My best friend, whom I refer to as My Person (as does she for me) has always been judgmental. I say this matter-of-factly, she has always had an opinion and a very clear view of right and wrong. Mine definitely used to be stronger and we shared our judgy ways, but I abandoned clear-cut opinions long before she. As much as other people and sometimes I wanted her to abandon her strict judgments, she rarely ever did. As we grew closer it was something I came to rely on, her moral compass always pointed North, so to speak.
However, as we have grown older we have often found ourselves in situations that we never thought we would be in. We have been the women we said we would never be, I have done things and put myself in situations that I thought could never happen to me. Through all of it, we were witnesses to each others’ lives and if we were judging, we suspended it in support of one another. Never were my feelings as hurt as when she told me how she left out details of a past relationship because she didn’t want me to judge her for being naive or dumb. I, of course, had felt similarly at times but figured that we have already seen each other at our worst, nothing I could do could be any uglier than that.
Lately, I’ve been indulging my ID. Knowingly engaging in not-so-good-for-me behaviors in an effort to not feels so consumed by the P2AD situation. I do not enjoy ruminating or obsessing not even over the good things. I can feel myself get annoyed when yet another journal entry or blog post becomes about him. So I’ve been living other life. Life that is perhaps more questionable and murky. I’ve been telling My Person and when I most needed her to publicly shame me into snapping out of it, she’s been amazingly supportive. You don’t understand, I’ve told her, I need you to tell me its wrong!
I realize how this sounds. Damn my best friend for not judging me and understanding my situation…but no, literally, damn her. As I slip down the rabbit hole she was the one person I could count on to tell me not to go, to turn around, to remind me that none of it was real. I wish I could say that I was strong enough to tell myself. Well…part of me knows. The parts of me that sound like the old her exist and voice their opinions, “You should be ashamed of yourself…” “You should know better…” should should should. I ignore it. And she’s let me.
Now, as the pin on my moral compass dances wildly, the lines of right and wrong have become debatable. Start and Finish look the same, and any and all action can be justified. All but one. The want I want most and have to keep reminding myself I can’t have. The shoulds haven’t stopped me from wanting it and I’m hoping if the opportunity ever presents itself, my morals will return to me. Something tells me they won’t. Just the guilt of, after the fact. Just like last time, and the time before that…