Introspection And the Idiot I Am In Friendship :-D

For the longest while, I’ve been avoiding here. Not my friends or their blogs. Just here. My blog. At first I justified it by saying that I had nothing to write. Then, I didn’t want to “complain”. Finally, I’d reached such a state of numbness that it really didn’t matter anymore. After all, why speak what had become a passing whim in my mind? I can honestly say I’ve become one of those people. An avoider. Of my thoughts, of my own feelings, my life. Now it isn’t to say that I was always busy being contemplative and self-obsessed…okay, for sure on the contemplative part. It was an obsession. I couldn’t stop thinking. I thought about everything. I think I thought so much it helped to magnify all aspects of my life. If you know the things I had to think about, you would find it equally as annoying. The only good thing about it was that I always knew exactly how I felt, why I felt that way, and what to do to keep myself from over-reacting. What scared me though, was that at times I felt frightened by my ability to rationalise what I felt, and it got to a stage in which I was never sure if I was really feeling what I thought I was. So by now you’re wondering, why even write? I have no clue. I’m not unhappy. I’m not sad. I’m not depressed. I’m not suicidal. I’m not happy. I’m not satisfied. I’m not contented. I’m not in love nor do I feel “loving” in any way. I just am. Since this is what I use to keep track of how I felt at various points in time, I’m going to take a little step back into last year to touch on somethings that I avoided writing then. Dear old 2012.

I don’t even know where to begin with this one. I think those who are in my small circle of blogging friends know that I am of the “friendsy” sort as my mom calls it. When I was younger, she would usually tell me that I was too “friendsy”. It makes me smile now, but then I couldn’t figure out what in the good Lord’s name she meant. Did she really think I was being too friendly with people? Was I really as attached as she made me seem to appear? By the time I had entered secondary school, that had tapered off, and I rarely heard anything about my attachment to friends. I figure that’s because I had been transitioning. Adjusting from the “friends” I had once had in primary school, and finding my niche or little “clique” in secondary school. There were no hour long conversations to fret over, no discussions about homework intermingled with even more in-depth discourses (aka gossip) about the latest occurrences. The best way to describe the beginning of my secondary school life could be:- I was searching, but unwilling to search. I had what I would call “associates” and by nature, I was a talker. I could prattle on and on endlessly. I was with everyone, which in some ways led to a few insulting comments. Not particularly hurtful then, because I had grown used to that. Tends to happen when you’re socially awkward and capable of being very annoying. 😀 So, no hard feelings were kept. Then came her.

You all know her as Adurna. I know her as the best friend I’ve ever had. I don’t know why, but that girl loved me. To be honest, when she first met me, I cannot have been all that much of an awesome catch for a friend. Who am I kidding? I sucked. I was self-absorbed, locked up in books, tackling internal demons, and battling insecurity and uncertainty. At the time she had entered my life, our class hadn’t yet broken up into little groups. We’d only been split into girls and boys, and at times even those circles would interlope. When she came, she was…for want of a better term…the outsider. Not because she was different, but because she had entered sort of late. She’d come when friendships and companions were already slowly being staked out. Now to confess, I have a way of seeing straight to the heart of certain matters. Not because I’m some exceptionally insightful person, but only because I choose to search. Perhaps it’s a left over of my desire for someone to be willing enough to do the same for me. My point is, that it made me see and notice things that others didn’t. So the minute she came, I knew I wanted to be her friend. I just didn’t know how to go about it. There was something there, that I had seen, and I knew that she needed a friend. But I was too scared to cross the divide. To tell this as accurately as possible, I’ve had to refer to the closest thing I had to a diary, and I can assure you that side of me that I see in there is not very palatable. Now although I knew in that moment that I wanted to befriend her, I did not. I couldn’t find it within myself to do it. To set out and stop being so sucked into the little groups that were forming. Gradually though, she fell into the circle in her own way, and I didn’t really have to think about it again. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on who you were when the events occurred, something happened to change the uncomplicated manner in which everything had fallen into place.

