Make-believe is weird.

I'm going to bed very soon, but just have to remark on two things (one is very long):

1. After 18 months such as my last, life seems almost rote--no more crises. And I'm not complaining, because this is infinitely better, but it does take a bit of adjustment and there is a very odd feeling of being at a loss because life is different.

2. I seem to have lost my understanding of how I fit in other people's lives--or perhaps more accurately--there is a certainty that I do not. My brother told me last week that my sisters miss the "old" me and believe I have changed. My response was that I haven't changed at all; I simply allowed them to see who I really was and they don't like that person as much as the pretend one. She sometimes talks about herself, shares information, likes, and dislikes. She doesn't sit quietly, listening to problems and helping sort them out, all the time. And she doesn't bend over backwards to celebrate family birthdays (while no one has ever acknowledged hers), or call all the time, or visit often. She, for some inane reason, has developed a belief that relationships need to be two-sided, and one person doing all the work might be fun for the other, but desperately lonely and empty for the toiling one.

This has permeated my friendships, as well. While no one has said anything about, well, anything, I still don't see how I can possibly be a part of anyone's life. It's not a devaluation of myself, simply me observing an incongruence and unable to balance it equitably. I don't belong anywhere--this is what seems to be the surviving truth, the one thing I have always known which has seemed to never change. Every pleasant discovery seems to be accompanied by the knowledge that it should not exist and as time passes, that knowledge seems to overshadow the delight of the initial discovery.

I remember Sully telling me, years ago, how much he enjoyed our friendship--only to follow that remark with, "It's a weird relationship." And he was correct. Our age difference, alone, was enough to be daunting. That same stigma exists in my friendship with AtP...well...with most of the friends I've made recently. And it doesn't matter whether I look my age, because I am my age.

I remember four years ago, after I encountered for the first time in more than a decade, the cousin who raped me, Tolkien Boy was kind and gentle enough to hold me. And he commented that we "fit" nicely--and I giggled, because I can't think of anyone else in the world who would notice, let alone, remark on that. Then later, when I had time to remember, my soul shrank because I was concerned that that kind of close contact with me was probably damaging to TB, and I shook my head, baffled...we fit? That does not happen to me. I don't fit anywhere, physically, spiritually, emotionally... And what's the point, anyway? Incongruence, yet again...

I remember feeling absolutely safe in my friendship with Jason for nearly three years, and then one winter evening he let me know that he did not feel the same--things felt weird, to him. I believe I said loudly and clearly, that he was free to leave any time he wished, but my stomach ached because it seemed, once again, that there really was no safe place for me--no place at all, safe or not. And I was angry with myself for becoming comfortable. I knew better than to let that happen. But I also believed my friendship with Jason was healthy and important, and I think part of him agreed with me because we're still friends, even if our friendship is weird.

I remember when Ambrosia told me I could stay with her and Bawb when I came to Utah. And I didn't cry in front of her, because that's just awkward, but I cried on the way home because I didn't understand why she would allow that, but I was very glad she did. And I've stayed with her many, many nights. Once, when I was supposed to drive home, I recognized I was much too tired to begin my trip. I dropped in on her and she let me nap. There aren't many people who will let you just come to their homes and sleep. And Ambrosia and I believe different things about God and life and death and, well, pretty much everything that most people believe are important. They don't seem to be as important to me as just sharing time and conversation with her. Maybe that's weird, too.

And sometimes, when I'm hundreds of miles away, I find myself wishing I could make AtP laugh, or sit quietly with Tolkien Boy, or pretend I'm wise when I'm know I'm not with Jason. Or I wish I could laugh with Ambrosia because she dislikes nearly every food on which I subsist, but sometimes I pretend she likes those things, too. In those moment, even knowing I don't belong in their lives, I cherish all those weird friendships, and for just a moment, I pretend I do belong, somehow. I know. I don't. I belong right here, in front of my computer, working, but perhaps a mental vacation is as helpful as an actual one sometimes, and everyone needs vacations. Therapist told me so and I believe everything he says.