I Suck at Friendship

I saw that she had tried to call me, about 15 min after we were supposed to speak. I had planned and reschedule on her already for our phone call, but once again, my brain failed me. Not that I had forgotten this time, but I had laid down for a nap with every intention of calling her on time, then proceeded to sleep through the alarm, then proceeded to wake up thinking I had woken up in time, then proceeded to fall back to sleep. I had felt terribly about it upon realizing that I had missed her call. So much so that I texted her back and tried to make up the lost time. 

Before I was married, I hardly forgot or missed a date. Now, it’s like I can’t set a date to save my life. I forget about it or I double book it or I just can’t seem to get myself together enough to make it on time. The worst part of it all, is that if I fuck up my own social life, I fuck up my husband’s. He knows so few people, and I’m the only one who contacts anyone to hang out because of it. His social life is entirely dependent on me. The introvert of the two of us. Ironic. 

I feel like I’m unintentionally pushing people away. I want to see them. I want to spend time with them. I care and love them very much. I just am so sucky at keeping plans since I got married. What’s worse is that I promised I wouldn’t do this to people. I promised that my marriage wouldn’t make me fall off the face of the earth, because it had hurt my feelings so much to have my friends do it to me. Yet, I’m so tired being at the beck and call of my workplace and then having to come home and be at the beck and call of my husband. There really is no such thing as introverting and down time anymore. I can’t have days where all I do is nap without interruption. I can’t have the silence, or the daydreaming I used to, or at least, not the same quality of it. It’s like my brain can never refresh fully because the presence of another human being is there, forever. It’s weird. I don’t like it. 

Part of me hopes this is temporary. Another part of me knows it isn’t. My husband is having a difficult time making friends of his own in the area. So he relies on me to make them for him. So here I am juggling the social life of an extrovert. Tired. Exhausted even. Neglecting my friends who are single for the couples I had so long also been neglected by until I was no longer single. I feel like I’ve only been married for a few months and the only respite I got out of it was a buissness meeting to IL(which was super fun and I really ought to write a blog post about it, but I’m not sure I’ll get to it), which doesn’t sound relaxing at all, but was a nice step outside of my husband’s life for an overnight, and a refreshing step back into my own world. A very clear step of only having to worry about myself again. The way it used to be. 

All that sounds super selfish. I’ll admit it probably is. Which makes me feel like a shitty person. I don’t feel like I should play mother like this. I don’t feel like I should be responsible for my husband’s play dates. I’m hardly good at being responsible for my own. To be honest I really haven’t had my own play date in a long time. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I need to have my own separate friends again, the ones who aren’t another couple. Individuals I can keep in touch with and have all my own. Knowing myself though, I’d probably forget those dinner dates and such as well. Maybe I’m just destined to be a shitty friend forever. 

Bad Weather Girl

“It’s supposed to rain tomorrow.” 

“Really?” 

“Yep.” 

The weather isn’t something I pay much attention to for some reason. At least not like other people seem to. It’s not something that occurs to me to pay attention to. It doesn’t really demand my attention like other things in my life. My projects at work do. Juggling things at home does. My insurance does. The weather is hardly on my radar. 

I have a few coworkers who seem to know the entire weekly forecast. They know every nuance. A change happens and they’ll tweet about it. If it changes while they’re asleep, they announce it to the world as if it’s a perfectly normal topic of conversation. Though, I do recall lots of movies and books speaking about the weather being just that. It just seems like such a trivial topic. Who has time to pay attention to it? Are people’s lives so dull that the weather becomes such a primary part of it? Do people not have enough to worry about? 

I can feel it when I wake up though. Very strongly. I’m very physically and emotionally affected by weather. Perhaps I ought to pay more attention to it, but I like waking up to the surprise of it. The unpredictability of it. The disorganization and unstructured nature of it. The unpredictability of it. I like my life that way. Unpredictable and unstructured. I just can’t make everything in my life fully structured no matter how much I try. I associate it too much with work. I like living the pieces of my life outside of work on the fly. No plans are the best plans much of the time. Of course there is a mild bit of planning. Little tasks that are in my brain, but if the weather doesn’t permit an activity, then it simply doesn’t happen. Most of my plans tend to be indoor anyway. 

I get wanting to think trivially though. Or even thinking more structurally. When you make your world smaller it becomes simpler. You can organize things better. My husband thinks that way. Compartmentalizes things. Organizes his world in a very meticulous and sensible manner. He knows the weather. He knows the details of his life.  Not that he is a small thinker, but his plans are smaller and more sensible. His opinions and his creativity may not be, but those things he takes action on and implements are. I’m not that way, but I can appreciate that kind of thinking. 

