The illusions of Venom

I’ve never told this story, and yet, my soul is exhausted of it.

You make excuses for the people you love. It doesn’t matter what you hear and usually, you opt to turn a blind eye when you catch yourself staring face to face with a capital red flag. If you’re anything like me, at one point in your life you’ll have made the blunder of assuming that with love, comes loyalty. If you’ve managed to see the error, you’ll have learned that the two have always been mutually exclusive.

You can be loyal to something you don’t love. You can be loyal out of respect; when you know someone is the best at what they do you’ll place your bets in their favor every time, even when a risky wager presents itself. You can be loyal out of fear, or out of habit. Sometimes it’s easier to sit in the corner you’ve always sat in because it’s what you know and, well, you’ve done alright so far. There are people who would rather live with the tugging of what if than deal with the consequences of a failed risk. Those people move with their heads, through pathways they’ve planned in detail. They’re admirable, but they don’t get a free pass to love.

You can love someone without giving them your loyalty. It’s a controversial statement, but it’s one I’ll have to stand by. I’ve never cheated, if that’s what you’re wondering, but I have done a terrific job of loving without the security of a label. It seems to be my favourite type of dilemma; either that, or the universe has a raging vendetta against my relationships. My cosmic fatal flaw seems to be an irrevocable need to be the one that yearns and grieves. Forget meeting in a coffee shop and exchanging shy blushes because you accidentally reached for my upside-down caramel macchiato, darling it won’t work. If you happen to find yourself inconveniently locked in the after-school Friday orientation program with me; however, you’ve got a surefire path to success. I loved someone in that silent, beautiful way every day for over a year knowing I’d never witness the reciprocation. I’ve done favors for friends I knew would never be able to return them, and even more for the ones that probably never intended to. It has been 17 years with my heart in each step. I’ve loved people, but my loyalty lies with me. That loyalty has enabled me to walk away, because I know love doesn’t lose its value when it ends.

Now then, where does the friends to strangers trope come into play?

For the purpose of upholding my last promise to respect the friendship we shared, we’ll refer to her as Sarah. Do me a favor and picture the most toxic boyfriend-figure you’ve ever been unlucky enough to witness. Got it? That was my friendship with her. The euphoric highs and the colossal lows worked in year-long cycles for us. I met her when I was only 13. She’d skipped three grades, so she was a junior when I wasn’t even a freshman. Schools in Asia are less segregated, at least where I was. Hyperactive kids, angsty teens and teachers ready to be hit by moving vehicles all kind of float in co-existence. I attended the type of school celebrities enroll their children into for that stellar theatre program. It was filled with probably the spiffiest demographic of youth I’ve encountered, which says a lot, considering I’ve spent a summer on the Amalfi Coast. It was a culture shock. The cafeteria was a like a Western buffet; chicken teriyaki and sauteed prawn was a stark contrast to my old school tuckshop. Girls would visit the washroom between classes in hordes to re-apply lip tint, and the constant complaints about the state of the toilets confused me beyond belief because I’ve never seen a more well-maintained place to shit. She fit perfectly into their world.

I did not. A fresh immigrant from Australia, aloof and ready to glare my way through every school week. I was not a fan of the move, you see. I’ve spent my entire life migrating between the continents, and there comes a point where you realize people try so hard to draw out differences because the truth that they’re all freakishly the same would invalidate their egos. We were an extremely unlikely pairing, but as fate would have it, we were both messed up in all the right places to fit perfectly. My grade was obviously very confused, it’s not everyday someone new and young manages to extend her circles so vastly in the time I did. Another thing you learn when you live as a nomad, is that no one inaccessible. You can have whatever you want when you know how to present what you have as something everyone else needs. She was notorious enough to catch my curiosity, and honestly, hot enough to catch my gay. I’ve never been good at backing down from a challenge.

It wasn’t like that though. The more time we spent together, the more I saw her as confidant. We loved to talk shit. She always had a particular skill in dissecting someone who got on her nerves, and poking them exactly where she knew they’d snap. It terrified me sometimes. Here was a person so openly terrible with me, and I got to live in the thrill of it without ever being on the receiving end. It makes me just as terrible by association, but I don’t try to be a saint. When you know you’ll never be an overtly good person, finding a space that doesn’t ask you to be can turn into your most toxic sense of relief. I held a specific kind of admiration for the way she could read people. If I knew how to worm my way into someone’s life, she knew how to break someone down just as well. I should have walked away then, and stayed as far away as I could. I managed the first part just fine a handful of times, but my execution of the second bit was always admittedly dreadful.

