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He knows it’s for the better.
From the start, he knew it wasn’t a friendship that would last. Smitty just seemed so… perfect. He was funny, even if he wasn’t always kind to other people. But he was kind to John, and that’s all that mattered, right? They spent all of their time together, fabricated inside jokes that they’d giggle about at all the wrong times. Sure, as time went on, John’s feelings became more than strictly platonic, but he wouldn’t let that get in the way of their friendship. After all, Smitty is straight. He’s got no chance. He opted to bury those feelings in his heart’s cemetery, to let them rot in one of the many bloody holes in his most valuable muscle. John ignored his feelings for the other man, let them die as he stomped out the embers. John dropped everything for Smitty when he was struggling.
He knows it’s for the better.
As time progressed, Smitty slowly changed. He’d constantly talk about the girl he was dating. One time, after breaking up with his girlfriend of five months, he had a new one within three hours. That rubbed John the wrong way. But he ignored it, he didn’t say anything. He was too afraid of Smitty getting angry and leaving him.
He knows it’s for the better.
Smitty started excluding him from things. Going to do things with friends, inviting him, then revoking the invite last minute. Ignoring him in conversation, ignoring him when he really needed someone there. Smitty would put everyone else above John whilst he would place Smitty on an indestructible pedestal. He put Smitty before everyone, especially himself. So why was he being treated this way?
He knows it’s for the better.
The duo got in an argument. John was celebrating being one month self-harm free. He put a screenshot of his I Am Sober streak in the small group chat consisting of his closest friends. No one responded. No one cared, not until Smitty sent a message. Completely unrelated to John’s incredible achievement, no, he was ranting about his shitty family. John felt like his progress was meaningless; because his own pride simply won’t suffice. He relies on the validation from other people that he’s doing a good job. He needs to be told that he’s doing well, that someone is proud of him, because that means he’s being seen. That means someone cares, and that he’s not proud of himself over nothing. He’s spent the past eight years of his life second-guessing every thought he’s had, positive or negative. He spent his childhood ridiculed and never receiving positive feedback from the people around him, so of course he requires it as an adult. It’s natural. And it’s not like he chases the validation like an adrenaline rush; he simply mentions something and if he gets ignored, he gets ignored. But being one month self harm free was something he was proud of. At one point he’d been doing it eight times a day. He got that down to two. And then one. And then once every few days, once a week, once every week or two. And then a month clean. And his best friend, his idol, didn’t give a flying fuck. He was pissed, rightfully so. He said that, and Smitty got mad. When John accidentally “ignores” Smitty, he’s an awful friend. But Smitty can do whatever he wants without repercussions.
He knows it’s for the better.
That same night, he scrambled to crack open a box cutter. He slid the blade out of the contraption and he held it to his skin and he sliced. The blade was dull, so he applied all the pressure he could and he drug the metal across his flesh until all he could feel was the red hot burning pain in his scarred thighs. Afterward, he cried. And he cried, and he cried. Because he fucked up. He let everyone down; he let Smitty down.
He knows it’s for the better.
They resumed talking the next day like nothing had ever happened. Smitty never apologized, and John never asked him to. It wasn’t long until a similar situation occurred; maybe a few weeks.
He knows it’s for the better.
John was upset. He was pissed, truthfully. He was supposed to finally get his license, and it turned out that he didn’t meet the qualifications just yet. Angry tears brimmed in his eyes as he left the DMV, and his first reaction was to message the group chat. They were all excited for him, so he needed to tell them what happened. Smitty read it instantly, opting to mention something unrelated. John doesn’t know why he got so angry, but he freaked the fuck out. He told Smitty that he was being fucking awful at that moment. He told Smitty that he needed to learn how to read the room, because obviously now was not the time. He was fucking tired of being ignored by Smitty; he was tired of being treated as decent emotional support with no other value. Smitty lost his shit, saying that John always does this and that he’s awful. He finalized the argument with a quick, “Fuck you, John. You’re a fucking cunt,” and the swift yet agitated click of the block button.
He knows it’s for the better.
John was hurt. He knew he shouldn’t have gotten that angry, but it’s not like this is a frequent occurrence. He’s only been explosive three times within their friendship. He doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t understand himself. He doesn’t understand why he gets so blood-boilingly angry, so unbearingly furious. But he does understand, his various mental health conditions all contribute to it. But he doesn’t understand why. Why he has to deal with all of these illnesses, why he has to work so hard just to be a good person. It’s not fair. Sometimes he wants nothing more than to throw a temper tantrum and say all the hurtful things bubbling up under his skin and threatening to ooze out of his pores. But that’s immature. And he can’t be immature; that’ll feed into everyone’s past perception of him.
He knows it’s for the better.
The next day, Smitty asked Matt to ask John to add him back. Because obviously, it’s too difficult to search up John’s snap and add him himself. John does so, weary of the following conversation. He waits for Smitty to message first; John refuses to apologize. He does not regret what he said, because he never threw insults. Did he cuss more than he should have? Sure. But he doesn’t regret it. If he apologized knowing that he feels no remorse, he’d be more fake than the plastic dolls that collect dust on the shelves of the Walmart toy section. He doesn’t want to be fake. He prides himself on being true to himself and honest with the people surrounding him.
