Why You Shouldn't Make Friends With Stubborn People

There’s always something that starts a friendship and it can be something so simplistic as “I like your crayons… can I sit with you?” to “I will fucking KILL HIM!” while a short blonde poodle haired girl plops down next to you in the hallway in what would be your first week of high school. Glancing at the girl you think to yourself, she couldn’t hurt a fly if she wanted to. And then you see the burning rage in her Fern green eyes, and you rethink your original thought and suddenly are stricken with fear, or at least a small version of it.

Now its not the fear of death, where your life flashes before your eyes at all, but more of a Dear-god-is-that-notebook-going-to-accidently-fly-out-of-her-hand-and-come-within-cetimeteres-of-my-forehead type of fear.

These events started this bizarre friendship that would lead to an identity crisis, a secret bond through books and the beginning stages of the Jess-Jenn abridged dictionary.

She would understand when I was babbling incoherently through sobs and tears, and I would understand her when she would be on one of her Tyrants where “the thing with the guy” was to be interpreted as, “I couldn’t see my date lasting that long with the blonde guy from barns and noble because he was wearing the wrong shade of blue, I’m afraid.” – Where we both took pride in the mere thought that if anything either of us would be able to understand the place in which we were coming from, regardless of our status in life.

So when the friendship comes to a screeching halt because one party becomes offended by actions of the other, it’s often that same party that throws all sorts of offensive words that the other party until they are equally pissed off at the other. And so begins the wait out period…because now neither party is willing to truly admit fault, and actually say sorry and mean it first.

The picture that should be painted here is a stand off- old western style. Where each party stares wrathfully into the other’s piercing eyes, fingers twitching against the sides of their belt, ready to pull the trigger, but neither one willing to make the first move.

And so the days pass in this same stance – or maybe I’m just the one who feels more, and allows it to show, so these moments of anger seem to drag and make me more frustrated. But I can’t stop now; it’ll only show a sign of weakness, a willingness to cave.