A friend I’ll call Brit, trusted Adurna to do something, and things got a little out of hand. I will never forget that day, not because it was actually that horrible what occurred. We were after all young girls, and we tend to do things without really considering what the fall out may be, however, it was the look on Brit’s face that I will never forget. It hurt to look at her. It honestly did. There was this expression of maturity and cynicism that had stepped in and taken away the care-free, easy-going girl that I knew. She looked, in that moment, as if she would never trust another person again. Forgive me for doing things in such a round about manner, but I travel through history to see where things turn out, and this is an integral part of me understanding why I behaved the way that I did. What happened next was a rift. A very large rift. For approximately 3/5ths of the class were sympathising with Brit, and the other 2/5ths either didn’t care or were just enjoying the entertainment. All I can say, is that I would not have liked to be in Adurna’s place at the time, and I admire her for handling the situation the way that she did. It could not have been easy nor pleasant. It’s unfortunate that I’ve never said that before, for I really was far too busy being “entertained” by the entire turn of events, and in some ways, my ability to find mirth in everything (defense mechanism, blah, blah, blah) made me insensitive. The rift lasted for weeks…or months, and finally, a friend I’ll refer to as Jo, was sweet enough to step across the chasm and I followed.

I was only too happy that she did, because for weeks I had been the cowardly idiot sitting in my comfortable position wanting to go there. All I can say, is thank God for orchestrating the pathway. Had I remained where I was, I might have become the conformer that I had slowly been nursing and I would have lost out on being friends with one of the most amazing persons I’ve ever met.

Upon being on that side of the classroom, I have to admit it really was another world in a way. I was mostly silent, but I think happy that I had finally done what I was supposed to do months before–approach the new girl. Perhaps she was dying for someone to talk to, for she and Jo got along quite well the few days Jo remained there. Then Jo was gone, and it was simply me and Adurna. I don’t remember what I talked about, but I loved being there. She really was such a burst of crazy, optimistic energy, and when you’re as sedate (and boring) as I am, it’s fun to be around someone like that. Adurna was and is such a being full of talent and creativity. When I say her hands were never still, I mean it. Always filled with a pencil or a pen, sketching, writing, or painting. Before I knew it, I had become attached to her in a way that I had never been with any friend prior or after. As much as I was growing to love her though, things were becoming complicated. I was basically stuck between my loyalty toward the people who I had first been friends with, and the person who I had placed on a rather high pedestal.

Now Adurna will say that I like dwelling on the past, and in a way I do. I hate forgetting. Anything. Even the things that hurt me. I like knowing what I did, when I did it, with whom I did it, and what everyone else around me was doing too. It’s the way I am, and while I have learned to curb it externally, it will always be a part of my internal make up. I. Hate. Forgetting. Now why mention this you might ask? Because I do believe that was where the entire problem of our friendship began. I dwelled on the past, not in a manner that was depressing, just in a way that meant you never really got to forget anything. I really am one of those people who says “Remember when?” and we all know how disliked they are. 😀 I repeat, I do not know how she put up with me; for the way that I was hard-wired, made it so that sarcasm, and cynicism went hand in hand. In addition, my “Remember when?” habits were more along the lines of being a wet blanket. If you so happened to mention that you couldn’t understand why something had changed between you and a particular person, or why you had become the way you were, then you can be sure that I was not going to mince any words:

“Errm….what did you expect when you did so and so?”

“Seriously? Really and truly? You have no idea, huh?”

We all know sarcasm isn’t very nice, especially when coming from a friend. Ah well, that is the way I am. The language of sarcasm is my second tongue, and I only just manage to curb it. I’ve said all of this to show where I went wrong, and ironically enough, it was this very same thing that led to an argument in what I, at this stage, consider the worst year of my life 2012. So for some people, myself included, it really was the world’s end. In my case, the end of many things as I had known for at least 5 years.

