WARNING: This post may be perceived as whiny and selfish, so if you wish to spare yourself, don't read!
Over the past three months, I have had two friends get married and one friend have a baby. I am thrilled for all three of them. One friend came off of a very difficult first marriage and finally found a man who loves her and cares for her deeply. My other recently married friend finally found someone amazing after years of less-than-stellar partnerships, and many tears shed over, "Why can't I find a guy?" And my friend who just gave birth finally did so after years of trying, thinking of foster care, and fertility treatments.
And yet...there's this other side of me which feels...well, bitter. Depressed. Left out. On the outside looking in.
My friends and I have a lot in common, as you know. We've all had our share of adversity when it comes to men and children. I had another wedding to go to yesterday, and during the ceremony, I started to think, "I'd like for that to happen to me." And then later, during the reception, I thought, "Why hasn't it? So-and-so has a girlfriend, and so-and-so is now married, why am I still single?"
And then I was sitting next to this guy at the reception, and we really hit it off, and we had a good time. My friends couldn't understand why he didn't ask me for my phone number--and then the bride tells me that he, well, plays for the other team. I told her that I was kind of disappointed that we didn't exchange information, and after she told me, I felt awful. Awful that I felt like he was leading me on, and awful that I told her that I was sad--on her frakkin' wedding day!--what was going through my head! So now I've hurt my friend's feelings, and I won't be able to talk to her until after her honeymoon--if I do.
After the ceremony, people were talking about getting together with the bride, mostly couples. Well, I'm single. This really started to hurt. Badly.
Here's the thing: I have never complained about my lack of a romantic partner, but yesterday, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Now I realize I may be missing something. My philosophy is to never complain about something unless you can do something about it, but the thing is, I'm scared as hell to join an internet dating site or put myself out there to meet someone. And at this point I must confess something: I've never had a steady boyfriend. I'm afraid of dating right now because my lack of experience is going to count against me. That, and I'm afraid of getting my heart broken. Basically, I'm either the gay man's best friend, or guys aren't interested in me more than friendship. What is wrong with me?
And my friend with the baby: Yes, I know she has new priorities now, and can't spend as much time with me. She's spending time now with her mother friends. Again, I'm feeling left out, and I shouldn't be. It's a pretty damn cute baby, too, and I really would like to spend more time with her and the baby. But as my friend says, weekends are saved for family time.
And I am not a part of the family.
So why am I taking this to the blog, as opposed to face-to-face contact with my friends? Easy. I'm afraid of pushing my friends away. They're going to think I'm acting like a two-year-old. Which I am. So I am better off putting a smile on my face, faking everything's cool, and pushing my feelings way down into my gut and not saying a word.
Not like they'd care. My friends are a very tight-knit bunch. They all live within the immediate area--except for me. They're all in a choir--except for me. They all get together for dinner before choir rehearsal--except for me. Geography, I realize, pays a huge part in this. I have a mortgage; it's not like I can switch apartments. And I have a steady job; not like I can switch in a jiffy (especially in this economy).
I'm at the point where I plan not to return phone calls, to isolate myself from the world. And I know that's not healthy. I just can't believe I'm feeling this way, that I'm not stopping myself from doing so. Not like anyone would care; I've pretty much come to the conclusion that I'm always going to be on the outside looking in, career-wise or friend-wise.
I used think that I was okay being the single, crazy cat lady.
I'm not sure about that anymore.
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