The Importance of Friendship, Part 2

After writing part one this morning, I decided I’d just talk to A and let her know what had happened, and what her friendship meant to me, and hope for the best. I’ve never been in this situation before, but we’ve been friends for years, and presumably she’d get over any irritation she felt.

She’s pretty observant and intuitive, though, and I figured she’d pick up on things on my end sooner or later. Better to just say something now than to wait and let my mind worry about worst case scenarios.

What I said was promptly met with laughter and sympathy, the best result I could have hoped for. When I said I hated my brain, she said she was probably the only other woman in the world that understood exactly how that felt and why.

For those wondering, the person in question – former object of her affections, current object of mine – was also homeschooled, like A and I, but is generally oblivious to other people’s interest, and possibly asexual or possibly so very deeply repressed that it’s very nearly the same thing. Chances of reciprocation were never high to begin with. Hence hating our brains for wanting more than friendship.

(You might, in that case, wonder why I felt the need to say anything at all. Worst case scenario brain and never having navigated these waters before, that’s why.)

A, in fact, still has reason to hate her brain, because she’s currently fallen for yet another person that it’s unlikely she’d be able to start an actual relationship with. She hadn’t noticed anything unusual on my end because she was busy thinking about her own relatively fresh crush.

Sometimes I think we end up with the friends we do because we’re screwed up in similar ways.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s