As important as Adurna was to me, I couldn’t break out of the habit. Almost everything was amusing to me, and most of the time, I expected the people around me to share the same sense of humour. What’s fascinating about the dynamics of our friendship is that we were both two equally cynical and domineering people with the potential for overwhelming optimism. Since my bouts of pessimism and dominance lasted longer because I was free to be me with her, most times, she was the one who was enjoying the perks of the much healthier optimism. We had this strange connection in which we balanced everything out exactly when needed. The best term I’ve ever come up with for it was, “The Switch”. One of us was always being what the other needed at the time, and the one time that the switch did not occur– Let’s just say things were not good. Not good at all. Someone…aka me…..had to be the brilliant being to mention that having two individuals capable of the same degree of biting sarcasm, cynicism and pessimism ought not to be in a friendship. It was unhealthy. Was I right? Perhaps I was. Should I have said it? No. Some things are better kept to oneself.

I’m going to be the “rememberer” that I am, and say that I do remember that day. I remember it because it makes me wonder if I was testing my dominance. My….power in our friendship. I have no idea why. I never felt the need to stand over anyone, and as I’ve mentioned before, she was up on a mighty high pedestal for me. The only person, to this day, who can make me feel like an absolute piece of crap when these words are spoken, “I’m disappointed in you.” is her. Have to admit, at one point I was afraid of my attachment. I had been dealing with the fact from a young age that I was more sexually aware than others, and I didn’t know if I was capable of gauging what was normal, neither did I know what was normal. It made me even more distant from her than I had already been, for the last thing I needed was to errrm….switch “sides” so to speak. No. I never found myself inclined to “switch” sides. I was just unsure of what I was capable of. There really had never been another person that I was so….connected to at the time. I learned from her to love, and be loved and open up I guess. So add, sarcastic, pessimistic, “rememberer”, and emotionally distant together and you have to wonder if there really was much of a friendship going on and who was getting the most benefit out of it. That is perhaps what made our clash in darling 2012 so difficult, among other things. The words written had hit me where I least expected, and where I was most uncertain.

As of now, the tidbit mentioned about how we came to be friends may seem unnecessary. But it isn’t. It is a prime example of my “remembering” abilities, that’s one. Secondly, it is also a reminder of how “flaky” I could be. That pull of loyalty I mentioned up above, was really me not giving all that was deserving to our friendship. I battled and struggled with that for at least three years, because most of my other “friends” did not like Adurna, unless they needed something. It made me upset that she would let them use her, and yet I did not break away from them either. Once, I had even asked if she minded that I spent so much time with them, and being a good friend her obvious answer was no. I’m sure she meant it, but it certainly was no excuse to listen to the things that I did, or indulge in a smirk, or share a laugh. The only justification I’ve ever used was that while I didn’t approve of the things they said, I felt that to an extent they were sometimes right and I really didn’t know how to balance that–another long history session. So now you have sarcastic, pessimistic, “rememberer”, who’s emotionally distant and capable of being flaky. True, she didn’t have to put up with that all of the time, but even the most sainted friend has a limit. By the time I had gone through all of this, I had of course realised I really wasn’t such a great friend. I was positively crappy. What’s worse though, is that I was so perfect for everyone else, almost as if when I committed the mistakes with her, I then used all that knowledge gained from my errors with everyone else. I guess if you don’t learn to change from your best friend, who else will you learn from? I did eventually break away from those people, and set my camp where it needed to be, but I think it left an air of uncertainty around our friendship. For who was I really with? Where did my loyalties really stand? Obviously, we split not too long after for ironically enough, I got angry with her for doubting me with one of my other friends….and we remained uncommunicative for a long time. By then, I had expected that the person who I had learned to share hugs with (a task that made me cringe), the one who I was willing to say I love you to (difficult considering where I stand on emotional connections), and the one who I was willing to do almost anything for (as long it was legal/morally right) would not doubt me. When I look back, I just find my reaction laughable, for this entire post so far shows quite one hell of an unequal friendship. The open, free-spirited Adurna, and the idiotic me. (-_-)