Some days I’m disappointed that I can’t think that way in my home life.  Why is it that I can manage deadlines and designs but not plans at home? I think it’s because I fear inflexibility. My whole life I have had someone in it who is structured and inflexible.  Setting a plan means having something inflexiblesometimes. My brothers both have anxiety problems. My husband does too. I was always the one who had to adjust to the weather of their personalities. I can’t predict their storms. I can’t tell when the clouds will roll in. So I roll instead. Why? Because it creates better harmony. Less disappointment. Less conflict. Better environmental climate. Is it exhausting? Yes. Is it worth the effort? I’m not sure in reality if it is or not. It certainly makes my life easier. Or gives me the perception that my life is easier. 

Back to that fear of inflexibility: I see the torment and insecurity that inflexibility causes in the lives of my loved ones and coworkers. How much it prevents people from having experiences. How it inhibits intelligence, rationality, and growth. How lonely it can be to be inflexible. Of course this is all only my perception. It seems like a really difficult life from an outside perspective. I suppose in context they’re comfortable and that’s what matters to them. They need that. Because fear takes over and causes chaos. To me, chaos is inevitable. The unexpected is expectable. Most things are not so chaotic that the world will end. Most average storms are endurable. But, admittedly, I am not Everyman. 

I see in myself the problems flexibilities can cause. I often go into tasks expecting the worst and being pleasantly surprised when they go well. It can make a person very critical and even cynical. A dark person. A passive agressive person. Which I tend to be, and pass it off as sarcasm and morbid humor, though less so when I’ve been drinking or had copious amounts of coffee…like now…which has been the entire fueling of the blog post and broken my streak of prolonged silence. 

The biggest issue with being flexible is that it requires you to set inconsistent boundaries. Some days it all works out. Others it doesn’t. Which can be super annoying to some people. You also can spread yourself too thin because you want to be flexible for everyone and people please more often than you’d like. You over share options and personal information which also annoys people. Basically, you can become a problem. The very thing you try to avoid. You become the unintentional and unpredictable  storm. Which often makes me a bad weather girl. 

Androgynous

“I’ve never seen you wear a dress. I guess I just always thought you were androgynous.” 

The statement had stunned me for a bit. I knew I didn’t wear dresses or very obviously femenin clothing really at work much, but I didn’t think I wore it so rarely that others had described me as androgynous. I hardly knew the word but from a few posts here and there on Instagram from people I followed. I had always associated the term with a kind of unisex vibe. People not wanting to be one way or the other. Neutral. Sometimes odd, over-done, or even alien-esq looks, which I have been known to do. 

I’m not mad at all about the label. Just surprised by it.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the term. Mainly because, after googling it, I’ve lived and been defined as an androgynous person in many ways without ever having realized it. My interest are vast. My lifestyle has been independent, even since getting married. I’m a strong personality often associated with being male, and also a nurturing personality as often associated with being more female. I grew up with brothers, watching sci-fi with warriors and strong female leads. Playing Star Wars, Pokémon, Digimon, and Transformers. I was repulsed by romance novels and romantic comedies. I liked action and suspense. I liked drama and tragedy. I liked thrillers and the films that often made people WTF. I grew up being one of the guys. Defined as a female with male tastes. Having more male than female friends. Even being called one of the bros. Whatever that even means. 

 Honestly, I think the pants and the short hair are really the strongest indicators of something close to androgynous about me. I keep my hair short because it’s easy to maintain curly short hair than it is with long curls. I enjoy doing my makeup, but don’t often wear dresses. I prefer button ups, leather jackets, blazers, and hoodies over dresses, skirts, lace, and sparkle, but only because it’s usually impractical for me to wear dresses in most occasions, especially at work. I wear heels when I can and tennis shoes when it is comfortable. I love glittery makeup and dramatic lipstick. I love lacy bras and panties. Getting my nails done. Things that tend to be described as distinctly female and feminine are still my forte. 

I hardly think any of this is really something I could label as androgynous though. Mainly because I get the impression that androgyny seems as though it ought to be intentional, and consistent. Something you identify yourself as. A lifestyle choice. Maybe even a sexuality if one could go so far as to say. I feel what I do fashion wise is more a combination of eclectic and modern. I mean, the entierty of fashion seems to be male driven when one thinks about it, especially since WWII when more women entered into the army and were wearing a similar variation of the male uniform simply because it was practical, and women back home started taking on more male dominated jobs and needed more practical clothes to wear. Fashion was driven that direction for women then, and the sexual revolution did more to encourage fashion that way along with feminism, when women were beginning to strive to be more than just objects of pleasure, but actual people with shit to get done and needing practical clothes in which to do it. 

