Monday, March 28, 2005
Love me, hate me....but don't leave me
It's quite obvious, and if you are already a part of my life you have figured this out, I am a horrible friend. Really, I become even more of a horrible friend when I move away. I write this in reply to a comment left by a very old friend (no, not by age but by the time she has known me). Really there is no response except a post full of understandable excuses. I don't mean to be a horrible friend, I don't mean to be a jerk. Actually, I take back the becoming a horrible friend when I move away part because I already have upset a friend here in the state I live in by my act of jerkery. I don't mean to. I truly don't. In my mind I see myself being this awesome friend that all of you can rely on. But then I drop the ball and don't call/write/email and before I know it I can't remember the ages of your kids or if you even have kids. My particular scenario that I defend is my frequent visits to home. It comes from deep love though, so maybe that makes the frustration more tolerable. I completely adore my mom and sisters, they are truly my best friends and when I get around any of them, whether it be one of them or all of them I just can't get enough. I can't leave them alone and stick to them like glue until they finally run away screaming for some breathing room. I don't sleep much when I am home either. I wake up early (the no kids definition of early being 8:30 a.m.) just to be around them and when they are attempting to take a nap I stand over them coughing, sighing, heck whatever it takes to wake them up. At night, I don't let them go to sleep so I mesmerize them with my witty jokes and captivating stories and when they finally escape I move onto the cats. Every moment of every visiting day is spent right by their side. I miss them terribly and whatever time I get with any of them I use wisely. When I think of leaving for an hour to see a friend I begin to miss them all over again. Being one who refuses to take full responsibility for her co-dependency, I blame it on my childhood classmates, or shall I say my childhood classmates parents who allowed their closed minded beliefs to seep into the minds of their children, ultimately scarring an innocent party. My mom, thinking it was best for me, sent me to a Christian school. The school was fine as long as you were rich with super duper Christian parents who were, and here's the catch, married because we all know that divorce is the equivalent of an STD and we wouldn't want our kids catching STD's from the divorced kid now would we? See, all things were fine and dandy in the beginning. We were the fricken white version of the Huckstables. But all that ended in 1982 when my parents finally divorced (and thank God they did, but that I will save for another excuse making story). Although I was relieved about the divorce, my classmates parents shared a different opinion and in the end, I was branded with a scarlet D. When a little girl at a Christian school is branded with a scarlet D it is understood that she can no longer play with any of the other girls on the playground during recess. And in P.E. you definitely can't choose her to be on your team, you might catch a STD. Birthday parties? Forget that scarlet D girl, but be sure that come Monday though we will tell you all about it. So what does a girl with the scarlet D branded to her forehead do to survive? The only thing I knew, I fell into my safety net where I was protected by my 2 big sisters and a mom who loved me more than anything in the world. They were my only friends and I quickly learned that anyone outside of this safety net was not worth trusting. So we fast forward to 20 years later. Although I now wear these scarlet letters with pride (I've acquired a few more over the years), I have learned that I am a bad friend mainly because I never knew how to be a friend. Although I let people in, I don't let them stay in permanently. Want me to prove it? I don't talk to one person that I went to high school with. Most can say their oldest friend was from childhood, for me, I can count the fingers. Except for Derek. He was the one that got me, the only one outside of my safety net that learned that you gotta force me to stick around. He would be the one to constantly call and keep us together through those years of friendship. I even do this to my best friends. I can't tell you how many times my sister says to me "What, are your fingers broken" after she hasn't heard from me for a week. My first friend here in NY has already learned, it's not her, it's totally me. I am a jerk. Hence why I started this site. The funny thing is, my SIL and I are alike in this way, which means I should not be upset when we are not close because of it. But I, the queen of not keeping touch, have been hurt because I so badly want her to be a part of my life. Now ain't that hypercritical of me? I am terrible at keeping in touch. I am terrible at picking up the freakin phone and calling. But I do cherish every friend who puts up with me. Who comes back to read my site because you know how much of a jerk I am and that this is the best way to know if I am still alive. Hang in there with me, I promise to do better. I can't promise that I will see you when I visit but I promise that if you meet me for Starbucks I will go. I mean, it's coffee, right?