So…..all of that long thingymajig above was meant to show where I stood in concern to our friendship. I loved/love her a lot but was incapable due to my own inhibitions and stupidity, to do what was rightfully needed to maintain the balance that we once prided ourselves on. None of this really came to the surface until blighted 2012 though, for in that year I had been going through some “things”. Emotional nonsense. I had been locked away in my room, with almost no social interaction due to my migration and subsequent fall into an office at the ripe old age of 17. Social interaction was just so freaking important to me, because it kept the noise and the depressing thoughts away. When the buffers (my friends) left, I was dealing with a scundle of bunt, going all the way back to my masochistic days. It just made me morose, and the image of optimism that I had managed to keep in place for years–already very shaky, fell away. I was reeling with the thoughts that yet again my childhood, remained some elusive fantasy in the outer galaxy, for there I was working while my friends were doing Sixth Form or entering college. It made me angry, and the internal fires kept building. To ease the pressure, I wrote some poetry, but it didn’t solve everything. I couldn’t stand my mother’s nagging, especially when it kept reminding me that I had never been a child, and here I was being forced to listen to her. Building the fires even higher was the fact that her thoughtless recounts, and in some instances, exaggerations of my behaviour drove the entire family up a wall in relation to me. Every little freaking thing that I did was seen as some form of my rebellion or my “evil nature”. How was I supposed to be happy, and good or funking sweet when all I wanted was to curl up in a corner and submerge myself? How was I supposed to undo the subtle rebellious streak that had been working its way through me, and get myself to do what the mother wanted? It made me angry at every stage, and if I even breathed funny it became a point of complaint. I never wanted to come to America in the first place, and there I was floundering with little to no grounding point, and to make matters worse, Gran ups and dies. Yippee. Oh joy.

Going home for that week for the funeral, turned out bad. Very bad. Apparently my true inner “evil” had come out to roost. I was apparently being selfish, and inconsiderate and rude. Blah, blah, blah. All I wanted was to read books and talk with my friends while enjoying being in my own bed, in my own house, in my own country. Since I had become so outspoken, I had made the mistake of stating to my cousin that she would not be sleeping in my bed. Oh God. How wicked of me. No the adults hadn’t asked me, the child had, and I really do not like having anyone in bed with me for any reason whatsoever. That night, I certainly had to hear a thing or two, and by the end of that hour long lecture from my mother, her sisters, and my hurt uncle (not that uncle) whose daughter was supposed to sleep with me , I just chose to sleep on my bedroom floor for the girl took over my entire bed. That one skinny kid. Oh no. Who told me to do that. By the time I got back to America, the demand was in for me to apologise to my uncle for supposedly telling him (Note we had no discussion) that his daughter could not sleep in my bed.Of course, not ignoring how evil I was for choosing to sleep on the floor just because I didn’t want to share my bed, and just because I didn’t want to sleep with a bed wetter. Seriously? I spent approximately 17 years of my life wetting beds and I’m afraid to sleep with a bed-wetter. Huh. I must be missing something there. Then there was the general family upset that Gran was disappointed in me before her death and I have a feeling that they think I aided the cancer in it’s final stages…….Ah well, I was dealing with an internal shipload of emotional nonsense from every end, then mom decides to tell dad that she’s fed up of my behaviour. To this moment I have no idea what the conversation was really about, for my father called me at work and told me that mom was kicking me out and that I should pack my bags. I was fuming. Fuming mad. I felt royally betrayed. That she could do that, without at least telling me herself?! By the time I made it down to the cafeteria, I had broken down in tears. Frankly, I do not freaking cry for anything. Nothing. I don’t know what all the tears were for, my feeling of betrayal, my anger or the frustration that I was drowning internally and didn’t know which way to turn. I texted all of my close circle from back home, Adurna included. All were reasonably concerned, but I don’t know what exactly pushed me over the edge where she was concerned. In a moment when I felt cornered, and hurt and lost she said some things that when viewed from my perspective added to the hurt. What the others said was important sure, but I wanted her of all people to get “it”, and at that moment, she didn’t. We were texting, and I saw one little word wrong, and all hell broke lose. The temper that I had contained for so long, the one that had made me desirous of punching walls, and mirrors, standing over lighted stove burners with my skin and setting searing hot knives to my arm unleashed in a torrent of words.

