Who I Am and Who You Used to Be

My hands balling into fists I exclaim, “I never stole OUR friends, you pushed them away and showed them your true colors.”

“Yeah right, I bet all you did was lie about me and talk behind my back.”

“I think you’re getting us confused. I never said anything bad about you to our friends and anything I said about my feelings or the facts of what happened were true. I never lied.”

“You’re lying right now.”

I take a deep breath as angry, hot tears roll down my cheeks, “I hope you realize how miserable you make the people who care about you and change your behaviors. I hope you find happiness and stop being spiteful and malevolent. I hope you find the old you. Goodbye Claira.”

Everyone goes through heartbreak. Everyone has teenage years. Everyone has friends that they drift from. No one is ever truly alone; others will surely have gone through it already. Some friendships fade while others feel like a break in the heart; I know that feeling. My best friend from eighth and ninth grade is gone. No, she didn’t die, in fact she’s perfectly healthy. We’d had our fair share of struggles, but managed to push through them all, but there came an argument so pointless that I put my foot down. This caused our friendship to fracture. It never recovered and now we haven’t talked in almost a year. For months, I sacrificed my needs in attempts to earn Claira’s approval, until the toxicity became too much. Even though it was difficult to walk away from her, it became necessary to put my needs and myself first.

January of 2018 I met two girls, Cosette and Claira. We immediately hit it off and quickly became best friends; we were the dream team. Our group soon grew bigger until we had a nice group of six girls who did everything together. Almost all of us were the same age and almost all of us went into freshman year together. We all went to the same homeschool co-op and our bonds grew stronger. I myself was inseparable from a few of the girls, one of them being Claira. We were as any best friends were: we built each other up, we listened to each other’s problems, we did everything together, and she practically lived at my house. It was a friendship I thought I’d never see break. Unfortunately, it did.

Things were hard for everyone when Covid-19 hit Mount Vernon, OH in March 2020. Everyone was panicked and scared. We were all told to lock ourselves in quarantine for an unknown amount of time. It, unfortunately, brought out the worst of some of us and changed everyone, for better or not. Like many teenaged girls in quarantine, most of my friend group either cut themselves bangs and/or decided to dye their hair, including me.

I had had the idea in my head for months, but Claira sparked my interest in it again when she decided to dye her own hair. It was supposed to be fun for the both of us, her doing pink and me doing brown or red highlights. When I found out Claira was ordering her supplies, I was thrilled because it meant we’d be dying our hair the same month. That is, I was excited until she texted me.

I was shocked when I received this text later that day, “Hey um i just want you to know that it hurt a lot that u took what i was gonna do and made it about you and you are now dying your hair the color i wanted after saying it. i was trying to be original lol but not now i don’t wanna make you mad but i just wanted you to know. So yeah next time plz don’t take my idea cause it’s hurts (sic).”

At first I was confused and had no idea how to reply, but I soon responded that I didn’t mean to take her idea and I was sorry I hurt her. Within minutes it became an argument with her angrily insisting I stole her idea and I really hurt her feelings. I continued to apologize and explain that my sister had suggested it that morning and I had wanted to dye it red in the past. By this point in the conversation my blood was boiling; I wanted to scream and tell her she was being absurd. Instead I responded, “I’m not sure what you want me to do. :(”

She rapidly replied that it hurt that I changed my mind to something similar to what she was doing. I apologized, past the point of groveling, and explained again that I’ve wanted to dye my hair in the past and have been talking about it more recently. I told her that if she wanted to dye her hair she should, but she continued saying I stole her idea and now she’ll still look boring. I assured her that our colors were different and repeated that neither of us copied each other. I was shocked that we were still arguing about something as pointless as hair dye, and I was extremely tempted to tell her she was being irrational. Instead I sat and waited for her to reply. Seconds later she retorted, “u literally copied the same style and color i was doing after i mentioned it. then that was all u would talk about after i said i wanted to dye mine pink/red but not my whole head then u did it (sic).”

“I’m not going to argue with you, I’m sorry you think that.”

“well next time can you please find your own thing to do and not copy others who have a good idea and are really exited about it then turn it into what you wanted to do. :) please and thank you. and it’s not what i “think” i’m just stating the facts (sic). :)”

I told her I was still deciding if I even wanted to do red. She sounded irate and because of it she wasn’t going to change her mind; I was ready to be done with the conversation. I responded telling her I had to go and I would talk to her later, but I added a heart so as not to sound angry. However, that wasn’t the end of it, and I received one more text saying, “good for you (sic).”

