Another Name on the List

I got your email. Let’s start with that.

I saw your name pop up as a notification on my phone and my heart almost stopped, but not in a good way.

I haven’t read it yet, but already feel I need to respond.

I believed you were different. I believed in you and I thought you believed in me. And not just in my talents, my ambitions, my wants and dreams, but in me… as a person. I thought we’d formed a friendship that couldn’t be penetrated by any of the bullshit of this world. I thought we’d built a friendship on trust and the want to be each other's person. Similar to those you see in movies, and television… the kind we write about. I believed we were going to be each other’s cheerleaders, mentors, the kind of friends that pushed and pulled each other along when we felt as though perhaps we weren’t good enough, strong enough, capable. I’d confided my past in you. How nothing ever seemed to work out for me. How people seemed to love me intensely and then fuck me over. And you promised me you would never be an addition to that list.

We planned so much for ourselves. New homes. New jobs. Careers. Working together, taking over the industry, making the changes we wanted to see. The changes that needed to happen. Perhaps it was impractical. Impossible. But I thought we were at least going to try.

I picked up my life, my family, my all, and moved it across the country. It was my choice, I’m not blaming you, nor do I regret it. But a big part of the reason I did it was because of what we had planned. And then it all, suddenly, went wrong.

Suddenly, I wasn’t good enough. You accused me of a lot. And it hurt so much because none of it was true. You gaslit me. You yelled. You turned on me.

Lies. Blame. Shame. Anger. Hurt. Out of nowhere.

But I knew some of where you’d come from. And what you’d shared with me, made me feel empathy. Understanding. The desire to lead with kindness, patience, and understanding. I never yelled back. I never accused you of anything. I told you I was worried about you. That I was hurt and didn’t understand where it was all coming from. That I thought we needed space so you could figure things out. Because I wanted, more than anything, to try and salvage the friendship. If we lost the dreams of business together, so be it. At least we’d still have each other.

At first, you agreed. You seemed appreciative that I was giving you that space. You thanked me! You told me how much you appreciated my kindness and understanding, and that you would take the time and come back. You apologized for your behavior, for how you’d hurt me. You wanted to talk about our projects, but I said we’d deal with it at a later time. But you said, the projects are yours. You wrote them. I remember it clearly because I was so moved and touched. I was so thankful that you’d recognized the blood, sweat, tears, and time I’d put into them. I was so grateful that you weren’t going to be like others from my past - trying to take what is mine. That I wasn’t going to have to fight for what was mine. But then it changed.

Perhaps I’d triggered you somehow, unknowingly. Perhaps you felt I was abandoning you. Perhaps you thought I was trying to one up you, feel superior to you. I really don’t know. But none of that’s true. I was never anything but honest and genuine with you.

I was hurt. Scared. Triggered. And trying to avoid history repeating itself. Isn’t that what we’re meant to do? Learn from our mistakes? Learn from our past behavior?

I arrived in my new home, broken. In pieces. Shattered because all I’d had planned, reasons I’d told myself to make the move, was gone. I was suddenly living somewhere new, but in the same place I’d left. I was devastated.

Weeks went by, and I thought of you often. Wondered if you were ok. Wondered if you were taking care of yourself. Wondered if you thought about me. I reached out. I emailed, letting you know that though we hadn’t spoken in a while, I wasn’t gone. That I still cared. I thought, perhaps naively, that we could work through whatever had transpired, whatever had made you turn against me… perhaps chalk it up to a misunderstanding, a past trauma rearing its ugly head. Despite those close to me warning me otherwise because they’d seen what it had done to me, I wanted to lead with kindness.

We emailed a couple of times, but nothing like before. I could sense things would likely never be the same and I began to mourn. I moved on. I began (and continued) working on other projects, ones that never included you. And then suddenly, I got an email. I saw your name in the notification and couldn’t deny the hope I felt. But when I opened it and read it, I was shocked. Once again, you were accusing me of something I never did, and would never do. Suddenly, you were staking your claim on my work. I cried. I yelled. I fell apart. Why was this happening? Did I have a sign on my back that read some sort of version of please take from me? Or Drain me of all I am, all that I have?

I responded, as kindly as I could, trying to keep things civil. Trying to keep some of the grains of our friendship alive. But you blew them away. You threatened me. You wanted to use your anger and the law to steal from me. I couldn’t believe it. Wasn’t this one of the things we’d talked about? How awful people could be to each other? Swearing we would never allow it to happen to us?

Again, you gaslit me. Again, you were against me. Again, you were lying, blaming, shaming, and hurting.

I wanted to finally unleash all of my anger and hurt at you. I wanted to respond, releasing all of the emotions you were inflaming. But, I didn’t. Instead, I wrote back with calm, kindness, and offered a solution. I was pleased you agreed, though I also believed, why wouldn’t you? I was giving you more than you deserved. But still, you had to get in another couple of shots.

I ignored the shots. I responded in agreement and told you never to contact me again. And yet, here we are, just shy of two years later, and you’ve reached out.

I’ve read the email. You apologized for “your part” and that is not acceptable to me. I’m so sick and tired of people being hurtful and unkind to me, using and abusing me, treating me like I’m some dumb girl who is so desperate for love or acceptance, she’ll roll over after the abuse, maybe even ask for more. Too many have taken advantage of that. It’s too long a list. And now, just like you promised you’d never be, even though I believed you wouldn’t be, you are just another name on that list.

There are so many other lists I’d much rather have your name on. A list of friends. A list of collaborators on a project. A list of those who’ve supported me. A list of people I love. But none of that can ever be. And you made that happen.

The funny thing is, I’m not angry. Holding on to the anger wouldn’t be worth it. It would hurt me more than you. Nor am I sad. We had a short run. It was fun for a while. It was a time filled with these amazing dreams I believed would become a reality. I learned a lot, and not in the way you think. I think you believe you were this amazing mentor that taught me so much about the industry we were planning to take over. And while you helped guide me to resources that were tremendously helpful, beyond that, there was nothing more. I created those projects on my own. You were just a sounding board, sharing your thoughts and opinions. It was up to me to listen, and sometimes I did. But in reality, it was my voice, and you tried to steal it. You tried to take it and benefit, maybe even profit from it. And when I put up boundaries and started protecting myself, you grew angry and felt betrayed.

You created the drama. All I wanted was friendship. A partnership. But when you believed it wasn’t going your way, in execution, or in direction, you got scared. And mean.

I will not be responding to your email. I’ve already deleted it from my inbox, and my trash. You are not worth my time. And there’s a small part of me that hurts in saying that. Not because I’m afraid to say it, or scared to offend you, but because I know it sounds unkind. But it’s the truth. And sometimes the truth hurts. And sometimes, even more, we need to hear it.

I wish you well. I hope you find the happiness you seek and the success you work for. I just don’t want anything to do with it.

Ⓒ October 2023. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.