No, I did not insult her in the conventional manner of speaking. I did worse, tread on the grounds of our friendship in my moment of hurt. The insecurity which had always existed, the one which let me know that she was better than me in so many ways, the one I thought I had conquered, reared its ugly head.  I had never let my words be led by my temper before and it was the worst mistake of my life. I accused her of thinking, that I had with my penchant for negativity, affected her in some way and told her that I’d been waiting a while to hear it from her. Now for most people, something like that just sounds amusing, but with the level of maturity that we were blessed(or cursed) with and the fact that most of our serious conversations bordered on intellectual discourses of human psyche, etc. it was seen as an insult to our friendship. I can’t say it wasn’t, for if I could become upset for her “daring” to think that I would go against her with a friend, why wouldn’t something to that extent hurt her? I felt so angry with myself for crossing that line, and although I apologised as soon as I realised that I had misunderstood, that particular slip up did not go down well. Hard to ignore something like that when you’ve put up with an idiot like me for so long 😀

What left her finger tips and flitted across my cell phone screen shook me to my core. For the first time in my life words made no sense to me. I had to message my other friends to be certain I was understanding it correctly. The one thing I had always prized the most was kicked out from under me as realisation set in. The one secret fear that had always managed to lie hidden, came right out in a few simple words. She’d called our relationship an “imitation of friendship”. My poor brain simply could not fathom a single thing. Was I really that awful? Had I really just let myself insert my foot all  the way past my mouth and into my stomach? Pushed her to such a degree of hurt that she would question the very existence of there ever being a friendship? I was just so confused that night. By the time that weekend was over,  I was kicking myself for messing up a perfectly good friendship with my insecurities and stupidity. Within a week, we discussed it….to a certain extent, but I kept my mouth shut, and refrained from blogging about it. I didn’t want to write anything when I knew I would be incapable of objectivity and could hurt someone I love all over again. It was exhausting controlling all of that.

Around the same time, I couldn’t help but feel that I was losing my guy best friend too. Wolf was the person I spoke with the most even before I left Guyana and got stuck here. He and I spoke almost all day, and it wasn’t hard to find me texting him randomly. Our relationship had peeked to such an extent when I went home that one week, that I was practically oozing love. Now it just makes me gag to think about it, but it wasn’t bad from an outside perspective, just bad to the one who preferred emotional distances. I was in love with him, loved him, and was probably heading to adoration and a pedestal above Adurna’s–they were always equal in my life. I’d become so wrapped in him that my initial….hurt and partial embarrassment over our break-up the year before didn’t matter. I really can’t begin to tell you what to call our relationship, for strangely enough we had managed to become closer after the actual break up. We stayed friends even after we had both set out to date our respective first loves, and by some completely strange, hilarious twist we were both single within weeks of each other. Not amusing at the time, unless you’re like me. For me, I handled my split pretty well, I had already moved on from the first love in a way, because I had had to suppress all thoughts of him to be with Wolf the first time around–the official time I mean. Believe me when I say I’m always kicking myself for that one. I don’t regret doing it, but I do feel pretty stupid that I did it. Anyway, the point is, we were close. Then all communication just withered off to the degree of a desert with a trickle of water running through it. It began to feel like our relationship all over again. Me, being the loving, concerned idiot making the effort to fund overseas phone calls while he was the happy go-lucky fellow “enjoying” his depression, his friends, shutting me out and thinking that it was normal to go from daily forms of communication to the only communication being me calling him up out of the blue to see if he was alive. It seemed that all those times I had given him leeway in our “relationship” by ignoring what I felt to deal with how he felt were beginning to come back and bite me in the ass. He really is another post all on his own. Maybe, I am being hard on him though. Hard to decide when things stop being just a slip up and start becoming a reason to worry. I was hurt at first. Really hurt, but it didn’t really kick me in the gut until the fight with Adurna, and the battle with my parents. ‘Cause now, it really was just me all over again. I’d been pining away stupidly over friendships that were apparently meaningless and for the first time mommy dearest was looking pretty right about friendships.

