L’Enfer, C’est Les Autres

When most people reach out and touch a red hot pan, they burn themselves. They learn not to touch the red hot pan. Me, I’ve lived my life hearing people tell me to keep touching that pan. Maybe it won’t burn you this time, they say. But it’s always red hot. And it always burns me.

I rarely go out. I’m much happier coming straight home from work every day. If I must leave the house, it’s because I’m out of some essential addictive foodstuffs. I venture out late, late at night. Mainly since it takes time to work up the nerve to go out. And because the later it is, the fewer people there are.

I don’t go out because I don’t want to be around people. I don’t want to be the target of their derision. I don’t want to feel the weight of expectations on how to talk and how to look. I don’t want to speak. I don’t want to be looked at. If I could have a super power, invisibility would be the one I choose in a heartbeat. Though.. Flying is pretty cool.

The number of people I spend time around is very, very limited nowadays. I don’t spend time at all anymore with my husband’s friends. The only one I spend time with is my husband’s friend A that I watch anime with on Saturday nights. A has his own set of problems, but tolerable enough. Because people must sexualize any relationship between a male and female, I must emphasize that it’d be a cold day in hell before I’d ever think of him that way.

A is pretty much it. My husband spends a lot of time with another friend F, who.. I can borderline stand. He’s one of those guys who effortlessly talks over you and who speaks in a way that suggests you don’t know anything at all. Whenever we play the simplest games he has to explain everything to me. Even when we play games I’ve played a dozen times before. And then I’m the asshole for pointing out that I’ve played this game before.

Housemate K? I’ve given up the delusion that we could be friends, much as I have with the Couple. Now I do the minimum related to him. We live together so I can’t exactly stop talking to him. I’ve stopped hoping he’ll help out with the house. I’ve stopped hoping he’ll empathize at all. Everything is about him. He’s sad, he’s anxious, he has a bad self image, and boy howdy he’ll let you know about it. There’s no room for others to show any hurt or pain because *K* is the Sad One who everyone must feel bad for. It must be nice for him, to feel so free to air every unhappiness in his mind. I have this blog, and that’s it for me. No other outlet.

Just the other day he made some mopey comment about how he can’t make friends. It took everything in me to resist either grabbing him by the shirt and shaking him, or making a snide comment. The Couple loves K. The only times they come over now is to spend time with K. Or to borrow stuff from us. Everyone likes K, and in fact he’s made a new friend group because he’s dating a girl several years his junior. He lives with his best friend and his wife (me) who’ve let him live there rent-free for years, but cleaning his pubes off the toilet rim is toooo hard. WOE IS K. His liff sooo harrrdddd.

Maybe once or twice a year I spend time with my high school friends. About 2-3 months ago I went over to Q’s house for a game night. She was the first friend I outed my short hair to. Because of all of them, she’s the one I feel closest to, she’s the one I met first of all my high school friends. But as I have learned the hard way, feeling close to someone doesn’t mean they feel close to you, or even that they have your back. There’s been several instances with Q that on reflection, indicate she’s not a very good friend sometimes. At the game night, in front of two new people and one friend I hadn’t seen in 15 years, she made the comment “Queen Legbeard cries before having sex.” Like she thought it was the funniest thing ever. She has no clue about my sex life. Unlike her, I don’t talk about mine. It was just a mean, spur of the moment comment.

I laughed it off. But it hurt that she could make a comment like that. Especially when she knows I’m struggling emotionally. She’s done it before. And she can’t keep secrets, it’s just too satisfying for her to blab everything I tell her.

I guess the only person I can really stand is Husband. And.. for his flaws, he does love me. Though he cannot comfort me, though he is a sponge for comfort himself, he keeps coming to me. He doesn’t stay away, even when I push him away.

One person. One person is enough.

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