5/1 -The past three months have been spent in a total funk and it’s time to come out.
Last night I spent a few hours with an incredible, inspiring friend, who saw something in me worth fighting for. I hate to say I didn’t think I was worth the trouble, but at that point, I didn’t.
So as I tweeted yesterday, I am spending the next seven days examining my core as a means to move forward. I’m doing it question by question.
I wrote some stuff I might be okay to answer, then started over. Then I thought about what I absolutely don’t want to discuss, and that’s what you’ll see below. I humbly give you Me, Honestly.
Day 2: How Many Friends do You Have?
Friend (noun) – A person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard.
I have plenty of friends. I get a new one everywhere I go. I made three this afternoon as I passed them and their owner in the park. Such friendly dogs. Really, that can’t be all there is to it.
I love the Pearl Jam song Just Breathe. “Oh I’m a lucky man to count on both hands the ones I love. Some folks just have one, yeah others they got none…” I want to be a two-hand girl sometimes. But that just isn’t my reality.
I can’t fill one hand with the number of friends I have.
My left brain likens friends to lovers. It makes perfect sense. Lovers have full access to my body. Friends have full access to my heart. I want to protect them both against people who will do them harm. Most of us wouldn’t throw our hearts to the ground and let the general public do what they will with them. Same goes for our bodies, hopefully. Same goes for my friendship. I’ll talk with you, laugh with you and do for you. I’ll feel for you. But a Good Samaritan will do all that, too. Don’t ask to be my friend unless you mean it.
Awesome soapbox, right? I’d like to stop there and say that’s my whole theory on the matter…
…But then I’d be a liar.
Being scared to death of being cared for is something that has haunted me. This is where, if I were lying on a couch, I’d be asked to discuss my childhood at length. No need. It’s been established that I didn’t grow up happy. Friends would have made it easier. Still, I had few.
When people don’t want to be seen, they dress in dark clothing, lurk in corners, or stay home all together. A lot of the time I don’t want to be seen, so I keep to myself. I hear I stand out, whether I want to or not. Well, fine. You can look at someone without seeing them. I’ll say it again. I don’t want to be seen.
If I’m seen, then all the chaos I wrote about yesterday will show on my face. My makeup will crack from the pressure. If I’m seen, then where I am in life, who I am when I’m alone—all of that—shows. I’m not doing so badly from a distance, though, so stay over there. Don’t come closer. Please.
And for God’s sake, don’t love me despite that. You’ll call it unconditional, but my Ideal will call it pity.
Say what you will about my brand of craziness; at least it’s consistent…
Still, despite whatever is going on in my mind, I might come across someone who becomes a part of my life. And, despite my many shortcomings, I will love and cherish that person. If time goes by and we don’t speak, that person will still be in my prayers. We’ll pick up right where we left off when we do speak again. I will listen to the venting, usually not speaking much myself, provide a shoulder, a hand, or my shirt if needed. I will give my best, however crazy a package it comes in. And I'll love you forever if you do so in return.
Maybe I don’t have many friends because I know deep down that it can be exhausting to put that much of myself into a bunch of people. Maybe it’s a built-in defense mechanism.
Or maybe, for all my talk of weakness, I just don’t know my own strength.
Tomorrow: Are You Ready for Success?