My tastes in media and fashion are also what I would define as eclectic. Merely preferences. Perhaps influences by enjoying a childhood with two brothers. Perhaps not. Not an intentional statement, just a personal one. Though I’m sure one could argue that androgyny is also a personal statement. In which case we could leave it all at that and nix labels altogether. However, I can see how my coworker thought I could be androgynous. If a person needs a label to organize their world, referring to me as androgynous is a better label than most things. 

Mourn and Hope

I’m afraid to tell you the name of the Facebook group. Mainly because I’m pretty sure it isn’t legal to do his sort of thing. Passing off prescriptions in every case is illegal…at least I’m pretty sure. However, there I was, looking at the screen. Reading all the posts of desperation, the outcry for this kind of insulin, that kind of insulin pump attachment set, the horror stories of painful arguments with insurances and pharmacies that would end in moot meaningless apologies. The whole time wondering who added me to this Facebook group. 

 The group was of others who were diabetics from all across the country, asking others to share the excess diabetic supplies with people who were either struggling to get some because of switching insurances, having no insurance from loss of jobs, or being unable to afford even the “affordable” healthcare. My heart ached as people would post their plights. One woman was struggling to get her insurances to switch over and her son had been without insulin for nearly a month. She had syringes they could reuse, but they just couldn’t get the insulin. Even the Pharmacy was trying to help her fight for it, desperate on her behalf. She was pleading with anyone who would help her get her hands on some for her eight-year-old. Thankfully others came to her aid in the comments, but my heart just shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. It struck me. It struck me so hard. Like my heart had been in a bloody bar fight and came out the loser….barely alive. There were so many stories like hers. 

At any moment I could be in their place. 

As some of you who are my “veteran readers” (congrats you’ve been titled)  know, I am a Type One Diabetic. I was diagnosed at age eight. Being diabetic has been hard on my prideful and at times, depressed soul. Okay, I’m whiny and I know it. Let’s call it like it is. But, diabetes is a very serious and expensive condition. In my time as a diabetic, I’ve been very fortunate to have wealthy family and friends who have been there to assist me generously when I was in a bind. I’ve had good insurance for a very long time and have been fortunate to never be in want of diabetic supplies. Though, when a person added me to this group (to be honest I didn’t know the person who started it, nor did I know the person who added me, so I haven’t the slightest how I came to be added to it at all) I became so much more aware of the plight of other diabetics in the world. 

It humbled me. Considerably. 

I was once an eight-year-old very aware of my mortality, and absolutely terrified to die young. I could only imagine what it felt like for that little boy, knowing he needed his meds to live, and knowing he was off of them for far too long. I could empathize with parents trying to make low carb meals (that were filling for a growing child) on a shoe string budget and walking on eggshells with food and diet to keep blood sugars from getting worse. I could imagine the feeling of those high blood sugars that boy would feel. The joint stiffness and aching, the difficulty processing information (especially in school). Trying to function like a child should, while working with what felt like half a mind, body, and chronic exhaustion caused by high blood sugars? The worst. Feeling dumb for not understanding the assignment. Feeling weak because muscle fatigue made your arms feel so much like noodles you could hardly hold a pencil. Feeling like your eyes should just close and sleep it all off, but being afraid you wouldn’t wake up if you did. Then there was the long term fear that ever doctor makes very clear when you’re first diagnosed:  the fear of organ failure. 

My words are so limited to explain all of it. You would have to have lived it to know it. 

None of this probably resonates with you. Most of you will probably skip over this and never read it. Even if you do, you’ll go about your lives forgetting this exists. Why? Because even if you do read it, you’ll be just like I am now. Sittings on here, writing a blog post or voicing an experience to social media, without knowing what you can do. I’m with you there. It resonates with me because it hits close to home, but I know there is little I can do. I’m not wealthy, just a combination of lucky and blessed. I’m just out here trying to make my own life work. Even if I could throw money at the problem, what good would it do? There are so many out there that need it and aren’t going to be as lucky or blessed as I was. 

So I mourn.

I mourn at how limited I am. I mourn at my own situation and the fear I feel. I mourn because I, and so many others, are so weak physically and financially and handouts can only go so far. I mourn because so many will die tonight because of a disease we talk so much about, and still know so little about. I mourn, because mourning does nothing to fix it. I am helpless, and I am no less that fearful eight-year-old all over again. I mourn, because I can relive the questions, the fear of not waking up in the morning, the feelings I feel both physically and emotionally when there was something wrong in my body and nothing I could do would stop it. I know that story. I lived it. I cannot unlive it, and I am helpless to save anyone else from it. 

So I mourn, and I hope. For what? I’m not sure. Just something better that I don’t have words for. 

Trying

I had a panic attack. Again. I’m sure you’re probably sick of hearing that. Just as much as I’m sick of having them. This time the trigger was another letter from my health insurance company. It was official. My premium … Continue reading