Friendships That Kill

I've been trying since I woke up to get work done. I have illustration requests piling up and I need to get sketches out, but no matter how hard I try I can't. My mind is elsewhere, and while some aspects of illustrations I can do with a distracted mind, sketching is not one of them. To create something out of nothing, turn lines into artwork, it takes brain power. An anxious mind makes it impossible. Instead of fighting it any longer I'm going to write about it. Get this feeling out into the world, and hopefully I can save what is left of my day.

Yesterday was my therapy session, and sometimes I come away feeling amazing. I walk out of the office with a different perspective, I see life in a new way, and all is good for the next two weeks until my next visit. Other times I come out feeling so-so. Not good, not bad, if anything I have some serious food for thought, but yesterday was one of those rare days when I leave feeling blah. It could be the nasty wet weather we're having that has put me into a yucky mood. Whatever it was I wasn't feeling like a go-getter when I left yesterday. I was just *shrugs.*

It wasn't until this morning I realized why I didn't feel oh-so-good when I left. One thing that happens in therapy, and on the path to mental healing, is shit gets ugly. I mean, washed-out road, mud-slide, you just got fucked by a falling tree, ugly. Things come up you never wanted to touch on or remember, but that's what works. Turning up that messed up stuff—seeing it—feeling it, and learning to move on afterward. Very easier said than done. Trust me, I'm living it. Healing is not for the faint-hearted. It's a battle—an epic battle that no one else can see you waging. Every step is a victory, and every stumble feels like you got thrown off a cliff.

What has me worked up today? What battle am I fighting?

A dream—I feel like a broken record saying that, and I'm really starting to hate sleeping because of the stuff that pops up. Dreams are the way your head works through things, it's how it figures out the turmoil we sometimes avoid. Last night I had a dream that brought up an extremely sour subject for me. I work up around four in the morning with tears in my eyes. That's extreme for me. I hide my reactions to things well, too well in fact. When I wake from something awful I don't let any outward signs show, I hold it back. It's not till later when I realized how much the dream has effected me that I let my husband know, or allow him to see the side-effects. So waking up crying, BIG deal.

That goes to show how deep the pain runs on this subject, and now you're all probably wondering what it is. Most people know part of my past with verbal abuse, neglect, sexual assaults, but it was none of that.

What then? What was it that brought me to tears this morning?

Being forgotten—left out—off stage in the shadows while people I called friends laughed, joked, and at times mocked me while singling me out for their own amusement. People I willingly brought into my life causing me pain on a level that causes me suffering till this day. I'm tearing up now writing about it.

Growing up we moved a lot. Two years was the max I stayed in any one school till I got to the tenth grade. Friends have always been a sore subject for me, I've lost so many to distant and my mother's selfish-desires. I was so desperate to make friends in every new place that I often came off like a hyper-active chihuahua on speed. Here and there I made friends, nice kids that were okay to me. Better than my family at least. Most of them were annoyed by personality and I was picked on a lot. . . I mean ALOT! To the point I became the walking joke in every school I went to.

The knives in my back from people I called friends, well I could start my own cutlery shop. It's not wholly their fault, by the time they came into my life I was used to being a doormat. It's where I feel comfortable, with mud on my back. I didn't realize, however, how awful people could be until I reached high school. The transition for me from ninth to tenth grade was. . . tragic. I see that switch as the point I gave up—the very moment I threw my hands up and said, “I give. I can't do this anymore. . . I'm tired of fighting it.” Because no matter how hard I kicked or screamed, argued, rebelled my entire world was working against me. I resigned myself to fate.

When I started at my new high school I didn't rush to make friends, hell I didn't even care. I went from class to class doing what I had to. At lunch I sat at a table and ate a lone, or did classwork. I didn't fucking care, what was the point? I was going to lose those friends anyways, I was going to have to go to a knew school. My happiness didn't matter to Dani. There was nothing left in me to want to try, but like with every new school I did make a friend. Then I made another friend, and even more friends until I had a small group.

At first we were all nice to each other, we laughed, had a good time at lunch and in class, but like all things, that changed. I'm not sure when it changed, but it did. High school was pretty okay, it wasn't ideal by any standards, it was between 18 and 22 I had problems. What started as a solid group of friends turned ugly.

