I don't make friends easily. For some people this is really easy and it used to be really for me as well. When I was in university I had large groups of friends. I was never alone on a weeknight, I had to call things off for time alone. Now that I think about it though, I was "dating" someone and I basically inherited them from him. We'd just dated for so long that it was though I knew them all along already.
I think the trouble is that I'm incredibly picky when it comes to my friends. I don't want many necessarily, just a few, but the few I have are so so close to me that it's all I could want. I think I don't have much in common with most people. I look at people like geek girl at work who has friends call her all day long. She chats to them about the dumbest
things and acts like it's the most profound conversation she's had in years. I sit here and think that I'd rather read a book than have friends like that.
Maybe my psychological profile was right. Perhaps I am antisocial. I don't ever remember being this way, just the past maybe 5 years.
I have a friend in Philadelphia, one of the "Close ones" who was more of a
sister to me. I adored everything about her and we spent nearly everyday
together when I lived in Philly. So much so that people made jokes about us
never being apart. We raised controversy in the office. Did I mention we worked together as well? Last night Maxie was on-line and there was Kate and they were chatting up a storm and maxie asked me "Do you want to talk to her?" I didn't. Why, I don't know. I have less and less to say to people anymore.
I got into a writing groove last night, suddenly I had so much I wanted to add to my book. Ever since watching Secretary, and it sounds dumb to say so, but I've just become obsessed with people who self mutilate. Never fear dear readers, I wouldn't do it myself, but anyone who knows me knows my fascination with the macabre. I want to understand why Abby injured herself the way she did, what made her want to do this sort of thing. Writing this book has been the biggest therapy ever, more than any therapist has ever done for me. It clears my head, it forces me to research and understand objectively. When she was alive I couldn't do that, I couldn't take my emotions out of it and comprehend her or her motivations.
So I've been reading up so much on it and it's quite fascinating. The mind fascinates me. I would've been a therapist but sometimes I think I would end up saying to people "you know what? things aren't better anywhere, it doesn't get easier, so just suck it up and find away to say "I don't need anyone but myself" and move on. But then I fell in love and realized I do need someone else. I need maxie. I need everything about her and I think sometimes she doesn't know this. I think sometimes she thinks she's a replacement for Abby and now that I'm writing this book and Abby is on my mind all the time I want to talk to someone about it. I want to know why, I want to know how and what makes people decide to do these things. But you see I have no one to talk to about these things but her. She's all I have here in this dusty country of OZ. Everyone else I care about is to far away for me to call up and say "meet me for coffee" or "just come over."
I don't want her to think of me as clinging. I don't want her to feel like she needs to baby-sit and care for me. But I do want her to know she's the only person I need.
So an open invite, if you're a self- mutilator, or you have things in your head that just wont go away. Or if someone you loved just vanished from your life, ran away into death without an explanation and you want to know why, make yourself known. I'm great at keeping secrets.