(Platonic) Love lost?

Breaking up is hard to do. You are practically obligated to lock yourself in your bedroom for a week, eat junk food, watch depressing movies, and cry your little heart out (in recent years, the list has come to include stalking your ex on Facebook and going out to a bar to get trashed with your girlfriends). You are filled with so much pain, the pain of loss. You mourn what you once had, what you don't have now, and what you never will have with that person again. It can be all at once depressing, frightening, painful, and sometimes liberating. Most of us have experienced this agony at least once in our lives. It's the memory of this pain that keeps you on your toes in the next relationship. It's what reminds you to keep your eyes open to make the right choices, so that the next one won't leave you with your snuggie and a pint of Hagen Daas Cookies and Cream. Recent events have left me wondering: what happens if you don't breakup with a guy, but with your friends?

Lately, things have been a bit hectic. Early mornings at the office, late nights in class, and a bevy of emotional issues led me to prioritize in a new way. Free time was rare and I had promised chunks of it to a list of people. My closest friends were getting frustrated, but I simply couldn't give them what they wanted. After many long, painful nights, in which I judged myself for being a bad friend, I decided to evaluate what made their friendships so essential to me that I was allowing the issue to cause me such distress. After much thought, I couldn't really find much. I realized, through time, that I was clinging on to what the friendship once was, not what it had become. I tried to make it work, but it just didn't. Eventually I decided it would be best to step back and fade out slowly. I thought it was the perfect plan, since it would release me from "best friend" duties, but not make me an enemy. A word to the wise: perfect plans often backfire. Halfway through the fading process, I was caught. They noticed I wasn't around as much and wanted to know what was going on. I'm a horrible liar, so I told them the truth. I told them that I felt like we were at different stages in our lives and that we would be better off going our separate ways. I broke up with them. Apparently, that makes me a bitch. Interesting. After the "breakup," there was a long, long conversation, which was eerily reminiscent of a traditional breakup. We spoke about the weaknesses in our relationship and in each other, we brought unresolved issues into the limelight, and we made comments that can never be taken back or forgotten. The conversation ended with a bitter, sarcastic goodbye. I was fine in the beginning, probably because I was angry and insulted. I thought that I was ok, since I knew I was better off without them. I was wrong. While I still know that I made the right choice and I'm better off without them, I must admit that there were days where my boyfriend bought me Baskin Robbins and reminded me that I'm too good for them and I'll find a new friend. It was the need for his support that made me realize how a breakup is a breakup, whether its with a man or your best friend. I shed a few tears, deleted a few photos, and even dabbled in cookie dough. Instead of texting an ex for a booty call, I Facebook messaged 3 previous "best friends" I had lost contact with in hopes of reconnecting. I realized that romantic breakups have an advantage: mass sympathy. All you have to do is cancel your relationship on Facebook, and before you know it, that little broken heart is on everyone's home page and you have 15 sympathetic comments from people you forgot existed. Your family feels bad for you, so they deal with your moodiness. Your mom tells you to go out and buy new shoes, your little brother gives you the remote, your dad keeps the "I told you so" to himself. It's nice. You don't have that for a friend breakup. You have to find a way to support yourself. I chose to watch a marathon of girly movies and felt pangs of emptiness during the obligatory "best friend support" scenes. I quickly realized, however, that I don't miss them, I miss the idea of them. They were my closest friends for a while, and while they were incredibly flawed and self centered, I still miss the closeness of the relationship we had built over the years. The healing process with take a while. Just like a romantic breakup, I probably won't fully get over them until I meet new friends that remind me of just how bad my ex-friends really were. It's still a bit hard, even though I was the one who ended it.

My next move will be getting back into the "friending" scene, which, in my opinion, is just as difficult as the dating scene. I'll have to put down the ice cream and chick flicks long enough to take that interesting co-worker/classmate/acquaintance out to lunch. Then, if we become friends, we can do that together. Our boyfriends can come, too.

Blasphemy?

Sex and the City isn’t real. I know, I know…you’re sitting there wondering why a young woman from New York is committing what seems like blasphemy. Just hear me out on this. First, let me say that SATC happens to e one of my favorite shows. I’ve seen every episode and can hold up my end on any Big vs. Aiden/Single vs. Married/ Slut vs. Modern Woman debate. I wore heels to the movie premiere and drank cosmos (ok, cranberry juice, but in a pretty glass!) for the finale.
However, unlike some other women, I refuse to fit the mold when it comes to the series’ many (many) questions and apparent revelations about love and relationships. Why? Because most of them are bull. Think about it long and hard, and tell me why I should idolize the picture painted by one of those four women. If you can, you deserve either a medal or a trip back to reality (probably the latter).
My problem with the ladies started when I was in a kitchy accessory store, and I noticed SATC-themed stationary. Among the pink-and-crystal encrusted goodies was a selection of keychains. Each one was supposed to proclaim the owners status as one of the four girls. There were different colors and icons, such as a shoe, cherry, briefcase, and leopard print bra. As much as I wanted one, I just couldn’t bring myself to pick one off the rack and bring it to the cashier. Why? Well, I didn’t know who to pick. Not a single one of them is a complete woman. Their characters are steeped in the most stereotypical traits of modern times. Charlotte, Samantha, Miranda, and Carrie only fully exist in their roles as romantic, wild, cynical, and pensive (or is it neurotic?), respectively. What irks me about this is that you need to combine the four to make a real person.
Look into your own life and you will see immediately when you are living as one of the characters. I found my examples so easily it was almost scary. For example: I’m Miranda when I’m afraid of being hurt, I was Carrie whenever I couldn't let go of something that wasn't right for me, Charlotte when I’m truly happy, and Samantha when the mood strikes. It’s human nature, in some ways, to react to different things in different ways. If you think about it, these four lovely women were robbed of their ability to experience true human nature. Poor things. I wonder how many cosmos it takes to fix that…

Back in the saddle again...

I haven't written anything creative on a regular basis since I was a contributor for my high school newspaper. Needless to say, that wasn't exactly the pinnacle of my writing career. I don't pretend to be a good writer, but i've been told I have potential. My interests, experiences, and perspectives have definitely changed since then, and I can almost feel the opinions and observations itching to get out. So I guess this is my chance. I want my main topics to be relationships, romance, traditions, a little bit of pop culture, and basically anything else I can argue with enough passion to actually get me to take the time to write about. I want to develop my style along the way. This should definitely be interesting.

(Ladies and) Gentlemen, buckle your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy ride.