I chose not to respond and I sat gripping the ends of my chair shaking with fury. I sat for a few minutes and then went downstairs to tell my mom what had happened. We had a long conversation and I calmed down.  

A few weeks later, I decided to self dye my hair with burgundy highlights without bleach. It didn’t show up very well, but I managed a burgundy glow in sunlight. By this point Claira still hadn’t ordered her supplies but had started to throw in random comments into our friend group chats such as, “Someone won’t let me dye my hair.” Furthermore, she had decided to talk about me behind my back to a few of our friends. I didn’t answer these taunts and kept my anger to myself for the most part; it felt like needles under my skin that I couldn’t react to. In my head I would imagine scenarios where I finally called Claira out on her lies. Claira walks up to me. I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time, but now I know this is what I want.

“I can’t believe you Star!” Claira yells.

“Me? What did I do?” I respond.

“First you won’t let me dye my hair, you steal my friends, and now you’re saying you hate me!”

“Excuse me? I never did any of those things.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t. I never told you not to dye your hair, in fact I said you should go for it—”

“That’s not true,” Claira interrupts.

“Yes, it is. I have the texts still, unedited, unlike some people.” My hands balling into fists, I continue, “I never stole OUR friends, you pushed them away and showed them your true colors.”

“Yeah right, I bet all you did was lie about me and talk behind my back.”

“I think you’re getting us confused. I never said anything cruel about you to our friends and anything I said about my feelings or the facts of what happened were true. I never lied.

“You’re lying right now.”

I take a deep breath as angry, hot tears roll down my cheeks, “I hope you realize how miserable you make the people who care about you and change your behaviors. I hope you find happiness and stop being spiteful and malevolent. I hope you find the old you. Goodbye Claira.”

I understood these conversations could never happen; I wasn’t going to indulge her desires. She would just twist my confrontations back at me. However, I conspired in my mind and even composed a well-thought-out paragraph for if she provoked me again. After careful consideration, I decided to keep the paragraph to myself; confronting someone isn’t true to who I am no matter how pleasing it would’ve felt in the moment. Although I never stooped to her level, I acknowledge I did release my frustration to a different friend.

Claira and I didn’t talk for another couple months until we both went to a sleepover at friend’s house. Things were on the awkward side and we didn’t really know what to say. It hurt to look at her and to know what happened between us. I wonder now if you could see the sadness written on my face, it still is etched so deeply in my core. Our friendship never came back, but the anger and hate towards each other slowly faded away. I came to terms with the idea of forgiveness. All I wanted was an apology or reassurance she had improved. Time rapidly flew by and soon it was August. I decided to re-dye my hair professionally, and this time the burgundy showed up. Later that day, Claira finally dyed the under layer of her hair bubblegum pink. I felt her timing was mocking me, but I bit my tongue and kept quiet.

August turned into September and another few incidents occurred between Claira and me. Our already broken friendship shattered. She started telling our friends and other people that I told her “I hate her.” I, of course, never said anything even close to that to anyone about Claira or to Claira herself. Once again I kept my mouth shut against the waves of anger attempting to crash out of me into words. Little did Claira know all the tears I had cried over missing her and all the times I longed for things to go back to how they were. I saw her weekly at youth group and once for a group gathering where I talked to her briefly. I sincerely complimented her hair, which was now a violet color.

A month passes and now it’s October, seven months after the pointless argument that tore my best friend from me; I haven’t said more than a few words to Claira in over half a year. I still see her at youth group almost weekly. I walk by, and she doesn’t even spare me a glance, but I take seconds. I can’t help but think she’s changed so much. She looks the same on the outside, slightly different style with her baggy jeans, short-cropped shirt, and color on the underside of her hair. She still smells the same, pungent vanilla perfume mixed with cat. Her voice and laugh are unchanged. The dissimilarities are the words she chooses and the laughs that aren’t mixed with mine. She walks by and I long to run to her and hug her tightly like old times. Instead, I stand there thinking of the past as Claira moves on. I know that’s not who we are anymore, yet I still don’t want to accept it.

Friendships fade, break, and shatter; the knife to the soul will stay for a while, perhaps forever. It aches to walk by someone who used to be my best friend and to know she isn’t the same anymore. I was willing to do whatever Claira said in order to maintain the friendship, until the toxicity was too much to bear. It’s still agonizing to know that she doesn’t miss me, but I understand now that sometimes speaking up for myself, even if it’s hard, is not selfish but salubrious. I am me, and nothing my friends do will ever change that.