I hate that I've been keeping so much inside for so long.
I've turned into a full-fledged internet voyeur of my own friends. If there's anything I've realized from these first, few and scattered posts, I care a lot more about the people in my life than I've been willing to admit. I care about what they're doing (which right now can generally be summed up with one word: "procreating"), I care enough to stalk Facebook for updates about a few precious few (no general stalking for me... I keep an eye on my favs), but mostly, I'm sad and scared that because of the changes in my life and the changes in their lives that we are evolving away from each other. As natural as that may be, once again I find myself writing over a breaking heart.
I had hoped that attending a seriously Catholic law school would provide me with support and structure as I returned to my faith. At first, it seemed to be helping. The journey's been arduous, but I've always felt like a Catholic -- I've always felt pulled back to the Mass and appreciated the structure and practice for what it is. I never expected that I would leave AMSL feeling more distant and lost in my faith, particularly after meeting so many Catholic women, men, and couples who I admire and respect for reasons that go beyond what "good Catholics" they are. What I've particularly loved about the Catholic faith (as I've experienced it through practice -- I make zero claim to know my catechism or the teachings of the Church as well as anyone else).. what I've particularly loved are the themes of forgiveness and communion. In the aftermath of my divorce, graduating from law school, and moving to a place where I only know a few people and am hundreds to thousands of miles from most friends and family, I feel like a raft floating away from a cruise ship. The funny thing about communion as interpreted to me by some of my Catholic friends from AMSL (not all, but many) is that if you're not doing things THE way -- THE only way -- then you're out of communion with the Church (and its body of members). Catholics can be rough friends to have when they have that perspective. I feel like a bunch of those friends are on that cruise ship and waving at me. They fully acknowledge that I'm on the raft and drifting away. They may chalk it up to my stubbornness, my "fallen"-ness, or some other act of my will... after all, I divorced my husband. I chose to not stay with him and pray it out and work it out and have babies now (the count is up to 17 couples of friends who are pregnant with/have given birth to their 1st or 2nd child)... Occasionally one sends me a little personalized redemption map or suggestion. Those almost hurt more. I wonder if I frustrate them. I wonder if they care enough for me to frustrate them. I wonder if they want to know me anymore. I wonder if they're biding their time until my raft has drifted far enough that they can stop waving because they can't see me anymore. I wonder if they know that the raft gets to small to see long before the cruise ship does -- that I'll still see them, together in marriage, parenthood, gainful employment, and faithfulness, long after they've turned their backs on me.
***
I hardly meant this to be a "woe is me" rant... my original intent was to allow myself the opportunity to get this out of my brain... I know I treat this blog like a pensieve. If I get these feelings out, they aren't free to wrap tightly around my heart or clog my brain.
To be fair, I'm really happy in a lot of other areas of my life. I am in love with my soulmate. I'm sure of it (that's right.. the official introduction of my HB) :) I've healed so many old wounds in the past year that I've never felt like a stronger person, and I've been able to give and receive so much more out of a loving relationship.
I missed passing the bar by 7 points. After all that I went through last summer, I'm surprised I made it through the test. I'm studying much better this time, and I've learned to appreciate my failing(s) and face them head on -- from no longer being afraid to fail a practice test, to not being (too) afraid to love someone again. I'm not afraid of standing up to my mother, or backing off from her when I'm wrong. I'm not afraid of giving people what I can, or letting them go when they do. I'm not afraid of my feelings getting the best of me again and dragging me into a scary place where I'm afraid of going to sleep at night or being awake during the day.
