Friends are coming over in a few minutes.
Some of us will have anchovy pizza, others plain. There will be about six of us.
That is more people I've had in my apartment since I moved here four years ago. I will be breaking a long period of isolation.
People do not understand--when I got married the last time, I had alot of friends. I had 150 guests at my wedding, and four bridesmaids and ushers in attendance. When our marriage was good, we socialized alot, had friends over, did fun things with others.
But as the marriage started to go downhill, the friends started to leave. By the end of my marriage, many of the people who were in attendance weren't even in touch. My husband had disowned the friends he'd had in favor of some new ones, who were at times amazingly unpleasant.
My friends dwindled over time, and were mostly obliterated when I called to tell them that he and I had separated. The only two who remained, I'd known for many years prior to my marriage. I am still friends with them.
I didn't make friends while I was at school. No one came into my room. Partly, I wanted to be alone, to mourn the loss of my marriage and my friends and to concentrate on my studies. This was my last shot, and I didn't have time to waste.
The other part was due to a massive amount of dysfunction that still makes me shake my headin disbelief. It is amazing how adult women, when deprived of certain freedoms, sink back to the psychological level of junior highschoolers. That is something I will never forget.
My family was never big on friends. We never had friends over. Occasionally, family members, but never for dinner (other than my sister). There was always something wrong with everybody else--or there was something wrong with my Dad, according to my Mom, that made it so he wasn't allowed to socailize.
I don't know. It'll always be a mystery.
So, when the pattern of creeping isolation started in my marriage, I didn't think anything of it.
And when I did it myself, here, I didn't think anything of it either. My Mother had a tendancy to yell at me about how messy my room was, and that, because it was so messy, I should be too ashamed to have people over. So, I never did.
I've been straightening out for the past two days. My apartment has been like one giant room, rather than a series of rooms. It's been messy, that's for sure, and I haven't cared. I wasn't having anyone over anyway. Nobody would want to come over.
Slowly, though, as I've gone over other friends' houses, I've realized that, because my friends have never been here, they really don't know me. They know of me, but they've never seen the crocheted dolls, the books, the records, the rooster motif in the kitchen, the doilies, the afghan, my messy desk, my stacks of unfinished short stories...
I need for them to know me. I am not the person some of them think I am, and I just want them to have a clue.
I don't think it will scare any of them off. I'm not that creepy. or that much of a pack rat. or any more dirty or messy than they might be at any particular moment in time.
This is a big step out of the shadow of my Mother and my dysfunctional marriage--out of the isolation that enclosed me most of my life.
Can I stand being this real to the people I call my friends?
We'll see....
Some of us will have anchovy pizza, others plain. There will be about six of us.
That is more people I've had in my apartment since I moved here four years ago. I will be breaking a long period of isolation.
People do not understand--when I got married the last time, I had alot of friends. I had 150 guests at my wedding, and four bridesmaids and ushers in attendance. When our marriage was good, we socialized alot, had friends over, did fun things with others.
But as the marriage started to go downhill, the friends started to leave. By the end of my marriage, many of the people who were in attendance weren't even in touch. My husband had disowned the friends he'd had in favor of some new ones, who were at times amazingly unpleasant.
My friends dwindled over time, and were mostly obliterated when I called to tell them that he and I had separated. The only two who remained, I'd known for many years prior to my marriage. I am still friends with them.
I didn't make friends while I was at school. No one came into my room. Partly, I wanted to be alone, to mourn the loss of my marriage and my friends and to concentrate on my studies. This was my last shot, and I didn't have time to waste.
The other part was due to a massive amount of dysfunction that still makes me shake my headin disbelief. It is amazing how adult women, when deprived of certain freedoms, sink back to the psychological level of junior highschoolers. That is something I will never forget.
My family was never big on friends. We never had friends over. Occasionally, family members, but never for dinner (other than my sister). There was always something wrong with everybody else--or there was something wrong with my Dad, according to my Mom, that made it so he wasn't allowed to socailize.
I don't know. It'll always be a mystery.
So, when the pattern of creeping isolation started in my marriage, I didn't think anything of it.
And when I did it myself, here, I didn't think anything of it either. My Mother had a tendancy to yell at me about how messy my room was, and that, because it was so messy, I should be too ashamed to have people over. So, I never did.
I've been straightening out for the past two days. My apartment has been like one giant room, rather than a series of rooms. It's been messy, that's for sure, and I haven't cared. I wasn't having anyone over anyway. Nobody would want to come over.
Slowly, though, as I've gone over other friends' houses, I've realized that, because my friends have never been here, they really don't know me. They know of me, but they've never seen the crocheted dolls, the books, the records, the rooster motif in the kitchen, the doilies, the afghan, my messy desk, my stacks of unfinished short stories...
I need for them to know me. I am not the person some of them think I am, and I just want them to have a clue.
I don't think it will scare any of them off. I'm not that creepy. or that much of a pack rat. or any more dirty or messy than they might be at any particular moment in time.
This is a big step out of the shadow of my Mother and my dysfunctional marriage--out of the isolation that enclosed me most of my life.
Can I stand being this real to the people I call my friends?
We'll see....
posted by Tish Grier at 7:15 PM
2 Comments:
Inviting people in is a brave thing to do -- hard, but worth it. Isolation is my natural path, too ... it's so much easier to keep a safe distance somewhere else. Hope you had a wonderful time at your party.
well, the evening went very well! everybody had a nice time, I think, and everything split nicely around 11pm.
I have noticed (to something Ed mentioned) that the friendships now are more allied with personal values in our lives vs. what activities we are involved in. It's nice that there's overlap, but the fact that many of my friends are single and/or childless makes big difference.
During the party, we even talked about how we often feel alot of social pressure regarding marriage and children--as if the world around us has trouble accepting the identities of women who do not have external appendages of some sort.
To the insecure of the married-with-children crowd, we are, I think, perceived as a threat. And, because of this, it makes it difficult to form friendships with them.
Because that seems to be de riguer of how society works, it them becomes difficult to make friendships in adulthood when you are out of the norm (even if maintaining that norm makes you absolutely miserable).
I wonder to what extent my friendships with married, childbearing friends will evolve. But I know now that many of my friends have a better understanding of who I am and why I chose this particular unusual lifestyle.
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