The Loss of a Best Friend

“You’ve become a shell of the person you used to be.” The words stung as they spilled from my best friend’s mouth. They were the last words she ever said to me.

The year was 2018 and, in retrospect, the worst year of my illness. I had recently left her bachelorette party around sunset because I couldn’t keep my eyes open and was struggling to keep upright in my platform sandals. Even more recently, I had called to wish her a happy birthday a day late, jumbling the once familiar numbers in my head. Moments earlier, she had tapped my shoulder to awaken me from the crumpled form I’d taken in the wrought iron cafe chair.

When I came to, I was overwhelmed by a barrage of harsh and hurtful words, most of which I hardly registered. I had hurt my best friend, deeply. Yet, I didn’t understand what I had done wrong. I couldn’t figure out what I might have done differently.

At that point, my boyfriend had been telling me for years that something seemed off. It wasn’t normal to be so tired, so weak, and so disconnected from the world before me.

Losing my best friend was one of the most painful experiences of my life. My heart ached for years as my calls went unanswered. I allowed myself to be struck by the second arrow–the painful thoughts that emerged following the event.

Yet, once I had recovered from the initial blow, that encounter was the catalyst which prompted me to look in the mirror and acknowledge that she was right–something was wrong.

Though it has taken five years of effort to arrive at the answer, I now know what was wrong.

It’s too late to revive that friendship. She holds a grudge and I’ve accepted that. Yet, I learned something through the experience.

Suffering is the hallmark of humanity. To feel is to live. To feel deeply is to live fully.

The pain of losing a best friend forced me to examine myself more closely. Who am I? How have I changed? Who is it that I am becoming? Is this the person that I want to be? Do I need to change my trajectory? If yes, how?

At first, I may have been a shell of the person I once was. However, over time, I’ve peeled away that outer layer. I’ve cracked the hard-boiled eggshell, pried the nut from its encasement, and held back tears as I slice through the next layer of the onion. In doing so, I’m left bare-skinned and authentic, with no armor and no facade. I can no longer bear the weight of either. I’m, perhaps, more myself that I could have been sans suffering.

In recognizing my own imperfect humanity, I’ve also gained an increased capacity for compassion. In many ways, the expereince of losing my best friend made me a better human being.

The suffering we endure in life is often viewed as tragic and unfortunate. But what if there is more to the story? Might there be utility in our suffering? Join us over at the Heart of the Matter to discuss just that.