Not Ready For Goodbye: My thoughts and recent revelations about why I’m so afraid of making new girlfriends.

I.

Dear God:

With regard to the recent revelations that have come about regarding my deep-seeded hurt and crippling fear of rejection, I wanted to say thank you for speaking through Mike. I realize that all of this could have been revealed some other way; You just picked the nicest way possible. I am grateful for the gesture.

Affectionately Yours,

Bean
II.

When I wrote about my reluctance to make new friends/open up/give of myself in “Green Eggs and Jelly Beans”, I didn’t think I’d write a follow-up piece so soon. But here I am, exhausted from crying, my eyes still swollen and waterlogged from peeing out of my eyes for hours last night. This sounds dramatic but it’s not far from the truth. I look like I’ve had an allergic reaction to shellfish. In my defense, the hurt I had buried deep within me was coaxed to the surface. When I finally had the courage to peek at it, which was more of a sidelong glance if I’m honest, I realized that my heart still bled over this wound. And that it was the root of my fear.

It started with an unassuming conversation over a cup of coffee at The Gypsy Den. Mike gently brought up my friends or lack of friends, to be more accurate. He cautiously, gently, kindly mentioned that he had noticed that I’d changed from the girl he first met:

“You immediately bring up some embarrassing story about your bodily functions—often times when it’s just shocking or inappropriate. Why do you feel the need to do this?”

Silence.

I didn’t answer because I really didn’t know. I’d never thought about it before. Heck, I didn’t even realize I had become this girl. He proceeded (gingerly) to share his thoughts about this new Bean:

“I think you talk about your armpits or farts to shock people; you use it as a way of ‘being real’, when it’s really not being real. The first thing I noticed and really liked about you was the fact that you were very interested in people, even if you’d just met them. You were engaged in conversation; you were present; you made yourself vulnerable by sharing so much of your life, but you were vulnerable without caring. You were just open and honest and sincere. Now, I think you keep people at arm’s length by just telling them funny and embarrassing stories about yourself. But whenever someone really wants to be friends with you—wants to get to know you—you just make up excuses for why you can’t or don’t want to.”

Pardon my language but

[Insert loud noises, fireworks, screeching tires, and high-pitched screams]

Of course, he asked why this had become my modus operandi. Of course, I didn’t have an answer. But I did start to cry. At this point he suggested we walk home. It felt like the longest walk ever. We walked in silence and listened to the sounds of our breathing, my sniffling, broken glass crunching underfoot, and the distant whirring of the freeway.

At home, Mike tried to help me figure out why I had changed so drastically. I cried a lot. I was sad I had embarrassed him on a few occasions. I was sad I had probably hurt really good, really nice girls by repeatedly rejecting their friend requests. I was sad because I knew that my eyes would be super swollen from my ridiculous cry-fest. But I think it was good for me.

I learned a few things that night:

1. Puffs tissue is soft on the nose but not very good at absorbing tears. I went through several tissues and discovered that the aloe moisturizers infused in the tissues make them somewhat water resistant. Okay, not completely water resistant but I don’t think they are as effective as normal conference room tissues. They felt slimy on my face.

2. I do keep girls at arm’s length, despite how nice and kind and perfectly wonderful they are.

3. I do this because I’m afraid to get close. I wasn’t always this way.

4. Mike is right: I am missing out on some amazing friendships by not giving anyone a chance.

5. I have never really gotten over her.

III.

It took us awhile to become friends. Our first impressions were off by a few degrees (to say the least). I saw her as the prettiest girl on campus, innocent and pure and the object of desire for almost every guy I knew. She saw me as a pretty b*tch. Needless to say, she was wrong about me (I was right about her), which led to our inevitable friendship.

And oh, how I loved this girl! She was fun and nice and lovely and innocent and wholesome and extremely bright and terribly beautiful. Despite my goofiness and emotional instability, she loved me and always seemed to bring out the best in me. It wasn’t long before I knew she was going to be one of those “forever friends”, you know—one of those people you know is going to be in your life for a long time.

We were practically joined at the hip. Everyone knew that where I was, she was too (and vice versa). She often took me as her date to sorority events even though I was not “Greek”. I felt loved and cool and special because this girl--this girl that was loved by so many girls and adored by so many guys--this girl was my roommate and one of my best friends. We shared our hopes and fears, our secret and not-so-secret dreams. I held nothing back from her. I loved her and wanted her to succeed, wanted her to find love and accomplish all of her dreams. I wanted the best for her, wanted to protect her from all the bad in the world and celebrate every victory and accomplishment with her. No matter what happened (and a lot happened to me), she always rooted for me. She was great at making me feel loved and special, like it was her job. In fact, it was because of her that I met Mike. That’s probably one of the best gifts—aside from her friendship—that she has ever given me. I experienced (and survived) some of the best, most volatile years of my life with her by my side.

