“Friendship is rare, do you know what I’m saying to you: friendship is rare.”
I am not the easiest person to be friends with. I’ll admit that.
Trauma has left me, well, less than trusting even of my closest friends. And for those who have actually hurt me….well my imagination runs riot and my voices just eggs it on.
So I am very, very cautious about people.
I actually don’t like cutting people out of my life. I don’t think anyone does, it’s unpleasant and someone can mean a lot to you and you still just can’t get it right.
Being prone to paranoia means I need people I can ask stupid questions without fear of embarrassment. Ridicule I expect, in a friendly way, in fact it can make these little paranoias less frightening. My brother was excellent at that. He rolled his eyes, shook his head, called me psychic and laughed and I laughed too because I had to or I would simply cry. Or try to anyway.
A friendship (or something undefined but not unlike one through a carnival mirror) cannot live within set hours, times and patterns. I can’t live like that. I need to trust those close to me completely – it makes it very hard to meet new friends but my voices seem to have a natural mistrust of people and rightly so.
People are sh** and nothing you say can convince me otherwise.
At the same time, people can be wonderful. Just the right people. The ones who take your messaging TMI body issues or general crap 24/7 for what it is – love and trust (thank you wives, you’re beautiful.)
I get paranoid. I get anxious. I get insecure. I’m mostly okay – in fact better than I’ve been in years, I’m finally feeling like myself again but if you treat me like rubbish and expect me to forget it on top of working on my issues and also expect text and call on an unspecified timescale for which I am punished when I get it wrong, well honey, I don’t care how charismatic you are. I don’t care if you make me laugh. I don’t care if you’re f—ing gorgeous but I won’t deal with it.
So deal with that.