I moved a lot as a kid. I think that’s part of why I got used to not feeling anything for friends or those around me. Why bother forming a connection if I was just going to move a couple years later? The first time was in Kindergarten. I switched from an AM class to a PM class about a month into the school year. Whole diff set of kids haha. No big deal. But then later I switched schools and started 3rd grade in a new school.
I don’t actually remember feeling sad about this, it was just a thing that happened (I would change middle schools twice and high schools). But in light of knowing that dissociation can cause memory loss, this memory makes more sense. I was washing my hands in the common area and I remember a young girl running up to me. “Jessica, Jessica!” She was excited to see me. I turned to look, and strained to recognize who knew me. This girl wasn’t in my class, but was in the same grade. She said, “Hey!! I changed schools too and I was so excited to know you were here too!” I searched her face for recognition. I tried so hard to remember who she was, but I was drawing a complete blank. I said softly, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you…”. The look of absolute tragic astonishment, I crushed her. I felt just as bad. “We used to hang out together every recess at our old school, we were practically best friends?” She said, looking for me to reciprocate a friendship I had no memory of. “I’m so sorry, I can’t remember, but I’d love to be your friend now…” I offered, feeling horrible. She looked at me, hurt, and walked away. She didn’t talk to me after that.
Looking back I’ve started to realize I made “friends” with lots of kids. But I use that term loosely. Because I never felt anything for any of them. In fact, I’ve been that way for many years. I could feel that people would feel close to me, develop feelings for me as a friend, and I just didn’t know how to feel it back – it’s like it hit some invisible shield or went through some filter before reaching me. I would go to their parties, do what they wanted to do, spend time with them, but I had no deep feelings about them. I had some sense of enjoyment for some of the stuff we did but not… attachment, not love, not real friendship. So I often made friends with kids who had trouble making friends with others. Some of them even bullied me to a degree or made me cry because they struggled with their own ability to treat others with kindness. It didn’t matter to me, thats typically what endeared them to me. It was like, I was an unconditional friend because I would choose to be around them regardless of how I was treated. And for me, being around them was better than being alone.
I made a friend on my street who comes to mind when I describe these types of relationships. Her name was Jessica, but she went by Jesi. I later adopted that moniker – but I owe it to her haha. Her parents had divorced when she was 5 and her mom and step-dad lived on our street. She wasn’t always the nicest person to be around but looking back I’m not surprised (her step-dad was an ass and well, divorce sorta fucked her up). Still, she came to love me fiercely as a friend and again, I appreciated the company. Most parents loved having me over. I was quiet, polite, I did what their kids wanted to do almost without question (unless it was something dangerous). So I kept them out of trouble, sort of a perfect playmate according to my mom’s testimony from other parents lol. So Jesi and I spent a lot of time together. We grew up together from age 10 to roughly age 15 when I moved about 30 min away. I would even go and hang out w/ her when she was at her dad’s place (not on my street).
Her dad had remarried a warm and kind lady named Diane. She was beautiful and they ended up having a child together. Jesi’s half sister’s name was Kristen. When I first met Jesi’s dad and step-mom, Kristen wasn’t born yet. I would spend the night at Jesi’s house and go to church with them in the morning. And sometimes we would go stay at her grandparents house (her dad’s side). They lived in a beautiful quiet neighbourhood with a community pool so we’d go swimming. Her grandparents made homemade jams and cooked delicious food for us. I never had grandparents growing up, so this was the first time I experienced what that would feel like. I didn’t even realize that I yearned for that, it was nice.
One day I remember going to a Chief’s game with Jesi, her dad and family. Diane had just had the baby a few months ago. I remember looking over at Diane, her face was a little greasy and she was mindlessly eating potato chips staring into space. She wasn’t participating at all with the other adults. I had noticed a change in her when I came over as well. She wasn’t warm and happy anymore she was stand-offish and lounged around in sweats, in a daze. At 12, I didn’t really understand, but something seemed off. I asked Jesi, “What’s wrong with Diane?”
“I don’t know, dad says she has glaucoma”.
I was confused, I knew that had something to do with your eyes, but that’s not what I meant. I didn’t push it.
Then one day, I got a call from Jesi right after school. She was sobbing into the phone. “Jess.” She paused, struggling to get the words out, “Diane is dead.”
I froze. I could barely understand her through her tears. “What??” I said, “What happened?!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Jesi said, “She hung herself.”
The words struck me. At that age I could barely comprehend the meaning of what happened. She explained to me that their grandma had come over and found Diane hanging from a beam over the kitchen doorway. Kristen who was 2, was in a playpen nearby and had been crying for who knows how long. I pictured it. The same kitchen I had spent time in on many sleep-overs. Adorably playful Kristen crying for her mom who would never pick her up again. Jesi’s sweet grandma discovering the scene in horror. Diane who had shuffled us around between events, home, and church and who had always been so kind to me. She seemed like a happy person, but after the birth of her daughter, she changed.
I now think she had postpartum depression (and maybe glaucoma was a part of unseen health issues). I don’t actually know. But, it’s something that has stuck with me for many years and I wonder; I wonder if it was a painful exit. I wonder if, that might be the right way to go sometimes. Diane had a 2 year-old and a husband who loved her, a family, they seemed so happy. I saw her slow decline and was confused by it as a kid. Then one day, she just gave up, she was just gone.
In my darkest times, I ask myself, what do I have? I don’t have kids, I don’t have a family (not one I care about), Rich is fantastic, but it’s sort of a fake marriage for me because of my inability to feel deeply, like a real person. I don’t have anything. I wonder if that’s what people would say if they found me hanging from a beam at home. I imagine my animals would be sitting under me, wondering when I’d wake up. I imagine long afterwards people would question it and not know anything about the depths of my pain and say…
“She seemed so happy.”