So, last year I had written an “It Gets Better” blog after being contacted from someone from my past. She had written a sweet apology for her hateful remarks when she severed our friendship, once I had come out. With rose-colored blinders on, I happily latched on to the friendship once again, only to find that she had ulterior motives.
While I’m no James Michener, I enjoy writing. And I’m always happy to answer questions or help new writers, even though there are much better teachers out there. But this long-lost “friend” used a fake reconciliation in order to pick my brain about writing – or more to the point, selling books. She had written a book about her near-death experience, and thought getting back into my good graces would give her an edge, I guess. We became Facebook friends, although I found out she had two different accounts – one she friended me on, and another for her friends and family. I should have listened to my gut instinct, but thought I’d give her the benefit of the doubt.
Unfortunately, she didn’t come right out and say this. No, she made a big deal about how sorry she was for her previous actions (telling me rudely that because I was gay, I was dead to her, and no contact for over ten years). She called me and we talked for a while – it was scary for me, but I enjoyed it. Then, in the same phone call, she spoke of her book, and asked me how I marketed my work. I gave her a fairly detailed explanation, but told her she really had to find a good publisher for her type of market. She thanked me, told me to call her during the day at work, since she wasn’t always very busy.
A great start, right?
Not really. The next time I called her, she was busy. I understood, and promised to call back again.
Two more times of this, and I realized that she got what she wanted from me. Not long after that, I had been mysteriously “unfriended” as she deleted her Facebook account that she had added me on. Classy.
Honestly, if she had just written me and asked me questions about publishing, I would have gladly answered. She didn’t have to go through such an elaborate hoax. At least I wouldn’t have been gut-punched twice by her. I truly considered this woman a big sister at one point in my life – and before now, I would have never thought she’d be the type to do something so underhanded. Maybe that’s why I never saw it coming.
In order to give myself closure, I wrote her an email, wishing her and her family a happy life. I told her that while I don’t really understand her motives, I’ll move on. But, deep down inside, there’s always going to be a part of me that feels sick and hurt at her deception. That teenage me who looked up to her as a big sister, and who helped her through two pregnancies when her husband had to work long hours and she needed someone to talk to, or to make sure she ate properly. That person is hurt, and will probably never trust so blindly again.