you may even be myself.

I will start with this confession: I have not always been honest with you.  Not on any specific topic, but rather a few throughout the time we have known each other. “Well now,” you might say, “That is completely normal. White lies and non-committal hums and nods are completely necessary to keep a friendship going.”

“Complete and unquestionable honesty,” You may continue to say, “Is surely the recipe for the end of a friendship.”

Is it really though? Of course, I don’t mean to say that I don’t think those same thoughts. I have very often simply gone along with a conversation just because I do not wish to irritate the person any further than he/she already is; Or failed to point out a flaw (insignificant or otherwise) in the argument to avoid becoming the subject of one’s ire; Or even allowed my own argument to collapse in order for fires to be put out.

The truth shall set thee free. So say the wise men. What the wise men failed to preach was how much honesty may sting and how it can more often than not, backfire and scar the truth-bearer instead. How often have I regretted speaking my true mind (or what I perceived to be true) ? That being said, here is yet another confession.

I have not always been honest with myself. Bear with me. This will tie in with the above. At some point.

I have lost count of the number of incidences where I have convinced myself that all is good, and the decisions I make are right. In fact the opposite may have been more true.

You may or may not have been privy to the fact that I had regular sessions with a psychiatrist in the later months of 2012. Whether or not it has improved my mental fortitude, I cannot say. Although it has made me more aware, somewhat.

One of the things the doctor asked me consistently at every session was this,

“Why are you so afraid? You desperately want everyone to approve of you. Why?”

I could never give him a straight answer. Most times I could not answer at all. The question defeated me every time. Yet through that constant interrogation, it’s made me see some unpleasant truths about myself. One is this:

I allow myself to be swayed. Not always, but so very, very often. The thought of being left out or left behind terrifies me so much that I will usually go along with any idea or plan that is laid out. I am so afraid of being wrong, that I will be the first to agree that you are right.

I want so badly, so impossibly, to be good in your eyes, I will strive to fit your model.

Sadly, a poorly fitted gear is so often the catalyst for failure in any machinery. Usually that failure is catastrophic, to say the least.

I break, without a doubt. I get tired of saying “yes”, and I get tired of not saying anything and of playing “Follow the Leader”. That’s when my reality starts to warp. Suddenly, it seems that people are being unfair, even unjust. The alleged injustices begin to add up and so, it would seem to me, it is time to go on the defensive.

Here is where the hurt and heartbreak fell all sides. You, my friend, who has only seen a poorly constructed version of me will not understand what has warranted the sudden lashing and will put up shields of your own. I will only further upset myself for this, for I cannot seem to make you understand what injustices have been laid against me. So the siege begins and the battle wages on until when next we blink, being friends was just a myth.

So it boils down to this: I am poor at being honest with myself. In doing so, I fail to be honest with you, my friend. In being dishonest with you, I betray myself and so the spiral into misery finds no end.

I see that once again, I fail to end my tedious lecture before the New Year. It is now some 30 minutes past. I’ll end it now.

I should wish to be more honest with myself and all my friends, even if some may not encourage it. More than that, however, I wish that I may be honest without fear – fear of your pride (and mine); fear of hurting one another, and fear of failing to keep yet another friend.