Can Friendship Grow From Desperation?

My best friend Paul began ignoring me when we started college and never spoke to me again. It hurt and left me wondering what I’d done wrong.

We met through shared adversity. Throughout my school years, my life was a misery. I was bullied most days and told how disgusting and unlovable I was. I had a few people who acted like friends when I had something they wanted to use — a new computer or game, for example — but as soon as my usefulness dried up, they would turn on me like all the others.

Desperate to make real friends, I decided to hang around with people even more bullied than me. This is how I met Paul. He suffered terrible eczema on his face, which made him a prime target for abuse, had poor hygiene, and was devoutly religious — unusual in the UK. His mum would often bring him directly into the schoolyard and kiss him on the cheek in front of everyone — social suicide for an awkward teenager. The fact that he was so religious and never seemed to wash made us unlikely friends, but I was desperate for acceptance.

We spent most of our lunch breaks walking around the schoolyard debating religion. Although we disagreed completely, talking about deeper philosophical issues was a welcome change instead of having to play football or discuss attractive women on TV. Insults were thrown our way, but it hurt less because I was with someone enduring the same thing. In the back of my mind, I knew we weren’t “normal” friends because normal friends have something in common and enjoy spending time together outside school. Paul and I never even talked beyond the school gates.

One day, I was confronted with a random act of violence against my friend. A student approached us and punched Paul hard in his ear. As if that wasn’t shocking enough, Paul’s ear began to bleed. I watched the incident unfold in shock. I wanted to jump on the culprit and give him a taste of his own medicine. To hold him down until a teacher arrived. Instead, I did nothing. In that split second, I wanted to be brave, but only cowardice bubbled to the surface.

Nothing more was said about the incident, and we left school to start two years at college. I didn’t talk to Paul for the entire summer holiday, and upon starting college, he wasn’t in any of my classes. I wondered if I’d ever see him again.

College was as lonely for me as school — perhaps more so as my expectations had been higher. After eating lunch in the toilets for a few weeks, I saw Paul in the corridor. I did a double take as he was surrounded by people. He appeared to be laughing and joking with them. I never thought it would happen, but he had friends, not born out of desperation but want. I walked towards him, and he just blanked me. I convinced myself that he hadn’t seen me, but the same thing happened a few days later.

Paul and I never spoke again. He treated me as if I didn’t exist, yet throughout our friendship, I thought I was the one with the power. Although I was bullied, it wasn’t as severe as what happened to Paul. To be dumped by him was never part of my arrogant way of thinking.

Our friendship was based on need. We had nothing in common except a shared misery. As he moved on, I was a reminder of darker days. We would never have grown close if we had other choices. So, as soon as he got a better offer — entry into a group of “cool kids” — I was tossed aside.

Perhaps Paul remembered the day I did nothing to help when he was assaulted. He certainly knew he couldn’t trust me in a crisis.

The reality was I used Paul as a crutch, just as he did me. Although I mourned the friendship that never was, I realized that relationships can never be based on pain or weakness. True friendship is a choice. Although even the best of friends can grow apart, the truth is that we had no business being friends in the first place. We didn’t even like ourselves.

—

This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.

***

You may also like these posts on The Good Men Project:

White Fragility: Talking to White People About Racism

Escape the “Act Like a Man” Box

The Lack of Gentle Platonic Touch in Men’s Lives is a Killer

What We Talk About When We Talk About Men

—

Photo credit: iStock.com