You know what I just realized today:
We go through life creating and remembering memories that are from our perspective only. Every life event, good or bad, is from our point of view.
Isn’t it crazy that the same life event that can be detrimental and have a long lasting effect on you, can be essentially meaningless or not as important to someone else? Even if you experience that same life event together?
There’s reality and then there’s our version of reality.
Sometimes they line up and sometimes they don’t. And only in those special instances do they line up with the other person that experienced the same situation as you.
Today, I met up with a friend from school. The Friend. The Friend that I have been alluding to all this time. He was my best friend growing up, I told him everything, and anything. He knew all of my secrets and all of my fears and all of my random thoughts. He knew more about me than any other person. Like I said, he was my best friend.
Then, we had a falling out sophomore year and everything changed. That was a pivotal moment for me and talking about it today, it’s as if he didn’t remember it, but I can’t forget it. I was devastated and felt as if I lost a part of me. I opened up to him and he shot me down. So as a result, I stopped opening up to people because I didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. I didn’t want them to react the way that he did, which was bad. He essentially said that my problems were too much for him to handle and that I should go see a therapist and stop using him as one.
It’s crazy the moments that stay with you, but flee others.
It was as if none of it mattered. As if I made it all up. But, I know I didn’t. I know that the feelings that I had were real. The pain I felt was real. The tears I cried were real.
My reality was real.
Lately, I’ve been thinking back to the night of the incident and I wonder why was my reality so different than his. Did I remember it differently? Did I create a different reality? Is there one reality that’s more important than another? Why isn’t mine important?
The moral of the story is this: We travel through life being affected by things that only effect us. We laugh, we cry, and we live our own life. But, if we don’t tell others how certain circumstances affects us, then they’ll never know.
It all just makes you question, how can one event be interpreted so many different ways?
And who’s reality is the correct one?