I have this assignment for Health, that asks me to write about a break-up with a boyfriend/whatever. I decided to write about what happened between Anthony and I, and how much of an idiot I was, when it came to making decisions. This isn't the best of my writing, I wanted to keep it at a minimum of three pages [double spaced], because if I really got into detail, I probably would get carried away and start writing all poetical and have my simple assignment turn out to be twenty pages long.

[prepare yourself for drama *shrug*]

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Mil Alba

Dearest Anthony

Having to break up with one of your closest friends



It all started just a few days before my ex-boyfriend, Eugene, broke up with me. That was around the time that my friend, Anthony, and I started getting really close—just as friends. We’ve known each other for about a year or two, but after an unfortunate incident between him his ex, all of our friends started hating him. ‘Twas only I and a couple of other people in our ‘group’ that actually remained faithful to him and our friendship to him.

He and I started talking a lot more often on the phone, day after day, as I would try to cheer him out of his depression. It was really nice, re-discovering a friend and getting deeper into his emotional thoughts. It’s almost like finding a new friend. And that was all that I saw of him, a friend.

Then, one Sunday from the month of August, my boyfriend called me and said that things weren’t working out, because he said that we don’t spend enough time talking to each other. His excuse dealt with communication problems, yet the next day; I found out that he actually broke up with me because he liked my friend. I was pretty mad, and the person that I talked to the most about my problems was Anthony. The very next Tuesday, I met up with Anthony and we hung out at an arcade in Milpitas. I stayed there for a while with him, afraid to separate his side, because someone that hated him might start attacking him or something. It was around nine or ten o’clock into the night, as I followed Anthony out the door where he sat on the benches outside. We talked for a while, and as I started heading inside, he stopped me and asked, “Mil... will you be my girlfriend?”

I was shocked. I mean, I saw him as a little brother (even if he was older than I), and I wanted to carry him under my wing day and night so I could protect him. Sadly, I didn’t—couldn’t—return the feelings he had for me. Yet, I thought about how depressed he already was, how many people didn’t like him (maybe even hated him), and I thought, saying no would make him even more depressed. So I stood there, thinking. I summed it up to two choices that formed into a dilemma: 1. Say no, and make him sad 2. Say yes, pretend I liked him back, and make him happy.

I felt pressured. I wanted to make him happy, but I really didn’t want to lie to do it. Yet, at the spur of the moment, I said yes. I bit my lip after saying it and visually kicked myself on the shin. I thought, “Oh gosh, what have gotten myself into?”

That night, going home from Milpitas to Santa Cruz, I thought and thought about what I did. I felt guilty for lying, but happy for making him happy. Along with the burden of having to live a lie, I also had the image of Anthony, standing outside of the arcade as my friend drove me home. He looked so happy. I didn’t want to be one of the causes that made him un-happy, but doing so, made me un-happy.

I couldn’t even sleep that night. I probably had two hours of sleep, and having made my final decision that morning, I called Anthony up. I told him that I wasn’t ready for a relationship yet, thus having a break-up just three days ago. I lied, again, and told him that maybe we could be together in the future, but (still lying) I wasn’t ready at the moment. I felt even more awful. I lied to make him happy by pretending that I liked him the same way he liked me, breaking up with him the next day out of guilt, THEN making another lie that the reason why I didn’t want to be with him was because I “wasn’t ready”, thus giving him the wrong impression that I maybe do like him.

Ashamed of what I had done, I stopped talking to Anthony altogether. I didn’t want to talk to him anymore because, I was afraid the lies will pile and pile up again and again. I felt even more awful.

I haven’t talked to Anthony once, ever since that morning that I broke up with him. I regret making that one, single lie—which led to a series of lies—which led to me, losing a dear good friend.

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