I Hate Myself For Losing You

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A story about a strong friendship broken by the love of another. I'm sorry if the grammar is not correct or if I have some spelling mistakes.

Submitted: December 11, 2009

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 11, 2009



1-It’s sad how people you know, become people you knew. Times change, people move on. But me, I’ve never moved on. I lost one of my dearest friends, through a change that should not have been.

This is why I’m writing this. To express my feelings on the matter. I’ve tried talking to people. They say he’ll soon see sense and come back to me, but I know they’re only saying it to make me feel better. Let me tell you, loosing someone so close to you as a best friend is the most terrible torture you can ever be put through. Maybe not the physical pain. It’s not as if your being hung at the gallows, or beheaded at the guillotine. But, I expect the emotional side of things is somewhere close to that of medieval torture.

Theres a permanent weight on my shoulders. However hard I try, the weight just won’t lift. There he is, constantly haunting my mind. Every thought leads me back to him. Everywhere I go, memories remind me of the fact I’ve lost him. It’s like he’ll never leave me alone.

Everyday I see him at school. I can barely even look at him. And when I do, my eyes start to water. I sometimes catch him looking at me, but he hurridly looks away when I look back. I wonder what he’s thinking. Probably something like “Urgh, look at her. Disgusting girl. Can’t believe I was ever friends with her.”

Him changing, has made me change too. I used to be an A grade student, now I can barely get a C. I only leave the house if I have to. I don’t go out anymore. I’ve lost my appetite completely and have lost a lot of weight. My mum has tried taking me to the doctors, and a physciatrist. But nothing helps. The one and only thing that would help is if he came back to me.

I suppose, if I’m going to write about this whole thing. I better say what actually happened. We were the best of friends, Sam and I. Nothing could break us apart. Nothing, I thought, until that one girl came along. Julia.

We began spending less and less time together. Hours on IM became minutes. And discussion was very limited now. Almost every time I asked if he wanted to do something he’d say “Sorry, I’m meeting with Julia today, maybe tomorrow.” But, clearly tomorrow never came.

I knew he had fallen in love with Julia. I knew the day that we started falling apart that he had fallen head over heels for her. But he had fallen in too deep by the time I realised I had to do something about it. He started to act and dress like her. I suppose you could call it “emo”. True, Sam, I and the rest of our friends were into the darker sides of things. But never as much as what he had become now.I needed to do something.

One day I went round his house, determined to make him see how much this had affected our friendship. But, I don’t know why I bothered. All it did was make things worse. We argued and argued. He told me Julia had nothing to do with his change in ways, and our damaged relationship. He thought I was jealous because he loved Julia and not me. But, the thing is, I wasn’t jealous. I only thought of him as a friend, nothing more. But I suppose he didn’t believe that. He said that I’d become more and more impossible to stand and that he wanted me out of his life for good.

So, for him, I left.

2-Leaving wasn’t the hard part. It was knowing that I would probably never have a friend as good as him in my life again. Sure, he hurt me. But at the best of times, he was always there for me. I just guess that shows how much someone will change for the one they think they’re in love with.

I’m not saying he’s not in love with her, he may well be. But I am very certain she does not love him. She wouldn’t make him change if she did. She would love him as who he is, or rather, was.

So, I walked home listening to my ipod. The songs suited my mood, of course. I was listening to the likes of Mayday Parade and The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. I suppose it didn’t help listening to depressing songs, but I was hardly going to listen to things like Metro Station while I was in that mood.

My head was buzzing with thoughts. Thoughts of how I could have handled the situation better. What else I could have said. Anything that would have made it all better. Well, what I thought would have made it better. I doubt anything would have.

The best friend I had ever had, lost. I loved him. Who could I talk to now? I couldn’t live without him. He had helped me through everything.

If I had said everything differently, it might have worked out. We may have been able to put the past behind us and be like two peas in a pod again. I wish. That would have never happen.

I had to face it right then, I was completely lost without him. And it hadn’t even been an hour. How would I cope?

If I’d died then, I wouldn’t have cared. There was nothing to really live for anymore.

When I finally got home, I went upstairs to my bedroom and cried. It seemed like ages before the tears finally stopped and I was able to think. So many questions whirled around in my head. Nothing seemed right anymore.

I closed my eyes and gently drifted off to sleep.


Now it is exactly 8 months after the split, and I’m still not over it. Even now, as every day passes, I fall deeper and deeper into the dark abyss that is my life. As I pass through the days, slowly wandering, I am consumed by all the truth and lies that life has seen. If this is life, how are people meant to live? Now, this is why I’m an atheist. If God really did exist, why would he let the world be what it is today? That’s the thing, he wouldn’t. If he loved us that much, he’d help.

