Awkwardly regrettable

Awkwardness is having to tell your friends that have turned into acquaintances about an important milestone in your life while suppressing the demons that beckon the memories of the mocking ridicule that was disguised as friendly jabs at the news of your last divorce. The laziness and callousness of people is most evident when they see fit to make fun of a traumatic event without having embraced the reality of it first.

I have always had a tendency to take things in my stride, regardless of the pain or humiliation that accompanied the experience. More than anything else, this provided a graceful exit for those around me that were handicapped in their skills at dealing with such grave circumstances. I was raised in a family where physical shows of affection were avoided at all costs. The odd embrace would be a formality of greeting at specific occasions only. Even on occasions of death, there was always an awkwardness in the embraces received from siblings, if received at all.

I chose to finally share the news of my recent marriage with some ‘friends’ of mine. It wasn’t a very long list, and it didn’t really qualify as friends for the most part. More like acquaintances that I’ve allowed into my personal space. Having a friend is a foreign concept for me. It requires a level of trust and acceptance, not to mention commitment, that I’ve grown weary of. Friends have been a convenient presence in my life until the point where my life’s experiences became too burdensome for them. By the way, that convenience was on their part, not my own.

Betrayal has become a clichéd part of my life. I don’t expect it, but I don’t dismiss it either. More often than not, the reason for betrayal has been the weakness on the part of the betrayer rather than any inherent sense of dishonesty in the person that I may have once trusted. That weakness manifests itself when it demands commitment, selflessness, or most often, when it demands that we face our past demons in the experiences of those close to us. That’s when most recede because the experience is suddenly too close to home.

To the one that’s betrayed, the reason or justification is irrelevant. It still remains what it is. And trying to define it only nurtures the regret and the awkwardness. So instead, I’ll leave it to fester so that I have a companion to look forward to when I’m peering at the end of the road on the horizon waiting…just waiting.

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