On staying home

Due to the spread of the Corona Virus, my school (and every school in the country) has been shut down until further notice.
This came as a shock to everybody, but I guess especially to me. I don't follow the news much so I didn't know how bad it was. I followed what was happening in Wuhan because of my friends there but otherwise, I rarely know what's happening in the country I live in.
It was eerie going to work on Friday, not knowing when I'll be back. I took everything I thought I would need to teach from home. I tried to prepare the students to the best of my abilities, to give them tips and ideas. And then the bell rang and I went home.
And now I am home.
My gym has closed, my dance classes have been cancelled so I have no reason to go out.
And... It's a relief.
I mean.... I kind of love my life at the moment.
I don't have to wake up at ungodly hours to commute, I can still teach and I finally have time to focus on the million of project that I never have time for.
Being forbidden from going outside has lifted the usual guilt I have when staying home.
The feeling that I should be doing something that matters. Seeing friends, exploring the world, making new experiences, making memories.
I am an introvert at heart, though I may be very out going for an introvert. Socializing is costly and usually born off a feeling of guilt and shame.
The lock down feels like a relief. A welcome moment out of time, a parenthesis where I can rest and grow.
Knit and sew and study. Maybe write. Maybe read.
And rest.
It feels like casting off a weight I didn't know I carried.

On unmatched love

I have come to realize that i love my best friend more than she loves me.
I think I have known for a long time.
I don't blame her. It's not something she does. I just think I give more value to our friendship than she does.
She has social anxiety so I have always been the one maintaining our relationship. She is not good at answering her phone and answering messages. I think she is sorry for it but unapologetic at the same time. "It's not because I have a phone that I have to be available all the time." and she is right about that. From our conversations on MSN to the pictures of cute bunnies I send her, I have always been the one initiating our conversations. It kind of hurts because I hate to beg for attention but hey, it's that or not having news for months in a row. So I try. I send her pins, messages, posts, texts, small reminders that I exist and I love her and I miss her always.
She has social anxiety and planning/organizing stuff exhausts her so she keeps that energy for those who she wouldn't see if she didn't make the effort. But since I make the effort, I guess she felt like she could rely on me to plan stuff.
But it means that more than once, I tried but she didn't meet me half way and screwed my evening, day, weekend.
She doesn't do it on purpose. she doesn't do it out of malice. I know that. But it hurts.
My mum once said that she is not a very good friend. And she took it very badly. She was hurt by the comment.
But I think my mother is right. She is a great person, but not a great friend. At least not to me.
Oh she loves me! She truly does.
But we both know that I shouldn't rely on her for any kind of emergency. Or book time for her before she actually confirms (which, since she doesn't communicate much makes it a tad difficult) and that even then there is a not-zero chance that she might not come.

I think I can safely say that she's always been a priority for me. Making sure that she is happy, that I see her, that she feels loved.
She is important to me. and I though that was enough.
I thought loving her was enough and that it didn't matter if she didn't love me as much or as well. That loving her was the point of friendship and that true friendship meant taking the extra step and meeting her where she was. Not asking from her anything more than what she would voluntarily give.
This is what a good person would say, would do, would feel.

The problem is that I am not exactly a good person.
I try to, but I am not.
I am possessive, constantly afraid of being forgotten and abandoned and to end up alone.
I am not jealous, but definitely envious.
I am probably much too self-centered and at least a bit egotistic. Selfish at heart, despite my best efforts in action.

And at the end of the day, I am not sure I am enough of a good person to be satisfied by loving her unconditionally.
I want to be loved unconditionally back. I want to be chose over. I want to be a priority. I want to get random marks of affection from the person I cherish the most.
And deep down it has made me miserable. I'm good enough at compartmentalizing that it is not an issue. but every once in a while there'd be something, a detail, a cancelled event, a message left unanswered, a comment, that wakes the pain up.
And each time I'd hurt, I'd tell myself "If you really love her, then you mustn't resent her for that, because she doesn't do it on purpose and you cannot ask more of her".
And I'd take the pain and seal it away and shrug.

But I am not doing exactly great these days.
I'm probably just a little over worked. So I am tired, which in turns mean I am probably too emotional, not really rational.
And the last little something was just too much.
It's nothing really. A missed opportunity to see each other due to her not responding in time, a wasted evening, a comment.
I know I am not a great person and that I should probably work on being more humble and more grateful. But here it is.
This small comment was too much. It wrecked me.
It profoundly wrecked me to my chore.
It woke up the pain and I wasn't capable of dismissing it this time.
It was there and I couldn't ignore it.

And Oh Boy it hurt.
How it hurt.
She will never love me as I love her.
No matter how much of myself I give, no matter how much of myself I give up, she will never love me like I do.
She will never be the one to initiate our conversations.
She will never choose me over.
Because I'll always be there.
She takes me for granted. And she's probably right to do so. I love her too much to abandon her anyway. I have loved her for so long I don't think I would recognize my life without her.
And Oh Boy this realization hurt.

I often feel lonely but I know I have only myself to blame for that.
After all I am the one building walls between and my friends.
Maintaining composure. Maintaining appearances. Never show weakness.
They mustn't know that I am not invincible. That things can get to me.
I am invincible. I am always here. Always reliable. Distant but rock solid.
So loneliness is a pain I'm familiar with. Intimate even.
But I can only blame myself for that.

There aren't any walls like that between me and her.

And right there, right then, as the wave of nausea and pain washed over me I thought,
Well maybe it should.
Maybe I could take some of the bricks from somewhere else and put them between me and her. Protect myself. I know she doesn't mean to harm me. But the pain is still there.
And I don't have to put up with it.

