Get Over It.

I see pictures of happy people, videos filled with music, laughing and partying. And I don’t know how to feel. All of my friends are there. All of them are having fun. I’m not. Of course, I’m happy to see all of them having a great time. I’m happy to see that they’re happy.

But…

Something’s off. Something feels kind of. Wrong. I guess.

No. No, it’s nothing. It’s fine. I’m fine. Of course I’m fine. Why would I be anything else than fine? It’s just a party. It’s just a party full of my friends. I didn’t even want to go. Who gives a shit, it’s just a party. And I wasn’t invited. So what?

It’s fine. I’m fine. And you think I’m reading too much into it.

You say that I should get over it. But I don’t.

There’s nothing to get over, is there?

Or… maybe there is.

Maybe it isn’t okay. Maybe I’m not fine with it. Maybe, just maybe, I’m sad and angry and offended and scared. Maybe I feel like I’m missing out. Could it be that instead of just letting it go, it keeps bothering me. Sure, I’m a bit of an introvert and sure, I’m busy here and there, but it sucks that I don’t even have the chance to think about it or rearrange my schedule to meet up with my friends. Maybe it hurts that I’m that easy to toss aside, that replaceable. Not that I want to be irreplaceable in anyone’s life, but I want to be cared about. I want to be included.

You sigh. You’re annoyed. Of course you fucking are. Am I not allowed to feel sad? Hm? I know negative feelings are a lot to handle, but just imagine how I feel? Now I’m more mad at you than I am at the world. You say that it’s all in my head. They did ask me to meet up two weeks ago, didn’t they?

No. No they didn’t. The people hosting the party haven’t invited me anywhere. Everyone else has. Two weeks ago I hung out with some of my friends, two weeks before that I hung out with some others. But not with the people hosting the party. But I have kept in touch. I’ve tried.

You’re still mad.

You say that I should get over it. And I don’t.

How could I? All of my friends keep asking me if I’m going to that party or this one. And that’s the first time I’m ever informed of these parties. Of course it hurts. I’m glad that they’re all having fun. I’m glad they get to have a nice night. I’m glad that they’re all invited to go places. But I’m not okay. I want them to want me there. Like I want them here. With me.

You say that it’s okay. That I don’t have to be everyone’s favourite. And I know that. I know you’re right. But this isn’t about that. Of course it hurts to realise that to some people you might not be a favourite something, and even worse to realise that you’re no one’s favourite anything, but this isn’t even about that. It hurts so much more when you’re not even considered. You’re not a favourite, nor are you an option. You’re just a somebody. It hurts way more when you’re just a somebody. It hurts to be a somebody to someone who means much more to you. You know you like them. You know you hold so much love and respect for them. You’d love for them to return the same love, or at least a fraction of it.

And they just… don’t.

That’s what it feels like. I know it’s just a party, but goddamn does it hurt to be excluded. Goddamn does it feel like I’m just a somebody. Fuck, it feels like there was no love for me to receive in the first place. Like maybe, I had done something at some point to offend one of them. Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s not even about growth. Maybe I’m just unworthy of a second chance. Maybe I don’t even deserve the love my friends give me. Maybe the ones who don’t invite me to hang out realised that I’m not worth their time.

Your expression changes. You’re no longer mad or fed up with me. Now you’re looking at me with sad eyes, pity written all over your face. You reach to hug me, but I turn away. I don’t want you to pity me. I just want to forget. I don’t want to be in pain. You say that you’re sorry. You know how it feels like.

You say that I should just get over it. But I don’t. At least not yet.

Weeks pass, and the hurt starts to fade. I’m getting better. I see my friends, and we have fun. I invite them out to dinner, we meet up for coffee, whatever we happen to have time for. There’s still that small pain I feel when someone brings up the party. But it’s smaller every time. I’m glad they had fun. I’m glad that they had the chance to dance the night away, enjoy each other’s company and talk about whatever.

I’m happy for them. And I’m happy with them. I invite them out every now and then, and that works for us. We’re all busy people, so we don’t see each other very often, but it’s so easy to be with them when we find the time to hang out. I’m glad to have them. I’m grateful. I’m grateful for the people that actively want to have me around. I’m grateful that we make an equal effort to meet up. It just works. And it’s so easy. It’s easy to be happy with them.

They’re the people that have helped me grow, both as a friend and as a person in general. I’m who I am today because I met them all those years ago. And I’m glad they’re still in my life. Well, most of them. Maybe some of them just needed to go. They left their mark, but they needed to move on.

And little by little, that realisation has helped me let go. I’m starting to come to terms with everything. I know that I can’t be everyone’s favourite, or even an option sometimes. I’d love for the people to have told me that instead of me just kind of finding out, but I’m okay nonetheless. I’m just glad I realised now instead of years down the line. Now I can let go of those who don’t need me in their life. I don’t need them either. I’m not going to reach out if all I get back is radio silence and a side eye. A friendship is mutual, it’s equal. And if it isn’t, maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

You walk into the living room and you seem somewhat surprised. You say it’s surprising to see me smile again. Why so, I ask. You just shrug, but you seem hesitant.

You ask me if I’m still thinking about the party.

And to tell you the truth, I am. A little bit. But only a little bit. And it doesn’t really hurt anymore. I’m learning to let go. And if my friends have a party without me, so be it. I know I’ll see them soon, and I know we’ll have fun. We’ll enjoy each other’s company, talk about whatever. Take pictures and videos, play music, laugh and party. I don’t care about what happened. It hurt then, but it doesn’t hurt anymore.

You look at me with a hint of doubt in your eyes.

You say that I should get over it. And I do.