Before I forget (and if you've forgotten):
"David? Are you sitting here alone?"
"Um," I looked around awkwardly, "yes." There were two chairs missing from the table.
"You looked kinda lonely sittin' here alone."
This was followed by a less awkward discourse through which he and I caught up, briefly. He mentioned that he'd turned 21, which reminded me how long it'd been since we hadn't talked. And among, but towards the end of, the other things he said, there was a question:
"So what're you doing this weekend?"
I paused when he said this, and--in shock--I think I stammered a bit. Let me explain. Even though I'm in a relationship with a wonderful young woman, I find myself lacking any friends--phony or authentic--and it leaves me feeling a tad estranged. And, given the seeming abundance of friends which my best-friend-forever-attending-a-different-college and my girlfriend Rachel enjoy, I liken to be some greater magnitude of recluse than I would otherwise consider myself to've become.
I say become because I have traditionally been something of a chameleon, able to blend into any crowd and make new friends. It is just since a few months ago, starting when this happened, that I have ceased being the social butterfly that I was. I figure this is some manifestation of PTSD symptoms (history of abandonment and whatnot).
My predicament now consists of my new-found anti-social tendency, the symptoms of which prevent me from making new friends. Towards Clay's invite, I haven't really considered it; I'm too confused. On one hand, I fear his faults as a friend will hurt me again. On the other hand, I'm lonely and need friends, and if I don't go along with this, it seems unlikely that I'll recover from my funk.
I realize that I've made a thread about this before, wherein I concluded that I would confront them and see if we couldn't salvage our friendship; I was too weak to do so--some composite of laziness, depressive attitudes, and immediate responsibilities.
I think I need a counselor...
"David? Are you sitting here alone?"
"Um," I looked around awkwardly, "yes." There were two chairs missing from the table.
"You looked kinda lonely sittin' here alone."
This was followed by a less awkward discourse through which he and I caught up, briefly. He mentioned that he'd turned 21, which reminded me how long it'd been since we hadn't talked. And among, but towards the end of, the other things he said, there was a question:
"So what're you doing this weekend?"
I paused when he said this, and--in shock--I think I stammered a bit. Let me explain. Even though I'm in a relationship with a wonderful young woman, I find myself lacking any friends--phony or authentic--and it leaves me feeling a tad estranged. And, given the seeming abundance of friends which my best-friend-forever-attending-a-different-college and my girlfriend Rachel enjoy, I liken to be some greater magnitude of recluse than I would otherwise consider myself to've become.
I say become because I have traditionally been something of a chameleon, able to blend into any crowd and make new friends. It is just since a few months ago, starting when this happened, that I have ceased being the social butterfly that I was. I figure this is some manifestation of PTSD symptoms (history of abandonment and whatnot).
My predicament now consists of my new-found anti-social tendency, the symptoms of which prevent me from making new friends. Towards Clay's invite, I haven't really considered it; I'm too confused. On one hand, I fear his faults as a friend will hurt me again. On the other hand, I'm lonely and need friends, and if I don't go along with this, it seems unlikely that I'll recover from my funk.
I realize that I've made a thread about this before, wherein I concluded that I would confront them and see if we couldn't salvage our friendship; I was too weak to do so--some composite of laziness, depressive attitudes, and immediate responsibilities.
I think I need a counselor...