I have, out of love, out of loyalty, out of the puppy eyed admiration I have had for her since I met her and I was 15 and I was in love with her.
But I don't have to.

There are other people who I should take better care of.
People who like me, who love me and who might love me even more if I gave them the opportunity. If I invested more in them, in their friendship.
Maybe I should pay more attention to those who are here despite the distance I keep, despite my lack of time, despite everything.

I read something.
"It is unfair for those who love you to focus on those who don't."
And it helped.

I love her. I always have and always will.
But maybe It's time to question my priority.

Blood is thicker than water

But without water one dies.

I might be slowly, quietly, saying goodbye to my father.
I grew up terrified of the man.
I knew he loved me and I loved him back.
But I was scared.
Scared of his outbursts. Of how his voice carried when he was angry. Of the way his hands moved.
I grew up listening for the sound of the metal gate at the entrance of our driveway.
When our family crumbled and he couldn't house us anymore, I said:
Good.
I had decided I wouldn't go back to his place.
But my father was hurt and he needed us. So I kept quiet.
I hadn't been unwilling to see him, only to live with him.
So I was there.
Recovery was slow and difficult.
It changed him.
So when he got himself a place, to start again, to rebuild his life, his family, I said:
Fine.
And I moved in.
I helped us settle.
I chose to give him a second chance.
I don't think he ever understood this.
I accepted to pack luggage every two weeks despite the anxiety it gave me.
I accepted not to mention our previous life. Not to talk about how fucked up I was because of it.
I chose to be there.
Oh he is a loving father.
I never doubted it.
He will do crazy things for love. Drive, buy, build.
But here is the catch Dad.
This was never what I needed.
I need you to be mine. to be my dad.
I need you to choose me.
chose me over others.

I grew up terrified of being abandoned.
Because I wasn't good enough. Not serious enough, not studious enough, not quiet enough, not smart enough.
I was always terrible at making friends.
And even worse at keeping them.
My life is a long list of people that I used to be friends with.
So yes.
I am possessive.
I am jealous.
I am terrified of being alone.

We were never a tightly knit family, but at least we are a family. Right?
We would always chose each other over the rest.
What a comforting though.
Even if I give up on anyone else, you'll still be there.
You'll pick me over anyone else.
No strangers in our ranks.

My friends are often surprised to discover how much of my life I compartmentalize.
I guess I don't trust my friends to remain my friends if they meet my other friends.

When G asked me to disappear from her life, it hurt.
I had thought we would remain friends.
We had friends in common.
But I am terrible at maintaining friendship.
I was never chosen over in a separation.
So I lost my friends.
Even my best friend who refused to choose me over.

When you met Morgane's mother I was scared.
Scared of what would happen if you guys broke up.
Or worse, of what would happen if Morgane and I broke up.
Would I have to choose you over my best friend?
Would you have to choose between your girlfriend or your daughter?
I don't think I would have ever required this of you.
But I was scared. Because this were two spheres of my life colliding.
I was scared that the shock might push me aside. throw me away.
Make me disappear.

Discarding me is a national sport.
I say I am used to it but to be honest I am not.
I became independent because I didn't know how to be good enough for people to stick around.
I was lonely. I became solitary.

But I would always have my family.
People who would be there for me, even when all my friends had deserted.
People who would be there for me.

"I am happy for you" You said when we announced that H and I were going to get a civil union.
"I am happy for you" You said as I left the kitchen.
I put on my coat, grabbed my bag, said good bye to every one.
I was going to leave and you said:
"G passes her best wished to all the family"
And I froze.
And my stomach dropped.
And in my chest my heart beat hard.

Because here is the thing.
I wanted you to have chosen me over.
I wanted you to have heard my pain and said goodbye to her.
I wanted you to have never spoken to her again.
She had asked me to disappear and dutifully I had done so.
I had lost my friends in the process.
"it's his life, his flat, his choices. get over yourself." She had told me when I had found out that you had housed her. In our flat.
The flat where I kept my stuff.
The flat I had helped you move in.
The flat where I accepted to move in.
"Get over yourself" she said. Not in those terms I will concede.
But I didn't want to.
You were my dad. You were supposed to pick me over,
you were supposed to choose me over.
When everybody else left you were supposed to be mine still.
I didn't have to share you with strangers.
Am I afraid of being replaced by someone who is better than me?
Yes.
I have always been.
But I thought at least I wouldn't have to compete with anyone to be my parent's daughter.

But here is the thing.
I know my father loves me.
But not enough to choose me.
He loves me because he is my father.
But not because of who I am.
He loves me because he never had to choose me.

Opinions diverge here.
I might be asking too much. That I should accept that one's ability to love is not limited to a number of people and that my father is allowed to maintain his friendship with my ex-girlfriend even when she banished me from her life and that this doesn't make him love me any less.
That I am unfair. That I am immature. That I am too possessive.
And I understand all that. I have come to accept this for everybody.
Except my parents.
Cold love and broken bones never cured me from the primal need that I have to be loved by my parents.

So here it is.
I must accept to share.
I must accept that I might not be enough for my father. That he needs to care for other people. That he needs to feel loved and appreciated and that he needs the positive validation of being a father figure to others.
I cannot provide that.
I am not enough.

I do not trust you not to hurt me.
You might not hit me anymore.
But it still hurts.
You do not want to choose me.
Fine.
You don't have to,
But neither do I.
I do not have to hurt myself.
I do not have to try to earn your exclusive love.

So I will mourn my filiation.
I will quietly mourn my desire to have my father for myself.
I will quietly mourn my belief that no matter what you'd always choose me.
I will quietly mourn my need to be in your life.

Oh I won't disappear.
Not completely.
I'll be there if you need me.
But I won't need you anymore.
I won't rely on you.
It's okay.