Whenever I talk to people about my past, I have a tendency to describe myself as having never had friends before. I always say that “women and I just never seem to get along very well”. Mostly, that is a true statement; as I verbalize this, the movie playing through my mind is high school and how I had a tendency to date boys who had girlfriends and how I developed a reputation for being “easy” as a result.
I was always different from most girls in that regard, when they would confront me and were incredulous at the fact that I was a cheater, I would become doubly incredulous at their stupidity that they had no idea at the definition. The fact that I was unattached and could date whomever I wanted and that their significant other was the one who was being unseemly had clearly slipped past their tiny little high school minds. As a result, I had no friends, and since most women appeared to buy into the same mindset, it did not look like I would find one anytime soon.
But, somehow, it always slips my mind, that for a few years I had a very good friend, even best friend if you will. We were practically inseparable. We were opposite in so many ways, but that was probably one of the attractions of the friendships and what allowed us to remain close for several years.
Even though she came from a broken home in the classic sense that her parents were divorced and she lived with her father and brother, she was so much more stable and together than I could have ever been. She was confident, self-assured, and was easy to be around. She was more of a friend to boys, but when she got a boyfriend, she was in a relationship for a very long period of time; unlike me who flitted from boy to boy and had relationships that overlapped, sometimes three at a time.
By the time high school ended, our lives were so different and we had gone so far beyond our separate ways that it was ten years before we saw each other again. It was an exciting reunion as we made plans to see each other for the first time. I was beyond exciting, as I really considered her to be the only friend I had ever really had in my life. We spent the weekend meeting halfway between our two homes, we talked about our lives since we had seen each other, we reminisced about high school, and we talked about our future together now that we were back in each other’s lives.
We still could not have been more different, but it was an easy and seamless reunion, I could not have been happier. I had no idea how much I had missed having a friend. As an adult woman I did not realize how important a friendship like that was, so different from a mother or a sister, especially when you come from such a dysfunctional family with so many secrets.
We remained friends for a few months, when tragedy struck.
I went to her house for a visit, I was thrilled to have a weekend away from my husband and kids, I needed a break from life. A year before I had been diagnosed with bi-polar manic depression, borderline personality disorder, and OCD. I felt like my life was spinning out of control. The weekend promised to be one of fun and freedom.
The first night I arrived, we went to a party at her friend’s house where there was alcohol, marijuana, and lots of people, everything I needed to make me feel like I was the life of the party. The next morning I awoke to find my things packed and sitting by her front door, she was sitting in the living room drinking tea and invited me to leave. I found out very curtly from her husband that I “got out of control” and embarrassed her and she never wanted to see me again.
That was it, that was the end of my friendship. I have never seen or heard from her again.
So, when I say that I have never really had a friend before, I suppose it is just a mental block because of the damage that I did myself, or I did not deserve a friend. Either way, the result is the same, I do not know how to be a friend anymore.