I had an interview yesterday for a Human Resources position that went very well.  After the interview I phoned Beefcake and told him that I did so well in fact, that if I didn’t get a call back or hired, I would like to shake the hand of the person who does!  While filling out the application I was requested to add the names of three individuals that are neither relatives or colleagues as a reference.  That pretty much leaves friends only.  Except I have none.  Isn’t that sad?  But it’s true.  I have none.  I did have them though.

But after a string of insensitive comments or tough situations I have none.  Just BigSexy.  A few reasons why: One ‘friend’ told me that she did not want to come to my party (about a year ago) because she was “so big and pregnant, that she did not want me to see her and break into tears”.  Yes, she did.  I swear she said that.  Others, I can’t blame for being pregnant, or being due around one of my babies due dates, or having showers, or being on their second baby….etc.  It’s not them, it’s just that the pain is so pervasive I need few reminders.  I try to be strong, but I just can’t handle it at times. 

And forget making new friends, this grief thing has made making friends nearly impossible for me.  I am really not a lot of fun these days, and at times I feel that you need to have gone through some great tragedy to keep my attention, let alone an ongoing friendship.  Yep, it’s out there now, now you all know what a bitter bitch i’ve become.  Such a lonely bitch too.  Yet I don’t know if I want to change things.  I don’t think I want to make the effort to care.  But yet, I must care on some level if i’m writing about it?  And so I am left feeling very numb, with yet another reminder (in a string of many) of just how different I have become from whom I used to be.

I was a party waiting to happen.  Never turning down a chance for fun…enjoying cocktails on the weekends with friends…dancing at all the clubs in NYC and flirting too much.  (I swear, I had Beefcake going crazy until we went steady).  Skinny-dipping.  Check.  Last minute trips to Vegas.  Check.  Going to gay clubs in NYC on Sundays and making it to work on Monday (on time mind you).  Check.  I was so busy.  I had such a life.  I had ‘workfriends’ and ‘schoolfriends’ and his friends and my friends.  I remember we would complain that we had ‘something’ every weekend.  A BBQ, a wedding, a dinner, a brunch.  So many people wanted us in their lives.  Not so much now.

I hate this person whom I have become, this delicate basketcase.  I just want my old life back, if not my girls, then i’ll just take ME please.

By the way, I got a callback!


About Jessica Emilia

Mother, wife, grief survivor, dancer, yogi, feminine, baker, cook, lover, fighter, perfectly imperfect, optimistic, pessimistic, reader, writer, funny, sarcastic, compassionate, emphatic, sympatheric, HR Pro, anxious, confident, supernatural, hocus-pocus, friend, daughter and momma again...

13 responses »

  1. I so know what you mean. I HAD friends too. I have always been quiet, a home body, I like my space and my quiet time, so that limits my friends pool already.

    But after the boys died, people just disappeared. They couldn’t commit to being my friend because I was too emotional. I was too needy. I talked about my boys as if they were real and it freaked them out. They didn’t want to talk about my losses. They didn’t even want to acknowledge them, and it seemed that’s all I was. I was a mother who lost her children.

    I have friends now, but honestly there are very few. The ones I do have are fairly new and are all deadbabymams. But, it seems they know me better than my other decade-old friends ever did. It’s not what you do, or how many you have, but the relationship you have with them.

    I’d be your friend any day. In fact I consider you one already. In time, others who love you no matter what and get over their fears, will find you. I hope your lonliness dissipates.

  2. Not sure what to say without sounding dumb.
    I am sorry you are feeling friendless at the moment…its hard to feel lonely, but at the same time, not want to be around people either. Quite hard. Wish I could somehow do something for you…but a.) we don’t know each other b.) I don’t live close by and c.) I can’t think of c.
    I can only send you my good wishes, over internet waves, that someday soon things will turn around for you.
    Hey, cool about the job!

  3. Aw, sweetie, I’m so sorry. While I can only sympathize with your situation, I have been through life changing events myself that create that “multiple personality” issue…who I was before it happened, and who I am now. So I understand in that aspect where you are coming from. You have earned the right to be bitter, to be angry, and to not like the person you are right now. But understand that SHE is not you. She is the person who is helping you deal with your grief. You will find joy again. You will find happiness in life again. But you can’t ever be who you were before you lost your babies, and that’s okay. You were not going to be that person forever anyway. We change and grow as we go through life, and sometimes we don’t want to but it happens anyway.