So much has changed in the last year. While my friends are embracing the gift of parenthood, I'm still growing up. Someday, I'll make a great mom -- surely a better one because of all this than I would've been if I'd stayed on the cruise ship. Certainly, I'm worried I'll lose the best of them due to our natural divide. They're all having babies, with their spouses. I'm missing both of those things. I don't know if I'll be able to fairly expect my best friends to get excited about the events in my life when they have a family. The saddest part is, I'm not even a little jealous. I like being in the best shape of my life. I love being in the early stages of my relationship with the man of my dreams. I love that I'm looking for my first place ON MY OWN (something a lot of my friends have never and will likely never experience). I know that I have what they have coming for me... so there's nothing to be jealous about. I am sad, though. I'm sad that it seems like they're ALL there now. I'm at least 2 years from being engaged again, let alone married. I probably won't have my first kid until their kids are in kindergarten... if I'm lucky. They'll get to bond over all these things -- learning together -- sharing horror and beautiful stories about diapers and strollers and teething and sleeping and spit and smiles. They've all moved on from the adults-only world, and despite the fact that I LOVE them and their children, I can't empathize, and so often they seem to feel compelled to say things to me like,"Oh, but you'll be a GREAT mom someday," and "Don't worry... it'll happen" (Double duh) or "have a margarita for me" (I drink one drink a month, maybe now, and I certainly don't drink other people's drinks for them) or "I'll just have to live vicariously through you now" (why? you have a wonderful husband and beautiful baby... oh wait... you're lying... you don't want my life. You want your life, as you should), or, my favorite result of having mostly Catholic friends -- "....(long pause).... I want you to know I'm/we're praying for you" (always appreciated, never important that I know about it... I don't think God requires me being put on notice before he answers your prayers about me).
Maybe these wedges I feel are all in my imagination... maybe it's the winter cold and my love affair with flashcards. I can hope, but I can't deny that I can't even be sure the people on the shrinking cruise ship are still waving.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Good Grief
Well, there's nothing quite like bar exam prep to take your mind off you life.
First off, I need to fitch about obnoxious, unprofessional bar-bri classmates. The Roomie and I have been experience various species of this wonder in our two different classes. I'd like to adequately deal with each one so I may shelve them and their bad behavior. Oh, and it should be noted the seats in my classroom are pair uncomfortably close together, and they swing toward one another, making awkward knee-knocks inevitable and magifying obnoxious behavior.
CHERRY GIRL: No, she doesn't wear teenage age-appropriate yet wildly content-inappropriate clothing adorned with cherries, but that would be obnoxious. I hate those clothes. No, this girl believes the cherry pit longs for cleanliness, and every morning it is her calling to serve 15-20 cherries by sucking and slurping every last morself of cherry flesh from each desperate pit. Cherries... six inches away.
MR. ROGERS: This guy comes in, and despite the fact that you are the one and only person sitting in the row of 18 seats, he just really, really wants to be your neighbor. He snuggles up next to you, and he breaks out a notebook AND a laptop... and an entire package of chips ahoy.
THE TARDY TEXTER : This frat boy of old arrives 10 minutes late, spends the entire class on his handheld device, returns 5 minutes late from each break, and then spends the entire time he's actually in class leaning over to scope out your fill-in-the-blank answers that he missed because he's too busy to be bothered to listen to the video lecture. Not amused.
THE LIPPY SNIFFLER: Oh, this girl really got under my skin. Imagine listening to a rather important lecture, for which you've paid hundreds of dollars on top of the $3 in the parking meter and the $1.80 coffee to help you focus, and your neighbor's highlighter runs dry. Instead of cutting her losses and (gasp!) underlining, circling, or finding another suitable alternative, she insists she's going to squeeze every last drop of day-glo pink out of that sad little stick. While the conservationist in me values using our resources thoroughly prior to discard, her efforts to highlight with a dead as a doornail highlighter results in nothing short of screeching. WREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAACHHH. After shooting her a few stern, annoyed glances, she thankfully put down the weapon of torture.
On the breaks, Lippy attempts to explain away the screeching, unapologetically informing Roomie and me that her highlighter was almost out. No, Honey. It was out, and it didn't appreciate your forceful extraction anymore than we did.
We smiled, and turned to one another to talk about other things... things that would allow our taxed minds to relax for a precious 10 minutes (8 or so at this point, but who's counting?). I mention that I received a notice from Banana Repubic that a dress I've been flirting with for a month has finally gone on sale. Lippy, the eavesdropping pen wizard, interjects her theories on shopping and the bar. She excitedly interrupts our conversation with a "Oh, 'Vicky's' big sale started today!!" (*groan*.. "vicky's"??) She follows her interjection with a full analysis of how we're obviously too busy to shop, and she wears "fat pants" to class anyway, so there's really no point...blah blah blah. Roomie and I politely wait for her interjection to end, but it doesn't seem to know how. She actually finds a way to blabber for awhile about the point she never intends to fully make. Finally, she seems to have tired, and she doesn't seem to notice we haven't responded. The 10 minute break has ended, and she and her fat pants turn back toward the screen, armed with the dead highlighter.
