I'm Just a Cold-Blooded Bitch

I'm angry - not at the world, but at myself. I wonder why I was born so defective with so little allowance for different things in life.

It feels as though I'm left with so little room to be the human I want to be.

Why am I so weak? Why I'm so easily triggered and so quick to falter?

My life seems to exist at such extremes that I often have nothing left to give back.

I've always wished for a life where I could manage my own burdens and still have enough left to be there for those who truly mattered.

Instead, I feel like a 'cold-blooded' version of myself, exhausted by my own survival.

This guilt center around my friend Bernard.

I feel I forsook him, and that weight hasn't left me in all these years.

Receiving news about Nicholas this Christmas has ripped open those old wounds once again.

I'm reposting this piece because the guilt hasn't faded; it has only changed shape.

I am still searching for a way to reconcile the person I had to be with the friend I wished I could have been - hoping, perhaps, to find a little comfort for my aching heart.

I have to stop here, for my tears are blurring my vision.

This pain is a heavy burden to carry, but I hope this reaches him: My absence was never indifference.

I didn't know back then because I was fighting for my own life, and I was blinded by my own struggle to survive. I didn't have the eyes to see anyone else's pain. That isn't indifference - that is a tragedy of timing.

I hope you can hear me, Bernard. I hope you know.

Photo by Ümit Yıldırım on Unsplash

I’m Not A Good Friend
Nov 6, 2023

I wasn’t there when he passed away.

Whenever I typed an email address starting with the letter B, his name would inevitably pop up. My good friend, Bernard.

Throughout my life, I’ve had no one that I can rely on, even during hospitalizations when I’d typically go and return alone. I enrolled in high school myself, as my parents weren’t there to support me.

One day I was involved in a sandwich car accident and my car was the one sandwiched. It wasn’t a total wreck but I had to climb to the back of the passenger seat to extricate myself.

I did not call for help due to my deep-seated fear of asking for help or admitting my need for it. I didn’t know who to call and I was afraid to disturb others because it was past midnight. Definitely not my father.

I was a grown woman and it was my car but still, I was fearful of calling him.

This fear stemmed from the memories of his cruelty — he would often hit me and punish me for being what he perceived as weak or foolish.

Bystanders would simply watch, even during the times when my father resorted to physical violence in public, and not a single person came forward to stop him.

Am I so undeserving of help?

This has left an everlasting impact on my life. I have doubts whenever someone comes along and extends a helping hand.

Why would anyone want to help someone like me?

I know that it might seem pathetic, but when my life is devoid of decent humans, leaving me with those who hurt me and forsaken me, it’s not easy to maintain anything but naturally have a pessimistic perspective on everything.

But I’m glad I met him.

Knowing Bernard, it’s a blessing for me.

He wasn’t just a friend, but a pillar of strength during my tough times. He offered unwavering support and cared for me when I couldn’t care for myself.

Bernard was kind and a big animal lover. Despite his tough biker guy exterior, he had a soft heart and was what I’d call a gentle giant. He was caring and observant unlike most members of the opposite sex I know.

We have a deep friendship and he became someone I could rely on. Life brought changes, though.

Bernard met the love of his life and they got married. Slowly, our connection started fading, and we didn’t keep in touch much.

Though our friendship has always been platonic, I didn’t want to make his wife uncomfortable, as we’d never been properly introduced. So, I kept my distance.

At the same time, my own life was in turmoil. Work, mental health struggles, and relationship complexities left me overwhelmed, and I lost touch with many, including Bernard.

When I finally logged onto social media a few years ago, I came across his profile. People were sharing memories and condolences as a tribute to Bernard, and that’s when I learned the painful truth.

He had passed away due to cancer, a fact that had eluded me for years.

I contacted our mutual friends, and they revealed the harrowing journey he’d been through.

Bernard had battled cancer silently, enduring the pain and suffering while still managing to smile whenever we crossed paths. He probably never wanted to burden me with his illness.

There were moments when I felt he had something to say, but he held back, likely not wanting to add to my own struggles. I regret not understanding those unspoken words.

I am plagued by guilt and regret for not being there when he needed me. I wish I had supported him during his treatments and been there in his final moments. Cancer took him away quietly, a thief in the night.

I’m angry, why take away the good people in my life?

I’m also angry with myself, for being so absorbed in my own world.

That I failed to notice things with Bernard. He had gotten thin and haggard, but I never asked if he was okay.

I was such a horrible selfish friend to him.

I acted as if only my issues mattered. I failed him as a friend.

But I’m left with the burden of remorse now.

There’s no changing the past.

I’ve never visited his grave, not even once, for I fear that it would unleash the extreme emotions that might be triggering for me.

I’m haunted by the thought that it might overwhelm me, especially because Bernard is no longer here for me to lean on.

I’m so sorry, Bernard.

I was never there for you like the time that you were always there for me.

Until the day comes when we can meet again on the other side, where regrets are forgiven, and I can finally say I’m here now, my friend.

I’ve come to cherish those who treat me like a fellow human being, like a friend.

My heartfelt prayer is that God will always watch over them.

Whenever a friend goes incognito for a few days, it triggers my anxiety and fuels excessive worry, as I don’t have many true friends left to lose in these times.

©Britt H.

Thank you for reading this.

More about the person behind the writing in My Introductory Post