We are all going along, doing our thing—college, work, hanging out—then I'm on the outside looking in. I get off work after a long shift (most of us worked at the same restaurant) and call up my buddies to see what's happening for the night, and they are at a club. No one thought to say word one to me. No one thought to ask if I wanted to go, even though they knew I wanted to go dancing. Nothing. Of course if it had been one of them at work the group would have waited, and have waited for them to get off so we could go out. It wouldn't be ab-normal for me to be sitting at home, bored, waiting for my friends to get off work. No call when they said they were getting off, but being the person I am I wait a little. You know, because no one gets off when they say they are going to. Shifts can run long. An hour later I call one of their cell phones, they are out having a good time at a place five minutes from my house. No text message, no call to come meet them even-though we had plans. . . nothing.

I know what you're all saying to yourself s, “well they aren't your friends then.”

You have to understand, they were all I had. At home Dani was being more and more verbally abusive, at work my bosses walked all over me, and all I had was the time I spent with my friends between the two places. I was so desperate I would take any scrap of attention, and they played off it. My ex-boyfriend, especially. Him, and his boyfriend were probably the instigators of most of it, what they called 'light teasing' or a 'joke' destroyed me. You can't say whatever hurtful thing you want and add, “just kidding” to make it okay. It's not okay! I have wounds over this that hurt me more than any of the sexual assaults I have survived.

To sit there, wondering if your friends are alright because they are late or you haven't heard from them. Only to get a call full of laughs, giggles, and cheers because they are out having a good time without you, is shattering. To add more salt to a festering wound, when I would express my anger over what happened they judged me—ridiculed me—and shamed me for being upset. What?! They didn't venture of a thought my way—didn't think twice about me. How would that make you feel to know you didn't even cross their minds. . . no one is thinking of you. . . you don't matter to them. . . you just don't matter. It strikes deeper than I can describe with words. It's one of those experiences I wish on no one, ever. The wounds something like this creates. . . well you've heard of the rise of suicide among teens due to bullying. This is a form of bullying. Things like this drive people to kill themselves.

In this dream last night I was at a diner, having a lonely meal. When in walks my group of friends from high school, you know who you are. Laughing, carrying on and my brother and sister are there, because my mind can't screw with me enough. No one even looks my way as they pass by. Not a single one of them notice me, alone. . . eating. When they do finally notice me I get sneers, and no one asks me to join them. Instead they laugh at my heart-broken expression—they find joy in my pain. I have to leave the diner because I don't want them to see me cry, and I know I'm going to cry. I told myself a long time ago no one would ever see that side of me. . . tears are for the weak, but I do cry over this. It's raining outside, I lost my car keys and can't leave. Outside everything is in shades of blue, while inside there are warm reds and happy faces. Pulling up the hood of my sweater I cross my arms around myself and start to walk home. The tears fall with each step, and I try to tell myself, “I'm walking home because it will be good for me. Even though it's impossibly far and it's late at night.” Because I can't face the fact that no one is there for me. . . I have no one.

When I woke up the feeling stuck with me, the pain fresh and throbbing. I'm hurting now from the memories, and realizing how little I mattered to them. I gave them my all, let them in when I had every caution in my life not to, and yet again I became the walking joke. The bitter bitch, when I expressed my hurt at their hands. I was mocked, laughed at, and judged, by friends—by my life-lines. No wonder I wanted to die back then, what did I have to live for?

Things are different for me now. I have a few friends in my life that I can proudly call friend. They don't leave me out in the cold, and I have distanced myself from those in my past. I don't want to associate with people the bring up awful memories. It's my right not to have them in my life, but it doesn't stop the memories. Or the phantom emotions that drag me into dark waters. A word of advice to everyone, be kind. Just because you think something is a joke, or you do something in the name/spirit of humor, doesn't make it right. Your words and actions effect the people around you. Take notice, and never leave anyone out in the cold. There is enough of us out here that need to brought in.

#BeKind #Friendless #FriendEnemies #Betrayal #MeanSpirit #Alone

~JAX~

P.S.

To the people this entry is in reference to. Screw you. I was your support and your legs when you needed it, and just because I came off strong didn't mean I didn't need support in return. You turned me down when I reached for help, and vilified me when I was suffering at your hands. I hope the world is as cruel to you as you were to me.

(What, I'm a writer not a saint.)