As the lore goes, when Julius Caesar was being assassinated by his senators, he was resisting them. It was only when Marcus Brutus, his friend, companion, guide and confidante – a man he trusted beyond measure, stabbed him that he resigned. His last words being – “Et tu, Brute?”
Caesar died. A virtuous king, a mighty conqueror died a miserable death at the hands of a dear friend.
Till today, “Et tu, brute” is used ironically or otherwise for a false friend. And just a second thought to this phrase would tell you the disappointment each word echoes.
It’s said friends constitute your chosen family. A family having trust, blind trust rather, as its prime foundation.
It’s often ridiculous, how the ones you trust a bit too much are usually the ones who knock you down into an abyss of pain and distrust. You never outgrow that anguish. A strange fear always remains. A fear of being treated the same way yet again, despite no fault of your own.
Caesar died of the stab from his friend. Maybe death put an end to his agonies. But there are many of us who are still living – breathing the stabs from our loved ones. Though we have moved on, the strange truth remains – some wounds remain unhealed, sadly forever.