The former friends are about to have their kiddo. She’s being induced tonight, supposedly.
Part of me wants to be desperately happy for them. Part of me, despite everything, entertains a fantasy of being involved in their lives, being like an aunt to their child. But the pain tells me the truth – you’re too fucking weird and unlikeable to ever be around them again. You will never feel the glow of closeness again. It was a lie you told yourself, and while it felt good, they never felt it towards you. Again, too fucking weird and unlikeable.
I wish I could turn that part of me off. The part that still feels that closeness, that lie that never was. Why won’t it fucking turn off? All it does is cause pain.
They liked me just fine when I co-signed their student loan for them. Then they paid me off with a position in their wedding. Pacify our friend’s weirdo wife who seems too into us.
I don’t speak to them. Because I can’t act like a casual acquaintance around them. For a few years, I had the happy delusion that I could be my real and silly self with them. That they were family, but that’s over and done with. I was just a joke to them. A joke to all of my husband’s friends. It’s okay. I’m happy with being invisible and unseen now, if it means they have less fodder for jokes.
I can curl up inside myself, and let the maladaptive daydreaming take me to place where I am strong and tall and loved. Not a worthless ugly dumpy cat lady with delusions of value. No kindness I ever gave mattered. No sympathy or empathy I extended helped anyone. Nobody wants the love you have to give, when you look the way I do. And thus there’s no reason to keep trying with other people. Better to be someone else in my mind. Safe from those that never valued me.