Archive for September, 2007

Trying to Figure it All Out, or Self Pity at its Finest

September 10, 2007

Several months ago, one of my two best friends stopped talking to me. Apparently, I didn’t do anything to make that happen besides get sick. There was a time, at the very beginning of all this brain stuff, where it looked like I might have a serious problem. I spent three days in the hospital and from that point, she only called once. Before I knew it, half a year had gone by with no communication until earlier this week. Tonight we had dinner. It is now five hours after a meal that ranks on the Top Ten Most Awkward Moments of My Life list. After almost a decade of friendship, my best friend and I just ate and engaged in small talk that was on par with a truly crappy first date conversation. But it was worse because it was us and no matter what distance or time or events have stood between us, we’ve always been able to find our equilibrium in the past.

After dinner, I meant to go to work and get some Lawyerly Things done. But I found myself heading for the outer-belt. My best thinking occurs in my car while I drive and I think I instinctively knew I needed to drive tonight. I did three laps on a very empty I-270 while music played at ear splitting decibels and I sang my heart out. During that time, I thought and thought until eventually, I found myself getting off somewhere near Gahana. I pulled into a deserted parking lot and proceeded to lose it. There I was, crying for me, for her, for the last six months that I feel like I lost. I cried because my life is changing and while I welcome that, it also scares me beyond words. In that hour of crying, I also let go of a lot of things: friends from college who I lost and I still miss; my dreams of being a size six again; and the ex-boyfriend who I really am not over but can’t have back. Suddenly, I realized this is what adult pain feels like. It all came out in a mass of snot and hot tears and sobs that were so strong I was chocking at times. And in an act of fate that is so typical of my life, I had no tissue or napkins or anything in my car. When I realized that, I found myself doing that laugh/cry thing and then crying some more until I just cried myself out.

I am home now and I’ve been trying for hours to explain to myself why tonight hurt so much, why it caused this extreme reaction. For weeks, I’ve been on the edge of a crying jag that borders on breakdown. I thought I had actually experienced it earlier this week, but I guess not. Now that the emotional storm has hit, I am struggling to explain myself and my feelings at dinner and even how I’ve felt in the last few weeks and months.

At dinner, I hated every second of hearing about the six months my best friend lived and knowing that I was not a part of it. I hated it even more because I knew that I will never be a part of that time no matter how much I hear about it. I was intensely jealous that she found somebody to replace me and our conversations and our jokes and… And I hated that she got a job offer but I couldn’t tell if she was happy about it when she brought it up. I hated sitting there and listening to her talk about how long my hair had gotten and that I didn’t feel like I could say it was because I couldn’t drive to get it cut. Even more, I hated that such an innocuous comment could stir so much pain in me. When she asked what I’d been doing for the last six months, it hurt to have to acknowledge I’ve done nothing. My excitement has been getting the latest installment of Smallville from Blockbuster Online. Is Lana going to marry Lex and how will Clark take it? Ooooh, that’s a life. It appalls me that I’ve spent the last six months wallowing on the edge of depression and immersed in fits of intense self-pity. And I detest that people tell me it’s OK to have felt this way. It’s not me and it bothers me that I’ve let myself feel those things so consitently. More importantly I felt that I couldn’t say any of this to her. I would never have held back before. And most of all, I hated that I couldn’t tell her how badly she hurt me six months ago when she couldn’t deal with my being sick and walked away. Really, that is the essence of all this pain: that she couldn’t take it.

There are times when it has been really hard to be her friend. In ten years, there are times when I know it must have been hard to be mine. But I always thought our friendship could withstand something like illness. I was there when she was sick, when she got divorced, when… Now all I can feel is the disappointment, the lack of trust, the betrayal, the intense hurt. Ultimately, I don’t feel loved by her and I never expected to feel that way. In passing tonight, I said I needed some new friends. She pointed out I’ve been saying that for awhile, and I immediately thought that in the past I would never have included her in the statement.

Still, this medical stuff has caused so much loss and so many changes for me. There are very important aspects of myself that have become casualties of what I now refer to as my broken brain. I don’t want my best friend to be one of them. But I don’t know that we can find our relationship again. Or that I can forgive her for leaving me when I needed her most. Here I am, just redefining what normal means in my life and part of me wonders how inclusive I should be. Or emotionally can be. So, while I figure it all out, I think there is going to be a lot of driving. And next time, I will have tissue.

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My Second Super Sweet Sixteen

September 9, 2007

Liberation Fest 2007 was last night. From the “I’m hung over and it is all your fault” calls I’ve gotten today, it seems the event was a success. The festivities were particularly enjoyed by the second wave of partygoers. Yeah, that bunch of 20 plus that showed up at 1:30 when I was getting ready to clean up. Not that mind. My fridge is now blessedly free of beer and wine. And the classy liquor was even consumed. At 2:30, even a martini made with Gordon’s Vodka (a liter for the bargain price of $8.93 plus a $2 mail in rebate I have every intention of mailing) tastes really good. During clean up this morning, I realized I’m even out of the case of Bud Light cans I bought for the “holy sh!t, we are out of beer” moment. Thankfully, I won’t be making any beer can chicken this week with those leftovers…

One of my favorite people is currently downstairs, sleeping off the mental effects of the party. It seems that events like Liberation Fest not only contribute to hang overs, but can lead to people doing crazy things like professing their undying love to that Certain Someone in a moment of delusion. I blame the Lady Blyth whiskey. Anyway, one of my favorite people from the Thursday Night Single Gal Gatherings seems to have repressed some feelings for a guy friend of mine. In the perfect storm of alcohol, horniness, and confidence instilled by a killer pair of Christian Louboutins, the feelings surfaced and spilled out. I guess Louboutins really are an aphrodisiac because they hooked up. Repeatedly. And she showed up at my house at about 6:00 this evening. She’d just engaged in what I think must be the best Walk of Shame moment ever: leaving his house at 5:45 p.m. the next day with his four room mates and other assorted friends returning from the OSU game at the exact moment. Understandably she drove like a mad woman over to my house for some post-hookup analysis. Before she had arrived I had all ready gotten three phone calls from people who saw her leave and from the guy she spent the night with. Seems they really like each other and have a date on Monday night. So, after we dissected every possible thing this situation could imply and had eaten a lot of left over Skittles and cookies and cashews in the process, she fell asleep on my couch, and still in her Look At Me Shoes and clothes from last night. I love my friends.

So, here I am. In about two hours, I’m going to see a midnight showing of A Place in the Sun with a friend. Best of all, I am the driver. For one lovely month, I will be in possession of my car and will actually pay my insurance provider $60 a day to drive. Yeah, highway robbery, but in my mind, it is worth is for a month of freedom. One month and then I go back to depending on the Parental Taxi Service for grocery runs. October 7th will be a Day of Personal Mourning and most likely marked by another “come to my house and drink” type of event.

Countdown

September 7, 2007

In 37 minutes I can drive again. It’s been six months since my doctor threw this no driving thing at me. And here I am, literally counting down the minutes. My keys are right next to me on the desk. As soon as the clock gets to midnight, this Cinderella will be hitting the road again!