The end was unexpected and heartbreaking. I can only speculate how she felt.

Our lives started to move in two different directions. She and another roommate were graduating after four years. I had another year to go because I had allowed my “extracurricular activities” to get the best of me. She had been accepted into the Master’s program at UCSD and was well on her way to becoming a doctor. While I celebrated their graduation I tried to hide my anxious fears and suppress my guts, which threatened to spill out at any time.

A beautiful boy who had talked marriage broke up with me. I had a full year to “get it together” and finish school; I had a lot of work ahead of me. To be honest, I was a bit sad I wasn’t celebrating my graduation with them.

There was talk of moving into a bigger house, one I couldn’t possibly afford to live in on my meager student’s budget. I knew I wouldn’t be able to afford the rent. I didn’t say anything; I didn’t want to disappoint her. It was easy to avoid thinking about the end of our cohabitation because she worked days, I worked nights; we hardly saw each other. When my other roommate asked for my rental application, I was just leaving for work so I had to tell her I wasn’t going to be moving with them because I couldn’t afford it. I hadn't even told her.

I felt terrible. I already missed her.

She was cool and distant toward me when I got home so I knew she’d heard the news. I felt bad I didn’t tell her myself. I believe it hurt her more than I thought it would. She didn’t understand. She said some things that seemed foreign coming out of her mouth, things I knew were meant to mask her disappointment. She ended with, “Good luck with that.”

For the second time that day, I felt terrible. And I felt very alone.

I spent the rest of my summer alone (in hiding, really), nursing my hurt. I didn’t have the courage to apologize for hurting her, for letting her down. We grew apart and hardly spoke. I spent most of my time alone. I hung out in bars while working on crossword puzzles. I drove around with a stuffed elephant (Aidan) I bought at Marshall’s strapped into the passenger’s seat. I just wanted some company. When I wasn’t at work, I drove up to Los Alamitos and Irvine to see my family and stayed until I had to drive back down to work. Sometimes I slept in my car. I went from having a best friend/almost-sister and a community that we belonged to together to being completely alone. I got used to the solitude. I never got used to being without her. We moved out without seeing each other, without saying goodbye.

I moved in with three boys I found on Craigslist. I just happened to be across the street from where Mike lived, but I didn’t find out till later, and that’s another story for another time. Aside from her, most of my friends had graduated and moved away. I started the school year alone.

I cried over her a lot that year. Just when I thought I had gotten over it, someone would call and ask if I was going to their party, and I’d have to say I wasn’t invited. Of course, that person would ask why since I was her other half, and I’d have to gently explain we no longer kept in touch. Those were always awkward phone calls.

I sent a few text messages and tried to call. I never received any responses. One day in May, I received a text. And then a call. I have to admit I was scared and anxious and hopeful all at once. We talked. She was familiar but not at the same time. So much had happened since we last spoke. We said we should get together for lunch sometime. We never did.

The last time I heard from her was on the day I graduated. I read it and re-read it to make sure I wasn’t joking myself. Mike and I were running around the field, giddy with excitement that the commencement ceremony was finally over. While looking for my family, I received a text:

I watched you graduate today. I’m so proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished. Good luck with the future.

Or something to that effect. I think there was more but I can’t remember it now. I immediately looked around to see if I could spot her watching from afar. I never found her.

I wrote to her a few times after graduation to say I had no hard feelings for how things turned out. I thanked her for loving me so much and for taking such good care of me while we were friends and roommates. I saw that she read my e-mail. She never responded. I stopped trying because I didn’t want to seem desperate.

IV.

It may seem silly and inconsequential to be so hung up on the end of a friendship but I haven’t had one like it since. Don’t get me wrong—I do have some girlfriends. I have two very dear friends—my best girls, my “forever friends”—who have been with me through the mire and back. They were around long before her and are still in my life now. Mike was really the first close friend I made after the fallout. And then he became my best friend. I assume you can guess what happened after that. To be honest, I sort of gave up on girls after her.

But I think I’m ready. I haven’t been a “girlfriend” to new friends in a long time. I used to be really good at it (I think). Now it feels foreign and terrifying. So much of me wants to run and hide and give up all at once. I am a coward.

But I am trying because Mike said I have a lot to give, and that I am great at being a friend (to him at least). He told me not to be afraid. He said he didn’t want me to miss out on great friendships for the rest of my life. He said I would be blessed by my girlfriends in ways I could not anticipate. I knew he was right.

V.

Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, know that I still think of you. I hope you’re doing well and that your life is filled with much happiness, laughter, and love. You touched my life in ways you will never know. I think of you—the person you were, the person I was at that time in our lives—with the fondest memories.
And since it was your birthday (a day and a month ago) yesterday, Happy Birthday.