It got so, so, so tiring. Those days or weeks or months passed, and I couldn’t tell what they were anymore. Time didn’t mean anything much with the haze of pain I was struggling through. It felt difficult to roll out of my bed in the morning, and get into the bath. Staring out my window with the cold glass against my forehead into the night was just empty. No poetry, even though I tried, could express what I felt looking out that window. I settled into a back and forth cycle of listlessness, and anguish. I couldn’t quite figure out which way was up or down. It took me a while to figure out that the bed-wetting was returning too. Apparently my bladder is connected to my friends. Need I say humiliating? Some fantastic precursor to my 18th year. Couldn’t even breathe actually. Chest actually hurt. Felt so lightheaded, that I couldn’t help but figure that maybe my health was suffering too. The closest I had come to being ill was when I spent about 3 days trying not to talk to Adurna. Literally came down with a fever and headache those what was it, three days? But this was worse. I was stumbling around like a drunken person. Couldn’t even climb the stairs to the apartment. I really can’t express in words what it felt like to be that buffeted from all that internal burning. Tumbled from hurt, to rage to……nothingness. Friendship didn’t seem like such a fabulous idea anymore. In fact, the concept looked about pretty shitty to me. I simply couldn’t figure out how in the world two people could mean so much to me that just moving my legs became an effort. Ah well, t’was an awesome year, dear old 2012. I learned my lesson very well.

  • Never, ever, ever let my temper take control of my words.
  • Never, ever, ever hurt my best friend.
  • Never, ever, ever suppress what I feel unless I absolutely need to.
  • Never, ever, ever pass off my own feelings as trivial to make someone else feel better.
  • Do not. Not ever. Make myself so emotionally dependent on other people again. Unless I intend to die 😀

The pain, and subsequent numbness that follows after it, are not worth it. The numbness that brought me to the verge of considering self-harm to force myself to feel something, not worth it. And the place I sit in now with a lack of affection for anyone (online friends have their special reserve of love) because I refuse to put myself there again is……not worth it either.  The best thing about that year was meeting so many friends online, and finding a world outside of the little cocoon I was trapped in, and I do love all of you guys for that, from my WordPress friends to my India-Forums friends. A group of some of the most fantastic people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.



Let You Go?

A long suppressed post that is thankfully not coloured by the internal venom I felt during that period. Happy 2013, everyone!


Sunday, January 12, 2013.

False Security and the Crappy Captain

Sailing by K.C.

I am, according to my own perspective, an emotionally self – sufficient individual; or so I have lulled myself into believing. I’ve been reviewing videos from one of my piano practice sessions. The playing wasn’t any more awful than your average intermediate I agree; but in those videos, while I don’t burst into shouts of “idiot”, “loser”, and other choice derogatives, I know from my demeanor that they are running through my mind. With the recent change in my overall attitude, and an objective glimpse of myself, I am really beginning to ring the internal alarms.

For a while in my younger years, I realised that I had some form of inferiority complex. To me, nothing I ever did (or do) is ever right, perfect or atleast mediocre. I think I suck at everything. I am one of those people who dabbles in everything, one because I can and two because I keep secretly hoping that there will be one thing that I am really good at. I am an artist by nature I believe; I produce decent sketches, I adore photography, I am sometimes decent in creative writing, and I love creating music. My favourite instrument is the violin, but I’ve never gotten the chance to pursue it. The thing that constantly irritates me, is that I know I can be good at something, but my insecurities are there lurking in the shadows, discreetly destroying whatever sense of false bravado I manage to encourage myself with. The drunken captain, perfectly skilled at hiding her inebriated, self – destructive actions by calmly walking the plank and back, knowing full well her foolishness could cause the final fall, just to prove to herself that she’s okay.