Thinking it can't get worse, and too numb from the bar prep endeavor to really care, I gaze back toward the screen, ready to cram. Five minutes into the segment... "SNNNNNNNIIFFFFFFFF!!" (I know that's not really onomotapoeia, but go with me). Lippy has a stuffy nose. Her sniffles are not worthy of the cuteness of the word "sniffle"... no... she is wretching air through her crowded nostrils with the might she once reserved for highlighter torture. Now, I consider myself to be a fairly tolerant person, and had her breathing...challenges... been infrequent, I could easily have let them slide. No.. Lippy, hell-bent on depriving me of my very expensive learning experience, vehemently sucks air in 10-15 second intervals, making it impossible to regain focus. After a few excruciating minutes and some poignant head swivels punctuated by a glare right at Lippy's sniffly face, I am unwilling to deal. I lean in, and in a sweet, familiar tone I would use with someone who openly shared tales of bra-shopping and fat pants moments before, I whisper,"Hon, that's pretty loud. I'm having a hard time hearing over your sniffles." Lippy stares angrily back, and defiantly inhales. Unmoved, I lean back in and sweetly say,"Seriously, you really should go blow your nose."
It was an epic battle, but Lippy conceded defeat. She stood up wildly and stormed out (bumping Roomie on the back of the head on her way to clear her airways... jerk.). I sit back, smile, and take in the rest of the lesson.
***
Ok, so that was way longer than I expected.. but boy did it feel good to let that out!
First off, I need to fitch about obnoxious, unprofessional bar-bri classmates. The Roomie and I have been experience various species of this wonder in our two different classes. I'd like to adequately deal with each one so I may shelve them and their bad behavior. Oh, and it should be noted the seats in my classroom are pair uncomfortably close together, and they swing toward one another, making awkward knee-knocks inevitable and magifying obnoxious behavior.
CHERRY GIRL: No, she doesn't wear teenage age-appropriate yet wildly content-inappropriate clothing adorned with cherries, but that would be obnoxious. I hate those clothes. No, this girl believes the cherry pit longs for cleanliness, and every morning it is her calling to serve 15-20 cherries by sucking and slurping every last morself of cherry flesh from each desperate pit. Cherries... six inches away.
MR. ROGERS: This guy comes in, and despite the fact that you are the one and only person sitting in the row of 18 seats, he just really, really wants to be your neighbor. He snuggles up next to you, and he breaks out a notebook AND a laptop... and an entire package of chips ahoy.
THE TARDY TEXTER : This frat boy of old arrives 10 minutes late, spends the entire class on his handheld device, returns 5 minutes late from each break, and then spends the entire time he's actually in class leaning over to scope out your fill-in-the-blank answers that he missed because he's too busy to be bothered to listen to the video lecture. Not amused.
THE LIPPY SNIFFLER: Oh, this girl really got under my skin. Imagine listening to a rather important lecture, for which you've paid hundreds of dollars on top of the $3 in the parking meter and the $1.80 coffee to help you focus, and your neighbor's highlighter runs dry. Instead of cutting her losses and (gasp!) underlining, circling, or finding another suitable alternative, she insists she's going to squeeze every last drop of day-glo pink out of that sad little stick. While the conservationist in me values using our resources thoroughly prior to discard, her efforts to highlight with a dead as a doornail highlighter results in nothing short of screeching. WREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAACHHH. After shooting her a few stern, annoyed glances, she thankfully put down the weapon of torture.
On the breaks, Lippy attempts to explain away the screeching, unapologetically informing Roomie and me that her highlighter was almost out. No, Honey. It was out, and it didn't appreciate your forceful extraction anymore than we did.
