It’s my party, and I’ll… cry, alone, in the bathroom with the door locked.

I always wanted to have a party. One of those big parties that people went to.  Okay, let’s be honest here. I wanted a party that ANYONE went to.  Apparently I was such a miserable person to be around, and no one liked me that no one went to my parties.  No one wanted to come over and play, and no one wanted to be around me in general.  This was in elementary school, middle school, and high school.  By middle school I mostly gave up trying.  I had a few friends in elementary school, but they still never wanted to spend time with me outside of school.  Friends out of obligation? I suppose.  Okay this isn’t completely true.  I had one best friend. We lived not so far apart when we were little.  He was my world.  (I guess that sounds kind of creepy.) He was Jewish, but used to come over and decorate Christmas cookies.  But, hey! We’d decorate them in Hanukkah colors!  It’s one of the happiest memories I have in my entire life.  Middle school came around and other people became more important. Then his parents got divorced and he moved away. Okay.  It happens.  One of my other friends was a decent friend, her mom was good friends with my mom so we’d spend time together.  In middle school we’d sit together at lunch. Finding a table at lunch was next to impossible some days.  Each clique and group had their own spot, and empty seats were left empty.  You did NOT sit in an empty seat.  But, I’d sit with her and that group of friends. Which I guess were my “friends”.  One day, as I went to sit down, they all, in sync, said “We don’t like you. Go away, sit somewhere else.”  They had it perfectly down pat. They must have practiced.  I think someone took pity on me and let me eat lunch at their table that day.  I stopped eating lunch after that day.  I just took snacks and ate them between classes. There’s a reason sports were the only reason I breathed.

Let’s go past high school and into college.  I never tried to have or go to parties then.  Easier that way.  I had more important things to do.  High school: Art and SPORTS.  College: Not failing.  One of the biggest influences, mostly positive, but some negative when I was in high school died while I was away in college.  I couldn’t go to his funeral.  He killed himself while I was 2200 miles away. And I could not afford to fly back to his funeral.  And the guilt alone that I instilled on myself was horrendous, but what my “friends” gave me was worse.  He CHOSE to abandon us, and they made ME feel bad.

Fine. Moving on.  There’s an entire chunk of my life where I, ironically, had to abandon anyone I knew, because of someone I was with.  He had me convinced that I couldn’t do any better than him, and if I was talking to anyone else, I was automagically fucking them.  Amazing how that works.  Only one of those people are speaking to me to this day.  It took about seven years for us to “forget” what happened and start talking again.

I worked a LOT after college, because it was easier than dealing with just about anything in my life, especially emotions.  I met a group of people through an event that I somehow gained the courage to attend. (Ativan and a little alcohol goes a long way.) Awesome, new friends.  Got along great. Ended up dating one of the guys I met.  Meh. Long story short: I broke up with said guy, was depressed because it turned out to be a shitty relationship.  In turn, he sent an email to everyone claiming I’d threatened suicide.  Instead of actually verifying the claims, all of these people I’d thought were my friends started passing the email back and forth talking about my mental instability, and saying some pretty nasty stuff. One person–ONE–felt bad, and sent me a copy of the email.  I hadn’t felt like killing myself before.  But that email actually made me consider it.  I felt completely abandoned.  It was my party, and everyone showed up just to tell me how much they couldn’t stand me.  I’ve since started talking to a few of them again, but the trust isn’t there like it was before.  It never will be.  And my walls are back up higher than they were before.  They’ll never come back down.  Because of them.  But then again, if I was a better person, or prettier, or nicer, or smarter, or more normal, or smarter, or prettier, or fucking not so fucking broken they might fucking like me.

After that email, there was another group of friends I’d met that wasn’t part of that “IN” crowd, but knew everyone.  I’d kind of factioned off and talked to them.  I liked them. They were pretty nice people.  They threw me a birthday party.  There were people there. I had a BIRTHDAY PARTY. And there were PEOPLE THERE!  My FRIENDS!  Fucking BLISS.  Happy as could be.  Then the ex boyfriend who’d sent out THAT email sent one to the friend throwing me the party.  She showed me.  I know she meant well. I’m sure she meant well.  She meant well, right?  But it still dampened everything.  “I still care about her.  But I worry about her.”  Well fuck.  With my mood dampened, I can’t actually recall much about the party after that.  Brain tells me this is why people don’t like me.

I had a party a few months later.  Invited these friends, and a few others.  .. They eventually showed up. And sat over by themselves and wouldn’t talk to anyone, not even me.  Why am I getting blown off? Am I a horrible person? Do I smell bad?  Am I ugly? I am, aren’t I?

So let’s go to today. This sounds horrible. I’m sorry guys.  When people tell me they’re going to do something. And they don’t? It feels like I’m being blown off.  It feels like I’m having a party and no one’s coming.  It just feels like one of those events that I’ve catered where people RSVP that they’re coming and then don’t come.  That the poor sap has paid for WAY more people than actually show up.  And because I know EXACTLY how they feel, I end up eating the cost of a chunk of the food, because I know.  I KNOW. I know how they feel.   I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know what it feels like to have your hopes built up and then have people bail on you.  To be the person on that sinking ship that’s left standing there watching while the lifeboats are rowing away with plenty of extra room.  There’s plenty of extra room there, but they left anyway, because fuck you. I don’t want to know how any of this feels.  But I do.  And THAT hurts me more than almost anything anyone can say.

Aren’t you glad I gave you your daily dose of ammunition?

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