It’s hard to admit to yourself that one of your ex’s parting salvos, “You don’t have any friends”, is true. There is no-one. I know lots of people, I catch up with a few of them, but there is no-one to turn to when I need help.
Wait, there are one or two, who I know could help with minor situations, like school and childcare pick-ups, but no-one to talk to or help when things fall to pieces.
Today I was contemplating my options about what to do with the children, because I no longer felt able to care for them adequately. I didn’t know whether to go to the police, to the hospital, or to ring Child Protection. My mind was a viscous, sticky fog. I thought maybe I could hire a nanny to look after them, particularly if I needed to go into hospital.
Because there is no-one.
Things started so promisingly when we first moved to this area. I met lots of mums through a PND support group and playgroup. Then I met lots of people when my oldest boy went to school. He even was getting invited over for playdates and sleepovers.
Then my ex decided he’d rather be with one of the other mums, who had already left her husband in preparation and the whole wicked game of lies, deception and accusations began. At the end of it, I had no friends. Not even the ones I had met through playgroup.
I think there is something genetically wrong with me. I know there are lots of things psychologically wrong with me. I am unable to make and keep friends. Perhaps I just don’t know how. Although I’ve read lots on the subject and tried lots of the strategies, it just ain’t happening.
As people get to know me, they move away. I’m usually the one that tries to pursue the friendship, but I guess they’re just not that “into me”. People may think I’m aloof, because I’m shy. Or perhaps I don’t give the right social cues.
People also say that I’m “hard”. Perhaps because I have no sympathy for the petty insecurities and problems in their lives. Or their reluctance to take action on the big problems. I know it’s all relative, but complaining that you never have any time because you are always driving your children to all their after-school activities, is petty, when all you need to do is stop.
Yes, I’m hard. I’m a hard bitch with no friends.
If you don’t hear from me, it’s because I’m in hospital. And my children are probably in foster care.
Subscribe to my newsletter