We smiled, and turned to one another to talk about other things... things that would allow our taxed minds to relax for a precious 10 minutes (8 or so at this point, but who's counting?). I mention that I received a notice from Banana Repubic that a dress I've been flirting with for a month has finally gone on sale. Lippy, the eavesdropping pen wizard, interjects her theories on shopping and the bar. She excitedly interrupts our conversation with a "Oh, 'Vicky's' big sale started today!!" (*groan*.. "vicky's"??) She follows her interjection with a full analysis of how we're obviously too busy to shop, and she wears "fat pants" to class anyway, so there's really no point...blah blah blah. Roomie and I politely wait for her interjection to end, but it doesn't seem to know how. She actually finds a way to blabber for awhile about the point she never intends to fully make. Finally, she seems to have tired, and she doesn't seem to notice we haven't responded. The 10 minute break has ended, and she and her fat pants turn back toward the screen, armed with the dead highlighter.
Thinking it can't get worse, and too numb from the bar prep endeavor to really care, I gaze back toward the screen, ready to cram. Five minutes into the segment... "SNNNNNNNIIFFFFFFFF!!" (I know that's not really onomotapoeia, but go with me). Lippy has a stuffy nose. Her sniffles are not worthy of the cuteness of the word "sniffle"... no... she is wretching air through her crowded nostrils with the might she once reserved for highlighter torture. Now, I consider myself to be a fairly tolerant person, and had her breathing...challenges... been infrequent, I could easily have let them slide. No.. Lippy, hell-bent on depriving me of my very expensive learning experience, vehemently sucks air in 10-15 second intervals, making it impossible to regain focus. After a few excruciating minutes and some poignant head swivels punctuated by a glare right at Lippy's sniffly face, I am unwilling to deal. I lean in, and in a sweet, familiar tone I would use with someone who openly shared tales of bra-shopping and fat pants moments before, I whisper,"Hon, that's pretty loud. I'm having a hard time hearing over your sniffles." Lippy stares angrily back, and defiantly inhales. Unmoved, I lean back in and sweetly say,"Seriously, you really should go blow your nose."
It was an epic battle, but Lippy conceded defeat. She stood up wildly and stormed out (bumping Roomie on the back of the head on her way to clear her airways... jerk.). I sit back, smile, and take in the rest of the lesson.
***
Ok, so that was way longer than I expected.. but boy did it feel good to let that out!
Friday, April 24, 2009
Gypsy Soul and Open Eyes
It's times like these that I'm glad I suck at keeping this up, because I'm not sure anyone will ever read this.
Tag and I are splitting up. We filed for divorce a few weeks ago, and life is in a full upheaval.
The weirdest part about all this is that I feel so much more comfortable with the splitting up than I have with our marriage. There's so much more peace. As terrified as I always have been of getting a divorce, and for as often I've proclaimed that I never would, here I am. I'm 26. I'll be nearly 27 by the time the legal process is complete. Now I wonder not if but how the stigmas will feel as they attach and stack. I'll be unmarried as I approach 30. I thought I'd cleared that stigma, but nope. Then there's the question of whether I can claim "single" or if I have to be "divorced".... a friend of mine said that I'd be doubly damaged goods, coming out of law school with a mountain of debt and proven to be a failure at marriage. As hard as I try to not take that to heart, I can't help it. It really sticks with me.
It's easier and easier to live with Tag the closer we get to moving to different coasts. I know I'm the one who wants the split more, who was more unhappy, who felt less hope... but he seems to be taking it in stride pretty well.
As we tell more and more friends and family, it doesn't get any easier. I feared (and got) rejection from my own family, and some friends have fallen off the face of the earth. Our counselor said people would want to know what went wrong and that people always find someone to blame (with or without information), and we've been pretty great at protecting one another from others knowing the intimate details. Still, as predicted, I'm definitely feeling the blame end of the stick. I am the one moving away, while he is moving home. I will likely be the first one to date again. I'm not asking him for anything, which paints a pretty good picture that I'm at fault for something... I'm certainly at fault for many somethings, but none that people seem to naturally assume. My own mother and brother immediately jumped to the assumption I was a cheating hussy. That felt like a shot of novacain to the heart.
