I'm very good at making my hurts seem small.
Let me explain.
Someone shares a secret. A big, dark, important secret about a dark time in their life. I sit there, amazed that they confided in me, feeling the urge to tell them everything.
But I don't.
Well, I kind of do.
I say something like, "Yeah, when my parents divorced, I had a hard time, but it was okay, I got over it."
"Mm. My best friend left me in the dust with no warning, I'm pretty sure she is a sociopath. Haha."
I don't say
"When my dad left, my mom didn't get out of bed for four months. She laid there and sobbed for hours and hours. I had to break the law to drive my sister and me to where we needed to be, and there was always that fear that we would come home and she wouldn't be there anymore. There was one time that she left for two days, and we didn't know where she was. My sister and I slept in the same bed that night. "
I don't say
"When my friend left me there, I was so stunned at first that I didn't feel anything. It took until I was all the way home before it hit me that the first person that had ever seemed to really care about me was lying the entire time. I couldn't face her, couldn't look in her lying face without sobbing. So I just didn't go anywhere near her. I don't go to Fred Myers because that's where she works. It's been more than a year and I still can't do it. I accidentally came across her one day at college, and I froze. I stood and stared at her, and she had the nerve to say hello and ask how I was. I'm ashamed to say I ran the other direction."
I take all of that and condense it to one or two sentences. It doesn't hurt that way.
Maybe one day I'll unpack it all for you.
Feeling nostalgic and also like I want to talk these things through with someone. But not with him, not yet.