I have had a bit of a setback. Nothing terrible, but a reminder of how unhealed I am on so many levels. And how I try bloody hard not to be too disappointed about my “lack”.
An old friend of mine, who lived overseas for about two decades, has moved home with her family recently. I attended her (second, first too, many decades ago) wedding – to her partner of seventeen years and father of her only child – a couple of years ago. She has been at me and another old school friend to come up and have a girls’ weekend for several months. The other friend hasn’t been able to free up time in her schedule, so Fran asked me to come up anyway. We organised this about a month ago.
This friend used to flat with Leanne. She and her first husband shared a house with her, prior to their marriage. Fran was the whistle-blower to Roger about Leanne’s cheating all those years ago. Leanne was her “friend”, but she was strong enough to tell Roger about her slutty behaviour anyway. I always admired her for that strength as a young woman.
I have struggled in social situations this past few years. After a lifetime of loving social situations – albeit not necessarily a total natural (I don’t have a quick wit, always think of the perfect retort/comment/witty repartee when tucked up in bed later) – I now dread them. But I am making an effort to try to reverse this. So, I had got myself a bit “up” about the prospect of a weekend in our largest city. I planned a visit to my favourite fragrance and designer boutiques. I even fluked it, and our racehorse is entered for a start at one of the racecourses on the Saturday. In anticipation of what we are planning, I messaged Fran on Monday to ask her when she is expecting me. I have realised I do not have her mobile number, we have always communicated via Facebook Messenger. It is now Thursday night, and I can see she saw my query on Tuesday, and still has not replied. I was trying to work out whether I should take a packed bag to work tomorrow so I can get up there on Friday night. Now I don’t even know if it is still happening.
And I feel disappointed. Contagious. Ruined. Toxic. Not-to-be-touched.
I know this is utterly ridiculous, and that I am overreacting and being over-sensitive. But the reality is, I feel utterly drained and miserable. About someone else’s “neglect” – which is most likely just an oversight. I hate how pathetic it makes me feel. And the way I am so easily deflated by outside influences. It makes me feel like I am not in control, and such a … CHILD!
Sometimes (rather too often) I hate being me!