So... I feel a little more than vindicated changing the CA to a VA in my travel plans. I fear I am incapable of roots. I haven't lived in even one apartment for more than a year, and I plan for VA as though it could be 6 months to ??? The Bar Exam is no small undertaking, but I'm self-aware enough to know that it's no anchor, either. I might not know how to handle an anchor. Tag was a great opportunity for roots + anchor, and I think I'll wonder for a really long time how much of our "broken" was my gypsy soul rejecting all the things I thought I wanted and thought I had. At this point, I maintain a pretty confident position that he and I are phenomenal friends and phenomenally horrible spouses to one another. However, there is a nagging feeling in my gut that I'm walking away from a wonderful man who loves me the best he knows how, and I'm selfish for needing more than friendship and ho-hum out of marriage.
Since this is the place where I fitch... I feel it's only appropriate to take a moment to express my frustration with the Bubble. I go to school/exist in the Ave Bubble. The Bubble is filled with a full spectrum of Catholics, from the kool-aid drinking to the avid practitioners who reject the kool-aid to the "de-cath" as a good friend puts it. There are also Mormons and other/non-denom Christians galore. Pretty much, if on was going to go through a divorce, the last place one would want to be is the Bubble. Yet, that's where I am.
Tag and I went to dinner with some old friends who have pretty well become fringe-friends (we only hang out with them at group events), and it was a little awkward of a dinner date in the first place. We were fairly well duped into talking about our separation, but the worst part was they never came out and asked directly. I felt like the info got squeezed out of me, and Tag and I have been nothing but forthcoming with our friends when they ask, despite the pressure from the Bubble.
The standard speech I give to people is that I don't want our friends to get together an "action team" or try to "save" our marriage. I tell people I actually don't mind if they can't handle it, and if it's too awkward to have us around. Esesntially, I hand people in the Bubble a "get out of friendship free" card when I give them the info in exchange for their respect of our privacy and not gossiping (even in "good faith") behind my back. I don't expect that I get to tell people how to deal with the news, but I do feel like I have a right to ask for their respect of my/our privacy.
That's been a hit & miss strategy. Some (very few, but very dear) friends have been phenomenally supportive (of us, individually and together) while being wholly unintrusive. They've even gone so far as to act as shields from the nosier "friends" who seem to want info for their own selfish reasons. That brings me to the second category... friends who proclaim support at the top of their lungs, but offer none. So long as they attempt to respect our privacy as requested, I feel like they care about me at least a little. There's the final category. Friends who are not friends at all. There are few things as heartbreaking as a friend who takes entrusted information and broadcasts and/or spins the info for his or her own selfish reasons. I have been annihilated by one of these in the last few months. She proclaimed support at the top of her lungs, after expressing hurt that I was not "as excited" about her relationship developments as she thought I ought to have been to everyone but me. When the news of her dissatisfaction with me as a friend finally reached me, I went straight to her, and I apologized, and confided my personal life issues that I felt affected my inability to express exuberance towards her engagement (although pictures taken during the announcement show me being pretty darn exuberant). She expressed some sadness, and some regret for not "checking in," and she proclaimed at the top of her lungs that she would be here for me with whatever I needed, she'd keep the info to herself. I cried, we hugged, and I felt reconnected with a dear friend.
She hasn't spoken more than a few off-hand sentences to me in over two months. She's also managed to spread intimate details of my relationship into misinformation among people who hardly know me.
Sadly, I make the above statements with confidence and more corroboration than I wanted. I did some detective work...tried to find some way to clear her from any wrongdoings that have caused me such great pain... all signs point to betrayal.
I leave the Bubble in less than 4 weeks. I have to try to get through a potentially hazardous social situation tonight with her (she has been nicknamed the "C" by a few close friends who've also felt effects of the betrayal). I'm trying so hard to not engage, and to not let the distrust, hurt, and anger permeate to our mutual friends, but she keeps sending me little daggers that make it so hard for me to keep my cool. I pray and hope that this fitching helps drain some of the pressure built up inside me. I want to be graceful in the handling of this publicly, in the sense that I don't want it to be a public issue. I'm heartbroken that I lost what I thought was a best friend, but I'm also terrified that I misjudged our friendship so horrendously. It honestly scares me more than the choosing the "wrong" husband does. I remain confident in my ability to love, but my inability to assign trust properly is clear and painful.