He knows it’s for the better.
Smitty’s first message to him isn’t an apology of any sort; it’s a shitty attempt at “explaining” why he said what he said the previous day. This enraged John. He deserved an apology, damn it! God forbid he wants his best friend to care about him and his struggles. The conversation quickly devolved into a full blown argument, Smitty tossing insults left and right. Smitty claimed that John was an attention seeker because he gets mad when he doesn’t get the validation he wants. Which is funny, because Smitty constantly talks about his poor mental health and his poor eating habits, gulping down all of the attention he gets from it and playing the part of the helpless mentally ill man. Smitty claims that John is a hoe, simply because John dated two of the guys in the friend group. Both relationships were brief, John making an attempt to move past his relationship trauma and failing; both ex-partners being more than understanding. It’s funny, because Smitty can’t stand being single. Smitty always has a girlfriend, and he admitted to using his long-term girlfriend for her money and sex, just waiting for a different girl to ask him out. Smitty claims that John was using him for nicotine. That’s funny because while yes, it was nice to have a friend who always had a vape on him, John wouldn’t have cared if Smitty cut him off. Fuck, he would jump if Smitty told him to. John would fuck up his entire life just to make him happy. Smitty finally claimed that John was fake, that his kindness was fake. It was funny, because when Smitty was at his worst, John offered to let him move in and he offered to help him out. John blocked him after that.
He knows it’s for the better.
So why does it hurt so badly? Why is his skin crawling with the urge to unzip his skin and leave bright red gashes in his wake? Why is his heart empty and his stomach numb? Why does he feel grief for a friendship that was built on toothpicks? He knows that Smitty is toxic, but he doesn’t want him to leave. He doesn’t want to be abandoned yet again by someone who claimed they wouldn’t leave. The idea of it is incomprehensible; it wraps his chest tight with a rope made of thorns. The thorns puncture his seemingly thick skin, leaving him to bleed out in his bed, indescribably alone. The only way to soothe the ache is by creating fresh red-hot pain with the help of a dirty hunk of metal. If he could, he’d opt to burn his lungs with the bitter smoke from a blunt, or he’d tint his lungs black with the rancid hit of a cigarette. John’s never been good with abandonment; all of his past friends, past boyfriends, his dad. Every single time it stabs him right in the healing wound lodged in his back, disrupting the process and sending him spiraling back.
He knows it’s for the better.
He tries not to feel close to people anymore, but it isn’t his fault that his brain picks out that one special person. The one person that makes him want to live, the only person he ever wants to talk to or be around. He centers his entire life around that person. He doesn’t know why he gets so attached to specific people like that. He doesn’t understand why he panics at any slight suggestion of abandonment or replacement, leaving his words sharp, much like projectiles that drip with venom. He doesn’t understand why he never feels real unless he’s with that special person. He doesn’t understand the way that borderline personality disorder works. What goes on in his brain that causes these reactions, these thinking patterns? Why is he cursed with it in the first place? Maybe if he didn’t have it, Smitty leaving wouldn’t hurt so bad. Maybe Smitty never would have wanted to leave. Maybe if he was normal, none of this would have happened.
He knows it’s for the better.
Because he wasn’t in the wrong. His anger was justified. He had a valid reason to be upset, it was Smitty that was being unreasonable. Right? So why does John possess such an insatiable necessity to prove himself, to make things right? He knows the only way to get Smit to talk to him again is apologizing, begging for forgiveness, another chance. But he shouldn’t have to do that. If Smitty were a good friend, he’d treat John better than this. But John doesn’t deserve better. He deserves to hurt, to suffer. He deserves to be treated like the scum of the earth because that is what he is. He’s the worst of the worst. Under that thick plastic facade he sports, the one dripping with kindness and dusted in generosity; he is nothing more than an evil man trapped in the rotting casket from which he can not escape. No matter how much he claws at the molding wood, he can not escape who he used to be. Who he is. He’s awful. He judges everyone around him, albeit he’s taught himself to do it silently. He’s mean, his words rancid like sour milk. He explodes unexpectedly like faulty dynamite. He lashes out, says the cruelest words he can muster up; the words he knows would hurt that person the most. He dives and shuffles through his memory, recalling the fears and insecurities of that person and he uses them to his advantage. He’ll use his sharp tongue to inflict as much damage as possible. He’s awful. Therefore, he deserves this. The suffering, the hurt. He deserves it all, every last drop. He’ll sit here and drink it all down, every burning drop.
He knows it’s for the better.
In therapy he’s learned that his perception of himself is inaccurate. He casts an opaque shadow upon his achievements and a bright spotlight on his failures, his mistakes. He’s learned that he is more than he perceives, that he does deserve goodness.
Smitty isn’t someone he wants to lose, but he knows it’s for the better.