I Have No Friends

I Have No Friends

I have no friends.  Okay, that may be a bit of an overstatement.  I have ONE friend.

Yep, one good friend. BUT, that one friend has a life that includes other friends, a busy job, and a boyfriend.  So it often feels like I have no friends.  The only people who regularly call are my mother and bill collectors.  Actually, the bill collectors have the wrong number.  It appears that some girl who I never heard of decided not to pay her bills and gave my number in doing so.  On any other occasion I would let them know this right away, but seeing as how no one else really calls, beggars can’t be choosers. Right? 

Sometimes I don’t even like checking my voicemail because it’ll remove the icon, and who knows when I’ll see that again.  When my mother does call, I try my best not to drag out our conversations because a) she can be so incredibly judgmental and doesn’t hesitate to tell me everything she thinks is wrong with my life, b) she has her own problems and I don’t want to burden her with mine.  Sometimes when she wants to end the conversation after 10 minutes, I’m screaming on the inside: “Please stay longer.  I have no one else to talk to. No one.  You’re the only one who cares.”  On the other hand, I get text messages all the time.  Yep, I got about 10 stores and restaurants blowing up my inbox on the regular with all kinds of discounts.  *Sigh*

The last time I received a text from a human was about 3 weeks ago from my one friend who told me she couldn’t hang out that weekend because, of course, she was having a life.  Was I mad at her?  Of course not.  Was I jealous?  So much.  Don’t get me wrong.  I take occasional solo outings to movies, festivals, restaurants, bars, etc.  It’s cool, but I can’t help but wonder how much more cool it would be to share those experiences with a loved one.  Years from now I want to be able to sit with a friend and say, “Man, you remember that crazy person we ran into at that place that time?  And you said that. Man that was hilarious!”  Sometimes I strike up convos with strangers, even try to flirt with a guy on occasion—dead ends.  I even volunteer regularly at several places.  I like the work that I do and I like that others appreciate and benefit from it, but I still walk away from them failing to have made any real connections with anyone else.

Sometimes I think it’s my destiny to be alone and that when I die, it’ll be weeks before anyone discovers my body.  Dead serious.  I recognize the hell I’m currently living in is mostly my doing.  Sometimes I think about the people that I’ve pushed away for my own stupid reasons at the time.  I can remember two girls in particular in undergrad that wanted to hang out with me.  I mean, they actually TRIED to plan outings, wanted to get my phone number to call and see how I was doing on occasion, and would spot me in a crowd and come and talk to me.  But I wouldn’t bite.  “Oh my God, why is she trying so hard to be friends with me?  Why is she pushing this?  She’s obviously weird.  I need to get away from her.”  Know that thing they say about hindsight?  So true.  I wish I would’ve gone out with those girls.  I wish I would’ve called them to see how their days went.  I wish I would’ve shared long, funny, thought-provoking convos with them.  Maybe we’d still be doing it now.  Maybe I’d be on the phone with them reminiscing on old times on this Saturday night instead of sitting in my bed crying while I type this letter.  Don’t be alarmed; I’m usually in my bed or on my couch crying on Saturday night.  This is nothing new.

Believe it or not, I’m actually kind of happy with life right now, all things considered.  I’ve dealt with a lot of loss (sister in 2005; best friend in 2011), anxiety, depression, fear, self-doubt, and low self-esteem.  I’ve been in and out of counselor’s offices for years.  I’ve lived a lot of my life stuck in neutral, and now I’m slowly but surely turning it around.  Just wish I had a friend to help along the way.  I know one day I will be blessed with an awesome family and friends, and will look back on this period of my life with gratitude because the struggle will have caused me to love and appreciate the hell out of those great people in my life.  Yep, it’ll happen.  I just wish I knew when.  For now, I’m just going to cry for a little bit longer before I dry my eyes and find something remotely interesting to watch on TV.  Tomorrow is a new day and someone will call.  Either my mother or a bill collector—whoever dials my number first.  I’m not picky.

image- Guilherme Yagui