Tag and I are splitting up. We filed for divorce a few weeks ago, and life is in a full upheaval.
The weirdest part about all this is that I feel so much more comfortable with the splitting up than I have with our marriage. There's so much more peace. As terrified as I always have been of getting a divorce, and for as often I've proclaimed that I never would, here I am. I'm 26. I'll be nearly 27 by the time the legal process is complete. Now I wonder not if but how the stigmas will feel as they attach and stack. I'll be unmarried as I approach 30. I thought I'd cleared that stigma, but nope. Then there's the question of whether I can claim "single" or if I have to be "divorced".... a friend of mine said that I'd be doubly damaged goods, coming out of law school with a mountain of debt and proven to be a failure at marriage. As hard as I try to not take that to heart, I can't help it. It really sticks with me.
It's easier and easier to live with Tag the closer we get to moving to different coasts. I know I'm the one who wants the split more, who was more unhappy, who felt less hope... but he seems to be taking it in stride pretty well.
As we tell more and more friends and family, it doesn't get any easier. I feared (and got) rejection from my own family, and some friends have fallen off the face of the earth. Our counselor said people would want to know what went wrong and that people always find someone to blame (with or without information), and we've been pretty great at protecting one another from others knowing the intimate details. Still, as predicted, I'm definitely feeling the blame end of the stick. I am the one moving away, while he is moving home. I will likely be the first one to date again. I'm not asking him for anything, which paints a pretty good picture that I'm at fault for something... I'm certainly at fault for many somethings, but none that people seem to naturally assume. My own mother and brother immediately jumped to the assumption I was a cheating hussy. That felt like a shot of novacain to the heart.
So... I feel a little more than vindicated changing the CA to a VA in my travel plans. I fear I am incapable of roots. I haven't lived in even one apartment for more than a year, and I plan for VA as though it could be 6 months to ??? The Bar Exam is no small undertaking, but I'm self-aware enough to know that it's no anchor, either. I might not know how to handle an anchor. Tag was a great opportunity for roots + anchor, and I think I'll wonder for a really long time how much of our "broken" was my gypsy soul rejecting all the things I thought I wanted and thought I had. At this point, I maintain a pretty confident position that he and I are phenomenal friends and phenomenally horrible spouses to one another. However, there is a nagging feeling in my gut that I'm walking away from a wonderful man who loves me the best he knows how, and I'm selfish for needing more than friendship and ho-hum out of marriage.
Since this is the place where I fitch... I feel it's only appropriate to take a moment to express my frustration with the Bubble. I go to school/exist in the Ave Bubble. The Bubble is filled with a full spectrum of Catholics, from the kool-aid drinking to the avid practitioners who reject the kool-aid to the "de-cath" as a good friend puts it. There are also Mormons and other/non-denom Christians galore. Pretty much, if on was going to go through a divorce, the last place one would want to be is the Bubble. Yet, that's where I am.
Tag and I went to dinner with some old friends who have pretty well become fringe-friends (we only hang out with them at group events), and it was a little awkward of a dinner date in the first place. We were fairly well duped into talking about our separation, but the worst part was they never came out and asked directly. I felt like the info got squeezed out of me, and Tag and I have been nothing but forthcoming with our friends when they ask, despite the pressure from the Bubble.
The standard speech I give to people is that I don't want our friends to get together an "action team" or try to "save" our marriage. I tell people I actually don't mind if they can't handle it, and if it's too awkward to have us around. Esesntially, I hand people in the Bubble a "get out of friendship free" card when I give them the info in exchange for their respect of our privacy and not gossiping (even in "good faith") behind my back. I don't expect that I get to tell people how to deal with the news, but I do feel like I have a right to ask for their respect of my/our privacy.