    I think that your friends probably just do not know what to say to you. I don’t know your friend who you talked about in your post, but from what you said she said, I truly do not believe she meant to be callous. I think she probably just does not know what to say, or how to treat you, especially when she was pregnant and you’d just suffered such a great loss. They will come around in time, but they will follow your lead and when you seem ready to move forward, so will they.

    I wish I could give you a big hug. I realize you and I probably seem like the last two people on earth who might forge a friendship, but I want you to know that if you ever need to talk, I am here for you. I will email you my phone number and if you just need to vent, give me a call. Lean on me. I didn’t know you before, so I’m not going to judge whether you are a “bitter bitch” now or not! But I have big shoulders and a good heart, and I think one thing you and I do have in common (besides being big beautiful sexy women!) is that I don’t sugarcoat things and I tell it like it is. So call me, email me, fax me. You’ve got a friend in Ohio, babe. 🙂

  4. I delude myself into believing I don’t need friends. But, do I really? I find it so hard to relate to anybody who hasn’t experienced this same grief. Most are too fucking stupid that, in time, they start to whine about things that don’t even matter. And that’s what I find the hardest: when my SIL is beside herself that she can’t find daycare or when friends whine about haircuts or broken cars. I just want to tell them that having a dead baby is worse. Because it is. But, dh tells me that I shouldn’t, it sounds bitter.

    With that said, I hope you find parts of yourself again. And certainly, it’s no surprise, as you drown in all this loss and grief, that you cannot. I’m hopeful that time will allow little parts of the old you to resurface – the best parts, the ones that drew people to you before (and not in the way that skinny-dipping might ;o)

    Also want to say: Yay for the callback!!!!

  5. it’s really hard if not impossible, in the midst of all the grief and uncertainty, to put yourself out there, to put it all aside and put on a happy face, to ignore how you feel inside just to be sociable. on top of that, you’ve got pregnant friends and babies everywhere and that’s often the last place you want to be. this whole experience is so isolating and alienating. what you’re feeling is totally normal and natural. it sucks though.

    best of luck with the job search!

  6. Awesome about the callback.

    As for wating the old you back, I hear you loud and clear. I think I mourn the old me almost as much as Hannah. It’s a hard new world we live in. I believe you will make new friends in due time. Maybe even re-connect with ones you have lost touch with. But grief is a big c-block, as C mentioned above. Thinking of you.

  7. Congrats on the callback!

    I agree with the other’s. Especially what CLC said. I mourn the boys as much as I mourn the old me. I don’t recognize the person that I was, the transition person that I became, or the person that I am now. It’s strange, really.

    I used to have friends. Close friends, like siblings. Not many now. Derick used to tell me to go out with friends or do something because I would harp on him for going out. What he didn’t get was that I only had him. He was it, so my entire world revolved around him. It was hard and still is because the only friends that I have now ‘get it’ in more ways than one.

    I’m like you too, I can’t relate to someone unless something catastrophic has happened to them. I just don’t have time for it. So maybe I’m a bitter bitch too : )

    BTW, I don’t think we live far so if you ever need to talk, I’ll be there…

  8. Firstoff – Congrats on the callback! Let us know 🙂
    Second – Thank you for writing this. I’m the same way. I use to be fun. I use to see my friends a lot more and love to go out and about. Not so much anymore. Like you wrote, it’s not their fault that they get to be pregnant and have babies…but I really don’t need reminders. The reminders are everywhere in suburbia…where I live…so I stay in more often than not. Plus the “you need to have gone through some great tragedy to keep my attention” is pretty much how I feel too.

  9. Yay for the callback! Good luck on the next part!

    I only have a handful of friends and none but one have kids. And that one I rarely talk to and never about her kids. The rest? Mainly gay men.

    I find it tiring to cultivate new friends. And I avoid new friends who have children, so that just adds another layer of impossible to it. I don’t want to talk about their children, hear about their children, or be forced to eyeball pictures of their children.

    Some call it shelfish.

    I call it self-preservation.

  10. Congrats on the callback. I totally understand what you are saying. I feel like the old me was so fun, so carefree, so stupidly innocent. I walk around in daze, sad and lost and missing my boys. I wish I lived closer, we could go drink ourselves stupid and cry like idiots.

  11. Wow, just wow!. Thank you, thank you ALL for your comments. I even discussed this blog post with my husband while watching a football game at Hooters! (Babies always on the mind here.) I felt so connected to all of you so understood. Thank you from the bottom of this bitter little heart!

  12. Just checking in to see how the interview went! I had one yesterday, too, so maybe we’ll both get lucky and they’ll decide they can’t live without us.

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