When I was in high school, my best friend in the world was a kid, who I shall call in this blog post, Henry. Henry and I did everything together, and we were inseparable in every way possible. I had never had a friend quite like him. Our humor was constantly on the same page. When we played music together, it was as if our minds had synched up, and we were one person. For the duration of the time that we spent together closely, I did a lot of things that I’m not proud of, but I often had some sort of absurd justification for it. But once we both went away to separate colleges, we did not speak for several months at a time, leaving me deeply hurt. That summer, we finally spent time together, and a deep cavern of resentment came to the surface.
I have often had personal problem in my life, perhaps a personality defect, where I constantly think that what I have done is the right decision to make. This sort of self-righteous attitude intoxicated me for many years. For more than half the time I spent with Henry, he felt judged, bullied, and taken for granted by me. During the time that we were in a band together, he felt that I was cruel to him, and had been controlling of his role in the band. He never doubted for a moment that I truly loved him like a brother, but he felt that I was a bad influence on his life and a dampener on his happiness. After crying, shouting, and reconciling, we agreed to start over our friendship, and rebuild our relationship.
I could not be more regretful for some of the things I said or did to Henry.