LIFE/FRIENDSHIP/BETRAYAL

A True Story of Friendship and Betrayal

It’s human nature to want to oversimplify, but I ignored the cues

We are hardwired to connect with others. It adds meaning to our lives. But no one tells you that your serenity and peace of mind are about to be taken away, with no sign that you’re standing on the precipice — a sucker punch that originates out of nowhere.

When you think about the limits of friendship, what does this mean to you? Would you do anything for a friend, even if it involved putting yourself at risk? Or would you base your response to a friend’s request on more conservative grounds?

The boundary is fluid. People come and go — be it the closest of friends or the most casual acquaintances. This story is about a friendship that has gone very wrong.

The frequent visits, the drinking, the breached boundaries

Our friendship ignited quickly. At some point in our relationship, my former friend took that concept to another level. She not only breached boundaries, but she also broke and mutilated them. I eventually stanched that fire.

There were red flags, all right, ones I chose to ignore.

Carol (name changed), a small, spare, light person with a prominent forehead decorated with a certain amount of thin, much-frizzled hair, is a woman who can’t say a sentence without the words “Know what I mean?” tacked on the end of sentences.

She depended on me for everything. This need of hers to be saved was seductive. I’m a healer. I like to heal people. The problem is that I sometimes invite the wrong people into my life. And she was the wrong person, as it turned out.

As awfully annoying as she was, part of me liked her ability to say what she thought without fear of judgment. Part of me liked her sense of humor. Her constant flow of compliments was appealing. Who doesn’t want their ego stroked? But the forced merriment was transparent when I realized she was manipulating me.

Then, the odd behavior started.

Carol would arrive at my house uninvited and drunk any day and night, proceed to the fridge, and take out a bottle of wine. Then, she would pour a hefty measure into a wine glass. I thought this was all bizarre.

That lasted for a couple of months.

At some point, I started to resent her. Her emotional blackmail had me trapped. But I staunched the budding feeling that something was wrong with this relationship, convincing myself that my introverted self should open itself up to this relationship.

The final straw!

The final straw came when she showed up at my house, drunk at 5 in the afternoon. My husband and I sat in the living room listening to her endless chattering, often fluttering from the living room to the kitchen, where she promptly went into the pantry for snacks. Minutes later, my husband and I heard the sound of clicking glasses. Presently, she came out with a wine bottle and two glasses, smiling wide enough to crack cardboard.

Throughout the night, she continued to go off in a very spasm of delight mixed with drunken tears. Her rapid and excessive speech left little room for me to participate in whatever conversation she felt like having. It became all about her — her problems, her anxiety, her misdirection in life.

As the night progressed, Carol, infamous for her sad, heavy drinking, lobbed inappropriate grins and giggles at my husband. The merciless chatter continued to plod into its third and tragic hour as she launched into a long, weird rant in which she described the problem with her children and so-called friends.

By that time, I kept wishing she’d leave. But I had a mixed feeling of pity and disgust. She needed to talk about her problems, I reasoned with myself. What’s the harm in listening?

But the evening took on a freak show quality after the third bottle of wine lost its last drop, and a fourth one appeared. A gut-wrenching betrayal that sat sour in my stomach.

At one point, I went upstairs to the bedroom to retrieve a sweater. As soon as I descended the stairs, I could feel a heavy presence like a storm on the horizon, the air pregnant with something sinister. Two figures spilled through, dim and distant. It was hard to focus on these insubstantial forms. Two human forms — bodies — in my vision.

Right there, in my living room, she was lying on top of my husband. She physically trapped him on the sofa.

I stood in momentary silence, stunned. The air seemed to thicken, and the light dimmed to a gray. Sound, color, and sensation roared back in black waves. I laughed.

Why was I laughing?

Then, as the trembling in my body eased, I felt a swell of anger slowly rising. My fingers gripped the railing so hard my knuckles showed bone white.

I charged forward, grabbed her by her hair, yanked her away from my husband, and flung her sorry ass across the room. She landed on the wooden floor with a cry of anguish. I rushed over to where she lay and wrapped my hands around her neck until her eyes started to bulge.

No! I’m lying. I should have done this instead of standing there and laughing hysterically.

What was wrong with me?

None of this made sense. In a drunken state, I slapped my face a few times to make sure I was awake. My husband has never behaved this way. I reached out as far as I could stretch, searching for anything solid. Tried to calm my inner voice, though a sinking sensation told me I wouldn’t like the answers to my questions. Some terrible revelation loomed, but I kept it at bay, thinking it would be better to focus on my reaction to this unpleasant event unfolding before me. I pulled in the parts of myself that drifted back into the dark shadows and back into its horrible self.

What had I missed during our two-year relationship? A better question is, where was my husband in all of this? In all our years together, he’s never given me a reason not to trust him. Always there. Always reliable. A beacon in the muddy waters of life.

Even though nothing happened — a lot has happened.

Why didn’t my husband push her away is a question I will never have the correct answer for. It’s out of character for him. But I forgave him for this because…no, I take it back. I am still baffled by his behavior.

That night, sleep was hard-won. There’s no escaping one’s mind, where buried feelings keep uprooting from the psyche, tormenting on a whim. Rage, shame, and helplessness burgeoned inside of me. That image of her laying on top of my husband in my home will forever be imprinted in my memory.

Repressed rage and shame burgeon inside of me.

Herein lays my buried shame and disappointment with myself.

I was angry, all right, not only at Carol but also at myself. The failure to think is a deviation from logic. My behavior fell short of my standards.

I understand my anger, the need to restore my peace of mind, to release the grip that holds my head in a vice. Maybe time will dull this betrayal and suppress the destructive anger that rages within me.

Trusting my feelings.

Throughout my relationship with Carol, I chose to ignore my uneasiness. So, the blame lies within me. I failed to secure boundaries.

Our initial bond appeared as an intense attachment. I also had my needs. My need for a relationship with her depended upon her acceptance of me. Good friends accept each other’s weaknesses, cheerfully or not. We deal with each other’s flaws and sometimes push each other around by crossing boundaries. But Carol’s breach of trust, her need for attention, coddling, praise, and more time began to weigh me down like an emotional ball and chain.

We discontinue relationships all the time throughout life, as well as add new ones. Usually, it is through a natural drifting apart rather than any special fireworks. But ending friendships is severe, no matter if you are the one doing the breaking up or the one being broken up with.

As to my husband? He felt shame. And we made our peace.

Thanks for your support.