I accept that I am considered attractive, but there are still so many doubts in that area. As a matter of fact, for approximately six months, I took photos of myself almost every week, searching for that illusive perfection. At the time, it didn’t resonate within myself that I was searching for that lacking something. I just accepted that because of the years I spent feeling unattractive and unappealing due to my shy nature and mode of dress, I was attempting to compensate for the hidden hurt, with images of me that were sexually appealing (nothing truly explicit). Being on  the bustier side of the tree, and also being blessed with pink lips fueled my new – found sense of vanity and confidence. The contrasting thing was (and still is) that I detest being photographed unless I am the photographer. Most of the images I keep of myself were taken by me with great consideration for all my perceived flaws, and while not photoshopped still don’t reflect me as I should be. However, if one is confident, there can’t possibly a problem waiting to be dealt with, right? Surely nothing was wrong with a little camera shyness when one is quite confident, right? Sort of like sailing the Titanic into a field of icebergs because you need to prove to the world that your ship is most certainly capable of weathering anything thrown at it. -___-

There is also quite the sense of paranoia, which I cover by observing the world through a watchful, cynical eye. It often feels as if the people around me must be seeing whatever it is that I’m attempting to hide. It makes achievements that much harder to enjoy. I detest being spotlighted for anything, especially achievements, because if I did well once, then it’s likely the other times the world is looking will be when I’m about to fall on my face in disgrace. I know that there are people who talk about me, however the degree to which I have to fight to persuade my inner self that no one is concerned enough to care about whether I speak with a particular person, or if I trip over my own shoes is downright ridiculous. It was this same paranoia that allowed me to lash out at Adurna during one of our conversations. It surpassed my usual analytical navigation system, and made me press full speed ahead without consulting even one wrinkled paper of chartered course and made me hurt her in the ensuing collision.

All of these aspects of me exist under a new facade, the one I have been forced to create since my forced and willful isolation. The absence of close friends has made it harder to be constantly distracted with other people’s problems or simple moments of frivolity. Instead it is me, myself, my mind, and I- all dreadful companions. To expound further, here is the crux of the matter. I had managed to convince myself that I had no problems, emotional or otherwise. This was made easier by the presence of friends who implicitly trust my ability to take care of myself, little did they know that I was sailing with false insurance and limited skills. When I migrated to this “delightful” land, it meant that I was now forced to return to the state in which I was technically friendless. Sure, I still communicated with my friends, but communication is usually stilted when one has no social life, school life, or any other adolescent markers of commonality to freely discourse about. Gradually, I moved from a flotilla of constant interaction filled with pointless, stupid jokes to a yacht in which I was taxed to find some common ground to make the lines meet again. Considering that friendship is one of the most important aspects of my emotional sanity, you can quite imagine the struggle I had with the internal self about whether my friends cared enough about me or not to bridge the divide. It felt like I was constantly hanging myself over cliffs to reach people who were quite happy sitting on the rocks below without my company. To add insult to hurt, a wide chasm developed between myself and Wolf, and myself and Adurna. This left me stranded, and completely removed all the buffers that I had placed between myself and my insecurities. I was so sure that I had nothing hidden behind my eyes, that I was the poster child of normalcy; good family, passable church life, ok-ish grades, yadda yadda blah blah blah.

So with no more buffers created from the emotional ships I was once sure I had thoroughly insured, I crashed on the rocks and floundered. There on the sandy shore I discovered that my insurance policies were all dried up. The only one there to help me, was me, and it was there I truly realised that I had none of the tools needed to fix the problems. I knew in the back of my mind that my qualifications were manufactured, but I thought that the seas would keep their deceptive tranquility and allow me to remain  happily carefree as long as I didn’t stare too deeply into the murky depths below. I figured that I could keep fixing everyone else’s ships, and offer them the trade secrets to healthy maintenance while secretly ignoring the rotting hull and badly patched wreck I masqueraded as a top of the line cruiser. When the objects of my affection executed what I secretly consider ultimate betrayals, I discovered that the love in my “friend”ships  that I hoisted and flew as unconditional flags of love, were nothing more than stoppers that prevented me from concentrating on the possibility that I would be completely wrecked. So now, I’m left with the rotting wood created by my festering insecurities that remained untreated for too long. The poster child for all the wonderful words of wisdom and common sense, sits on her bed, a shameful hypocrite, guilty of ignoring her own advice.

Kadeen Nichelle Oksana Waldron

July 27, 2012 2:00 a.m.