That's been a hit & miss strategy. Some (very few, but very dear) friends have been phenomenally supportive (of us, individually and together) while being wholly unintrusive. They've even gone so far as to act as shields from the nosier "friends" who seem to want info for their own selfish reasons. That brings me to the second category... friends who proclaim support at the top of their lungs, but offer none. So long as they attempt to respect our privacy as requested, I feel like they care about me at least a little. There's the final category. Friends who are not friends at all. There are few things as heartbreaking as a friend who takes entrusted information and broadcasts and/or spins the info for his or her own selfish reasons. I have been annihilated by one of these in the last few months. She proclaimed support at the top of her lungs, after expressing hurt that I was not "as excited" about her relationship developments as she thought I ought to have been to everyone but me. When the news of her dissatisfaction with me as a friend finally reached me, I went straight to her, and I apologized, and confided my personal life issues that I felt affected my inability to express exuberance towards her engagement (although pictures taken during the announcement show me being pretty darn exuberant). She expressed some sadness, and some regret for not "checking in," and she proclaimed at the top of her lungs that she would be here for me with whatever I needed, she'd keep the info to herself. I cried, we hugged, and I felt reconnected with a dear friend.
She hasn't spoken more than a few off-hand sentences to me in over two months. She's also managed to spread intimate details of my relationship into misinformation among people who hardly know me.
Sadly, I make the above statements with confidence and more corroboration than I wanted. I did some detective work...tried to find some way to clear her from any wrongdoings that have caused me such great pain... all signs point to betrayal.
I leave the Bubble in less than 4 weeks. I have to try to get through a potentially hazardous social situation tonight with her (she has been nicknamed the "C" by a few close friends who've also felt effects of the betrayal). I'm trying so hard to not engage, and to not let the distrust, hurt, and anger permeate to our mutual friends, but she keeps sending me little daggers that make it so hard for me to keep my cool. I pray and hope that this fitching helps drain some of the pressure built up inside me. I want to be graceful in the handling of this publicly, in the sense that I don't want it to be a public issue. I'm heartbroken that I lost what I thought was a best friend, but I'm also terrified that I misjudged our friendship so horrendously. It honestly scares me more than the choosing the "wrong" husband does. I remain confident in my ability to love, but my inability to assign trust properly is clear and painful.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Friend of a Friend
For my first fitch, I'd like to talk about obnoxious friends of friends. There's this girl who is a friend of a very close girlfriend of mine, and somehow she has wormed her way into the proximity of my friendship. I can't stand her. Somehow, through our pseudo-friendship, she has found a way to alienate a friend of my hubby's, piss of my hubby (who is the hardest person in the world to piss off... trust me), and make me actually seriously worry about a very dear friendship of mine. She is a toxin.
So how much does a person have to put up with a friend of a friend, really? If I had a friend who was clearly lying about someone else, I'd call him or her out. Why? Because that's what a friend does (at least in my book)-- a friend keeps his or her friend from looking like/being a totally d-bag. However, I would not ever in a million years call someone out if I did not have a close relationship with that person. That's just rude. So... where does the friend of a friend fall? I can't really call her out, because I think it falls too far down the rudeness spectrum, but her lies and crap are directly affecting my family, my friendships, and our peace and happiness. Is she an enemy? A frenemy? The FoF is a whole other entity of person with whom one has to deal, and there doesn't seem to be any clear rule book. So far, all I've come up with is anonymously fitching about this person on a blog that my friends don't even know I keep. I wonder if that makes me a coward, or if perhaps it makes me somewhat more polite for keeping it out of work/friendship/life and neatly contained in the blogosphere.
At any rate, the venting has made me feel better, which is supposed to be the point of this blog.
Sweet.
So how much does a person have to put up with a friend of a friend, really? If I had a friend who was clearly lying about someone else, I'd call him or her out. Why? Because that's what a friend does (at least in my book)-- a friend keeps his or her friend from looking like/being a totally d-bag. However, I would not ever in a million years call someone out if I did not have a close relationship with that person. That's just rude. So... where does the friend of a friend fall? I can't really call her out, because I think it falls too far down the rudeness spectrum, but her lies and crap are directly affecting my family, my friendships, and our peace and happiness. Is she an enemy? A frenemy? The FoF is a whole other entity of person with whom one has to deal, and there doesn't seem to be any clear rule book. So far, all I've come up with is anonymously fitching about this person on a blog that my friends don't even know I keep. I wonder if that makes me a coward, or if perhaps it makes me somewhat more polite for keeping it out of work/friendship/life and neatly contained in the blogosphere.
At any rate, the venting has made me feel better, which is supposed to be the point of this blog.
Sweet.
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