Take it away, Facebook!

Last night turned ugly. When Brook never replied to me, I went to her website to see if she was active or just ignoring her Facebook page. Nope, she was there. She accepted pokes, she commented on other people’s pages, and the kicker was that her most recent poke was like an hour before I checked. Yeah, she was there. I took TonyN’s advice and listened to my jilted side—I de-friended her.

What I didn’t expect was the internal furor Brook would stir up over contacting me and ignoring me. It reminded me of the hurt and the betrayal, the feelings of guilt and unworthiness. I wanted to cry and punch my pillow. Instead I blasted off at my husband, to which he replied, “Get over it.”

It is her problem. She wasn’t an adult then and for whatever reason she hasn’t matured into a respectful online adult. I try to remind myself that if she was that petty to leave me over something so trivial, then she did me a favor by getting out of my life sooner than later.

Like I mentioned before, I always dreaded her finding me online. I knew I would have some strange, mixed emotional reaction, but I didn’t expect to come full circle to the anger. I was so high on not feeling anger yesterday. So proud of myself for being mature. But I emotionally dissolved into that wounded young woman from twelve years ago. That added to my night-tremor by feeling guilty of being childish.

When I was proud of feeling no anger, I remembered all of our happy times when we laughed wildly (and soberly) over making up the word “smircles.” Watching “Great Castles of Europe” every Friday night before we hit the parties. Ditching dinner at 7 to run to the dorm to watch “Friends.” Whispering in class. Sharing secret crushes and agonizing over them.

When the anger returned, I remembered all the horrible, petty things she did to me. In particular I remembered the guys. If it came between Brook and a guy, I chose Brook. If it came between me and my guy, she stole my guy. Why? In retrospect I think she may have been so desperate for approval that she wanted the guys who chose me to validate her by choosing her instead. Really, they felt guilty and always returned to me sheepishly. I never took them back; Brook came first. Brook came first for Brook, too.

No, I’ll probably never find it in me to forgive her no matter how long ago and currently irrelevant her slights. It may seem petty, but she nailed shut and painted over the door to Brook when she left. It’s over. I’ll have to move on. Again. So long, Brook. Please don’t come knocking again.