I think way too much and write way too little. I’m overly concerned with how what I write will affect those around me, and the truth is that I shouldn’t care because no one has ever thrived when they held themselves back for others… and the reality is that there are less than a handful of people that would cross an ocean for me and from what I can tell, about the same would jump a puddle…. So who am I doing favors for?
I’m not sure what is sadder, the fact that I think so much about these things, or that I’m actually admitting it. I just turned 30 a week ago and instead of investing myself in the greater things of life I am focusing on what I don’t currently have and asking myself the ultimate question…. Do I really give a flying shit??? And clearly, yes, yes I do.
Let’s make one thing clear I’m not a depressed maniac that is unaware of the good that surrounds her. I wake up to two of the most amazing little boys the world has to offer, I get to work at my leisure, and most importantly I have my health. I wouldn’t have all this without my partner in crime and the father of my babies and I and thankful for that every day. All of these great things don’t change the fact that I’m a woman, I am alone with 2 little people all day and my job is to care for those that I love the most (this is exhausting)
Since I was let go from my awesome job as a credit card collector over 3yrs ago I have returned to serving tables a few times (purely for the adult interaction) and only found myself giving up quickly on that idea due to the lack of interest from my co-workers as well as the environment. Let’s be real, pretty much any restaurant you work in, office, etc. becomes its own high school, complete with mean girls, mascots and principals. You’re stuck up one person’s ass for the sake of your job while wishing you could shove your foot up another’s all while promoting something you really don’t care about in hopes that it will lead me to something better. The only thing better turned out to be quitting.
So again, here I am, thirty years old, married, 2 babies, starting a new career (more later) and considering counseling not only for the sake of her marriage, and sanity, but because it’s probably the closest friend I could have and although I’m paying her to listen to my problems, I’d rather pay someone to hear my bullshit than burden anyone else. I know the people in my life that are willing to hear it, but again, burdening them with the thoughts that I consume myself with never seems to present itself, or the friends aren’t present.
When I was growing up I always had friends, a best friend and although they didn’t all last and some lasted much longer than I ever would’ve imagined, I’ve never had friends like I did when I was young. The kind of friends that you could call and cry to without conditions, trust that your secrets were safe with them when the phone hung up and not feel guilty that you just wasted hours of their Friday night. Each time I think I meet someone worth investing my time and making that kind of friend I get a slap in the face and reminded that I care too much.
If I had known I’d grow into a woman that felt this way I would have wasted less time on the people that I would later forget and spend more time with those that I was going to lose too soon. I never would have joined Facebook or Myspace because it would later cause me to over think friendships, people and life in general; as well it has become a false sense of friendship that created this insecurity. I would know the difference between a real friend and one that was going to come and go at their convenience. I would stop trying to be friends with those that are not willing to return the effort and focus all that energy on the ones that are. If maybe I had done all this I would already have those friends I’m searching for.
What exactly is my point you are wondering and what the fuck am I searching for? My issues are bleak compared to others out there that are battling disease, loss, and actual battles. Am I supposed to constantly wake up and compare myself to others to justify or not justify my happiness and concerns? I think the books I’ve read lately and my aging has drawn me to this conspiracy of ‘I have no friends’ and life outside the home means nothing. Or is it at I am afraid that if I woke up one morning and turned off the social sites that consume our lives that my greatest fear would come true, I have No friends…
It is here that the switch goes on and I realize those that I have been so concerned with that live near are not friends I want at all. They don’t take the effort to know me and it’s because they don’t do this that I have to stop giving two shits… They are merely the people that will write on my wall when my birthday rolls around, when I die, or when I post something controversial that opens the platform to have their say and leave. They are cowards that are afraid of letting someone in and admitting that life is not as it appears on our computer screens, but that we are all struggling and suffering in some way and need each other, but lack of authenticity means that we aren’t capable of handling this. To be real, it’s too much.
So this is my release of the ever long battle of my twenties and question of, where have all the ‘real friends’ gone?? I am done asking this question because the truth is that all the real friends I ever had have not gone anywhere. Moved to other states began new jobs, lives and made new friends, yes, but they had not left me intentionally alone and forgotten our friendship. The strongest bonds and people I have in my life are at the greatest distances and forcing me to maintain friendships the way I wish they were, ‘old-school,’ via phone calls, emails and visits, we cross oceans for each other.
