lillianne’s R and R (rantings and ravings!)

“It is been a particularly turbulent year”, I keep telling myself.  “Perhaps I’m just being super judgemental.”  “Maybe you just need a break.”

What has happened to my friends?  Is it me?  Is it them?  I considered myself the most blessed woman in the world just a few short years ago, and then I turned 40.  I have always wanted to be 40 (maybe the problem began there–who wantsto be 40?!)   I had this amazing group of woman friends who gathered monthly for great food and conversation. 

I “manifested” the group-a term I frankly no longer believe in, five or so years ago, and at first, it just seemed to click.   My purpose for the group was a place of support and a safe place to work on ourselves as women.  After attempting a few serious chats over food and fire, I could see the group really didn’t want to go in this direction.  The women seemed to prefer hanging out and having fun chatter as some of them eagerly awaited their favorite tv show (which honestly, annoyed the hell out of me–but there I go being judgemental–if it was my favorite show, I’d have felt differently, I’m sure).

I hung my intense need to improve myself on the coat rack in their foyer, and I decided just to hang and have fun–even if that wasn’t our intention when we began the group.

 For whatever reason (and I’m sure they’re varied and all dynamically sooo interesting to the counselor), our little group has really grown apart, and I’m not so sad about it anymore. 

What I’m sad about is that for that time I really believed in the importance of women friendships.  I really thought that a few great women could gather in a safe place and have fun as well as “break down” while the others supported.  

What ended up happening was a weird sort of gathering where I would feel on edge and nervous the entire time.  There are many reasons for this that I won’t go into now.  My main concern is that we’ve all sort of grown apart, and everyone seems to have moved on with the exception of myself.

I live in a world where my thoughts and opinions are shared with very few people.

I’m hurt, disappointed, and angry–at all of them.  I trusted them.  I no longer trust them.  I won’t trust again, I’m sure, because they were the women I thought had more substance and were larger than the stereotypes about how women can act like best friends and yet stab each other in the back.

I am one of the most loyal people on the planet to the few friends in my life.  I don’t want a ton of superficial friends who exchange Christmas presents because it is the thing to do.  I don’t think I even want any of the relationships back–because it is impossible to bring a relationship back–only forward.

I’m feeling sort of, well, pathetic.  I suppose we all feel sorry for ourselves and a little pathetic at one time or another.

I just have to move on, and I thought blogging about the dynamic of the relationships might help me.  I don’t know that I’ll write anymore because I’m even afraid of putting this out into the universe.  People will then know how pathetic Lillianne, who appears quite self-assured, really is.

Katherine says, “Lilly, my dear, go easy on yourself.  You are a lovely woman, and truly a loyal friend. Treasure the moments that you had with these amazing women and know that you’ll have many more.  If not with them, with other fabulous people.”

Oops!  Did I forget to mention Kathrine?  Oh, God, let me introduce you to my Wise Woman.  She’s this gorgeous woman, about 60 or 65 with the most beautiful purple eyes and wonderful long white hair who follows me around and reminds me no good could come from closing the garage door with the van running–and me inside of it. 

Oh, she’s my creation–and sometimes, when I’m feeling pretty wise myself, I even call her Kate.   I call her Kate, too, when I’m pissed at her. 

These days, I never call her Kate.  These days, I rarely hear from her.  I sit on my front porch every morning to gather words of wisdom, and I basically just end up smoking, my mind racing with the “shit of the day”.

Is it even healthy to have this going on inside oneself.  I studied about this years ago in my abnormal psychology class, and I think it borders on Multiple Personality Disorder.  Oh, well, if we can’t be honest in our tight groups of women friends, then hey, I guess the www is the next best place, right?

Back to the women’s group saga…here’s the sad thing…it’s like I don’t even care anymore.  I know what we shared is over,  and my heart aches, but I just have to move on. 

How do we move on?  Come on, Kate, this is where you come in with your words of wisdom…

OK, Kate’s not speaking today.  God, I hate it when she does this.

Today I have witnessed the breakdown of a human being.  I now realize I am supposed to be a part of helping people put their lives back together, not seeing them fall apart.  He made bad choices, and those choices led to deciept of a petty nature.  Am I a fool to be sad for the man that has stolen from me?  I never really look at any of it as mine anyway.  He sobbed, and on the inside, I sobbed.  I grieve for the person that he really is, and I greive for the person who I am.  The person that I can never fully be where I am.  Some would say I was crazy for not being angry, but I never really look at any of it as mine to begin with.  Perhaps that  appears to be disloyal.  Who really cares what things “look like” or “appear to be”?  Who the hell really cares.  When its all said and done, we’re all human beings, and we all make mistakes.  We all fuck up at times, don’t we?  The most painful part was taking his paycheck.  He signed it over as part of the restitution.  A man, 52 years old has just lost his job and does not have a paycheck.  The security person probably thought I was nuts–he said, “I thought you were going to cry.”  I was, asshole.  I was going to cry for him.  That is who I am.  I am compassion.  I am forgiveness.  Security was doing his job, and that’s who he is.  I want to do my job.  Can one make 50K a year and be compassion?  Yeah, guess not.  I’d have never kept his check.  I’d have let him walk, completely walk.  Am I a fool?  I never really look at any of it as mine anyway.  Perhaps it’s because I don’t want it to be mine.  He was always so gruff–his voice, demeanor, mannerisms.  He pleaded for his job.  I would not budge on that, and while it was heart breaking to send him out into the world, he could not be here anymore.  My heart breaks for him.  My heart breaks for all of us who remain.  We’re confused and frightened because he was a part of us, or at least we thought he was.  It is so different when its someone who is at the very core of it.  It makes me wonder, “who is for real?”  God knows I’m not.  I don’t steal things.  I steal moments…of my life…doing work that is not who I am any longer.  Perhaps we’re all just pretending.