We kept falling back into each other. We became each other’s crutch, and it made us more unapologetic. We watched each other break, and bend, and grow over and over again. I sat with her on nights she needed to cry about unrequited love, and in the spaces between her sobs I’d hear the thumping of a good heart grow louder. I watched her become patient, and considerate. I learned the traumas of her past, and all the ways she coped. Sometimes, she’d fall back into who she used to be. But instead of chiding her, or admiring her, I’d sit and wait for her to find her own way out. She changed in a way I was proud of, and confident enough in to allow her to make her mistakes and identify them. She’s no monster. She’d deserving of the kind of love she tries to bury, and despite me not being around to witness it, I hope with all my heart it finds her soon.

She watched me learn to let people in. She listened when I droned on about things I knew she found boring, but she tried to express interest in anyway. She never judged me for the serial amount of girls, or the boys we both internally knew I’d never be capable of loving. She held my hand as I waded my way through heartbreak, and allowed to me to hurt and heal. She didn’t ask me to hide the demons, and when I did she’d call me out on them. She watched me learn to commit, albeit to the entirely wrong person, but she was there for that whole year. She encouraged me to communicate, and to take a risk. She made sure the girl felt welcome when I introduced them. The three of us got on like we’d all been together for years. Sarah helped me pick out the bouquet of flowers for the girl’s 18^th birthday, and listened when I asked her not to get angry when the girl completely forgot about our one-year anniversary and called me late into the evening crying about some guy. She allowed me to realize my resent when I’d finally plucked up the courage to walk away, and agreed to remain friends with the girl to make sure she stayed safe now that I was no longer in the picture. It was a difficult start to the year, especially when I’d found out about my mother’s affair. I was in and out of surgery, and my best friend had abandoned me for narcotics. I was open with Sarah about all of this, and she promised me she understood. She promised me I’d made the right choice to stand by her all these years despite everyone’s warnings, and that it was finally time for her to return the favor.

Only, that wasn’t the case.

She came to me one day completely heated about something, and exploded before I even had the consciousness to comprehend what was happening. I gave her three days to cool off before I planned to re-assess the situation, and within that time frame she’d managed to conduct a sub-tweet slander thread, and posted a tik tok about seeing your good friend go through character development backwards. I must say, I’m almost impressed with her speed. It was strange finally being on the receiving end. It’s like having a pet snake you provide everything for only to wake up one day with fangs in your back. I tried to regulate the issue, but I quickly realized the only way we were going to solve the argument was by me agreeing to all her points and apologizing. I couldn’t do that. I’d gone through so much that year already, and I was finally beginning to realize how important trusting yourself is. I was finally backing myself up – she was always so encouraging about it until it came to her. I couldn’t keep reshaping myself to accommodate everyone else’s comfort in my life. I told her that, and she devalued all my arguments with a casual disregard. If I weren’t so frustrated then it may have stung like a bitch.

I ended up cutting ties with her that day, initiating the end by explaining the friendship had turned unhealthy when we stopped knowing how to resolve conflict in the same way. I was disheartened for sure, but I was good at losing and rebuilding by then. My entire year was going that way, so I almost expected it really. What I didn’t expect was the following month of subliminal twitter hatred and the flaunting of her close-knit friendship with my ex. It hurt most to think of all the nights they must have spent laughing about how I had managed to lose everything. Just a year prior, they were my backbone. They supported me, and right when I needed them most, they lunged back together. All my love, patience and favor were thrown back in my face, and I had no option but to keep moving. The world doesn’t slow down for anyone, and I had no intention of falling behind.

I believe they’re still friends, although I can’t say for certain since I haven’t checked in or talked to either since March. I’ve never had more trust in myself. I became better for me, and I’ve been rewarded with peace. I had years of monumental history with Sarah. I’d be half the person I am now without her. We built each other up; and while she may have decided to knock me down, I’ve been able to rebuild in the way I want.

We’re strangers again, but we’re better strangers than when we started. For that, I’m grateful.