Day 107: Friends

Julia once said her mom never minded had any trouble talking to old friends, even ones she hadn't talked to in years. "I can't be mad at them for not calling me. I could call them if I wanted talk. Any silence is mutual." I suspect this doesn't hold true if you try to reach a friend with no response, but the core remains the same; friends, even if you've both changed, stay your friends.

I think of my parent's generation, my grandmother. How often would they see their friends once they moved? I think of my mom's best friend who moved to Utah, and I don't think she's seen her since then, since before her wedding to a charming young Mormon missionary. My grandmother, whose childhood coal town is no longer on any maps, was nearly gone by the time she married my grandfather and moved from Pennsylvania to Connecticut. I think of those Western settlers, writing letters to their friends and family back home. Were they friends then? Were they any less dear from time and distance?

Rereading it, it's an awkward way to phrase things, but it's on my mind for a few reasons. It won't be long before I leave not only Denver, but my country. How will my friendships fair? I don't worry too much, because many of the people dear to me now are hundreds or thousands of miles away, and we've built up a good communication. But it's been more than a year too since I graduated, and I haven't talked to many of those people in a year. It does and doesn't matter. I email Laura, an online-but-made-flesh friend from high school back and forth, months apart. I feel as close to her as I ever have, with a tender trust I feel comfortable assuming is there. I talk to Jess sparingly, but I love her like fire in my chest, a protective, affectionate love like a sister. I write her letters, and think of her daily...

I've changed a lot, in the past few years. I'm more of a bitch, and less emotionally involved with queens and crazies. In part, this is because of Matt. Much of my emotional energy is directed at him, to keep our relationship going and because it's so rewarding. I have a lover, a best friend, and a very nerdy sounding board. I don't have the energy for emotional leeches when I am giving him so much of my loveblood. It's worth it, for everything I get back and, as a bonus, learning not to put up with people who would steal my affections.

And, when I was a young teen, I decided the best thing I could be was completely selfless, equal parts martyr and savior. It worked, for a while. I tried to save a boy, and gave him my everything. Everything. When to told me he preferred loners, I gave up my friends, almost without knowing it. if I could make him happy, save him from himself, it would be worth my pain. You don't realize it when it happens, but martyrs? Saviors? They die. The depression took years to get over, and it's taken me to now to reclaim my sense of self, awareness and ego in one. There's a lightness in my chest when I realize what sort of toxic things I'm missing, how much I don't miss the people I've cut out from my life. It seems silly now, after years of suffering. Really? Was it this easy to avoid drama? To avoid that ache when people hurt themselves and refuse to accept help? Was it so simple, all along, to separate myself from the people who used to be my friends? I guess so. What is the difference, to those present and once-friends, between mutual silence and my gleeful one? Part of me wants to let all the people who I merely drifted away from that they are no longer welcome in my life, but I realized that would stir up more drama, and it's my inner bitch talking. Best to let sleeping dogs die, as they almost say. I'll deal with it when it arises.

There are very few people I feel this antipathy for. For the most part, for everyone but for a small handful of people, I sit in silence. How many people are truly bad for me? Few, I think, and less, as I get older, bitchier, and more perceptive. I sit in contented what I can only hope is mutual silence for most of my friends. Maybe I should.. email some of them..