“Have you talked to BFF lately?”
“Why don’t you just call her?”
One of the things about my nervous breakdown, everything lead up to it, and following it, was my BFF. I haven’t discussed much of it here. But my breakdown affected her. I mean, having the close relationship that we had. She was and still is, my second sister. She is every bit as loud and quirky as I am. And I love it.
And I lost that.
After I ended up in the hospital, she distanced herself. It was hard for me. Generally, when you have a friendship like ours, there are still things that you might not discuss, but with her, I could call her if I was taking a shit, and I needed some coaching getting through it. I mean, I didn’t, but it was implied. And I had never had that type of friendship before. I’ve had good friends, this was just, different.
I mean, listen, I’m a pretty guarded person, and while I’m social, it takes me time to warm up to people. Perhaps this is why I’ve always loved blogging. I get to know someone on a different level before I have to meet them, or open myself up. I can keep it as superficial as I like. Because it’s so much easier to just give a LOLZ and a ). And if I have accepted you into my inner circle, I will call you an asshole. It’s just what I do. It’s a term of endearment for me. If you are an asshole, nay, if you are MY ASSHOLE, I love you.
Err. You know what I mean.
So when she started to distance herself from me, and things started to get weird, I was distraught, even despite our conversations about space, I understood. If you love someone, set them free. But I’ll tell you, I hated not talking to her on a daily basis. I hated not being able to call her up and tell her I was wearing my Tuesday underwear on Thursday. No one else would call me a fucker in a classy restaurant because I got gelato in her chocolate. And I felt horrible. I felt guilty, because what if I took too much? Was I expecting too much from a friend? To me, my true friends ARE my family. But I wanted to look back in 30 years and say “Do you remember when…?” Just like I have with other “family” and also family.
Tonight we went out. It was the first time we had gone out, just the two of us in 8 months. Probably longer. I wanted so badly to talk to her. It never really happened. When we hung out, it was weird. Kids, being perceptive creatures they are, would hang on us constantly, afraid to miss something. They KNEW.
It was almost like old times. Except both of us knew. That conversation was looming. I was just about to say something, finally working up the courage, and she says: I don’t want to be a bummer, but…
And we had that conversation. It was long. But long overdue. And while I’m not sure if things are the same, they feel better than they have in a long time. For the first time I feel like tomorrow I can call her and tell her about how I forgot to wear underwear. Again.