Guess what. 8 months on, Julia and Sam are still together. I’ve never seen anything so disgusting. Every time I pass them in the hallway I can feel her burning glare piercing through me. That bitch. What had I ever done to her? Maybe its time to let some of that anger out. Give her an actual reason to hate me. No, if I did that I’d be just as bad as her then.

I suppose I’m just about getting by now. Slowly but surely. It’s better than nothing though. The truth is, I don’t want to move on. Moving on means forgetting and forgetting means letting go of all the memories that I hold so close. We grew up together, being best friends from the age of 6. 9 years is a long time to be friends with someone. Though, our friendship lasted because we got on so well. Why would I want to forget him? It would be for the best I guess but no, I won’t forget. Even if Sam has forgotton me.

I now spend most of my time drawing, writing and going for walks. Walks are good, they allow you to think about things. I’ve grown especially fond of my daily walks during this cold month of December. The air is chilly and seems to soothe me in a way that people cannot. Also, the snow is so perfect. Every one a different pattern, but every flake as beautiful as the next. I love how the leaves are crisp enough to make crunching noises beneath my feet. Childish really, the way I love winter. But I do not love it for the joy of Mr. Claus bringing presents, no. I love it because there does not exist a better feeling than taking a walk on a cold Christmas day.

So, I was out on a lovely morning walk, it was the 23rd of December and everyone was getting ready for Christmas. The roads were busy, obviously people had forgotten to buy Christmas presents and supplies and were in a rush to get to the supermarket before everything sold out. However, the pathways that I walked were almost empty. I suppose it was a bit colder than usual, everyone was probably staying inside, nice and warm.

I reached the spot where I always sat whilst thinking things through. It was a log, shaped as if it was meant for someone to sit on it. So I did exactly that. The log was rather damp from the snowfall the night before, but it suited me just fine. If there was anywhere that could make me feel happy, it was here. On the other side of the icy field there was a perfect skyline. Purple, pink and orange all mixed in together. I opened my bag, reached for my sketchbook and started to draw.

Whilst in the middle of drawing, I heard a faint mewing. Probably just one of the farmer’s cats. I carried on drawing and was interrupted yet again by the mewing. This time it didn’t stop. I thought maybe that a cat was stuck somewhere so I placed my sketchbook on the log in the place where I had been sat. I started looking for the source of the noise but couldn’t see anything. I tried to follow the sound but found no luck. The mewing seemed to be getting more urgent, so I rushed, getting worried that the cat could be hurt.

Finally I found the source. There was not one, but two kittens sat behind a tree. They looked so innocent and scared. I couldn’t see a mothering cat anywhere, so I decided that they must be orphans. Stepping quietly, I tried to get closer to them. They quickly darted a couple of paces away forom me. I tried again and again, but they just wouldn’t have it. So I stopped, got my sketchbook and begun my drawing once again. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the two kittens edging cautiously closer. As long as I remained drawing they would come closer, they wouldn’t feel theatened.

After a long wait, they finally came close enough for me to scoop them up. I could feel their bodies tensing as I tried to calm them down. They were soaking wet and frozen. I put my sketchbook in my bag and held the kittens to me to give them the warmth of my body heat. Soon enough they were purring loudy.

I got home in about a quarter of an hour and walked into the lounge with the kittens still cradled against me. My Mother and Father were doing their usual Saturday morning charade of reading the paper and watching the television. Mum glanced up and me and immediately asked what I was holding against my chest. I slowly pulled them from my chest and handed one of them to my Mum. It was the first time I really looked at them. The one I was holding was black and white with perfect eyes shaded like a gorgeous emerald. The other, which my mum was holding uneasily was a tortoise shell colour with deep, golden eyes. Eyes like the falling leaves of autumn.

My Mum asked me questions as to where I found the kittens and if there were any others around. I answered her questions and she seemed quite satisfied with the idea that the kittens were infact orphans. She told me that we had better get some posters put up as if the kittens belonged to someone, they would be getting very worried. But first we went to the pet store to pick up some food for the little kittens.

After a busy day of looking after the adorable kittens, which we named Simba and Nala, it was time to relax to the comforts of my room. Nala, the black and white kitten seemed to be settling in very quickly, whilst Simba, the tortoise shell was still a bit shy about the whole situation. Simba and Nala. Ahh, The Lion King. Sam’s and my favourite childhood film. Sam. Oh not again. With the whole business of the day I had completely forgotten about Sam. He would love the kittens so much but I wasn’t going to let him ruin a good day. The first good day in a long time. So before I could think about him anymore I curled up in bed and went to sleep with Simba and Nala curled up by my feet.


Guess who I woke up thinking about. Yeah, Sam. You got it in one.

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