Not sure if proud or ashamed

There’s a bit of history that I need to go through in order for this confession to make sense. I cut ties with a former friend of mine, who was also the only person I ever met that enjoyed art as much as I did. We ended on a pretty bad note when I realized she had this jealousy toward me, which compelled her to steal art to best me, and resulted in my ending our friendship. I admit, I always believed she was a much better artist than I, but it must have angered her. She believed I was better and couldn’t believe that at best, I was a hobbyist. She had a passion for art, it was her life. I couldn’t hate her though, and still to this day, I sometimes find myself missing her art. Despite that she saw me as some art rival, I respected her as an artist and a friend.

Recently, I found myself using an older laptop of mine and I stumbled upon some of the bookmarks. One of the bookmarks linked to this former friend’s deviantART and out of curiosity, I decided to click it. Typically, this former friend never updated her dA even when I knew her, so I was taken aback when she had recent artwork submitted just a day ago. I was mildly disappointed—her art hasn’t improved. Matter of fact, I would say that it stagnated. This left me in some depression, especially since she was the only other artist I knew beside my girlfriend. I always wondered about how her art had changed over time and some part of me was excited to see that she still drew, but this disappointment made me feel as if I shouldn’t have bothered. I guess I still give her a lot of credit for the art that she didn’t steal. And I felt hurt that, in all honesty, I surpassed her. A mere hobbyist.

Then my depression turned into something else. I began remembering all the BS she put my girlfriend and I through, and I remembered why I ended our friendship. And my depression turned to happiness. I’m happy that she hasn’t improved. That stealing art got her nowhere. I’m happy that she can’t excel at what she loves to do and that her art isn’t anything special. More than anything, I became glad that a mere hobbyist like me surpassed someone with a passion for art. I’m glad that I didn’t resort to thievery and worked hard to get where my art is today. Her misery transformed into my happiness, as if I could be proud of myself for her downfall.

I have the audacity to claim that I respect her as an artist! I’m ashamed that I have allowed myself to be comforted by such negativity. I shouldn’t be thinking like this. It’s terrible, yet I don’t feel as bad as I believe I should. Contradicting myself on both ends of the spectrum? Am I wrong for thinking this way?

-Anonymous