Losing Footing

Last year between spring and summer, I joined three groups RJ and I jokingly call cults.

You'd think I would have made a ton of friends by now. No.

Over Thanksgiving weekend, we were invited to Amelia's shindig to "inaugurate" her new wine room. I'd been psyched looking forward to it.

Instead of the intimate family reunion I'd dreamt it to be, there were friends and friends of friends. About 11 years ago, with a little social lubricant, I could get by such a night more than fine. On this night, though, I certainly did not thrive.

If ever there was any doubt I really was an introvert, I was true blue proven yet again. Classic introvert for ya.

There is just something with the dynamic in larger groups that just makes me wanna hide.

"And I wonder why I don't have friends," I thought.

Fast forward to this morning, when I learned through social media that my "sponsor" in one of my cults, Martine*, was moving away. I felt many emotions well up: shock, sadness, disappointment, betrayal. Yes, betrayal. She didn't even tell me she was leaving.

Given, we weren't exactly "friends". We'd had a couple of workshops. OK, three. She's two decades my junior. Even though we share the same first language, and, yes, we are in the same cult. That's hardly a valid BFF basis.

Then I realized my abandonment knee-jerk reaction was still there. After all these years. Will it ever be gone?

The news was such a blow, I was surprised. I was actually tearing up. Over someone I'd only met three times. In a group.

Not like she's been on my mind otherwise, either. But it matters little. How dare she leave me behind?

Those little thinking patterns are awful, how, like grooves in a record, they don't change. But you can change the record, they say.

I am now tired just having mulled over this whole self diagnosis.


*Not her real name