I don't have any adult male friends. I know, I know…I sound like a whiney fourteen year old. But, when I think about it, I don't. I know lots of men; I'm even friendly with them. But they aren't friends, the way I define friend. A friend is someone you can share personal things with, talk over problems, expect (and receive) support and understanding in all kinds of situations. I have no one like that in my life.
Until a couple of years ago, I had two such friends. One, I had known for fifty years, the other, for almost forty years. My closest friend slowly sickened and then died just over two years ago. I miss him terribly. The other man - actually the partner of a woman friend I met in University in the 50's - was always sharp and witty, somewhat overbearing, but supportive and warm in his way. After his wife died, he gradually became more acerbic, even nasty, with me, at least. When my closest friend died, I became aware that I was being verbally abused regularly by the other man. I simply stopped connecting with him. I should have talked with him about it, but at the time, I felt wrapped in grief for my closer friend, and I just walked away from the other man. So now, I have no one in those roles.
When I was a kid, I always had at least one friend, often never more than one, or at most, two. There was Les, and Curtis, and Edwin, and then later David and Don. These last two remain friends, although we are separated by distance, and see one another seldom. Some time ago, I became aware of that deficiency in myself that comes with being an only child. I never learned how to "befriend" another in such a way that our relationship was solid and unquestioned. I actually didn't know that about myself until I began to have children in my life, and I watched my own children relate to their siblings. Three of the four kids were closely bonded. They fought and made up and supported one another without any question. Today, all of them are middle aged, and they remain good and close friends. I envy them.
The one sibling who isn't bonded with any of them is a whole other story, for another time.
Friends. When you lack even one, the awareness of what you are missing is profound and oppressive. It's like having a room inside you which is not heated, and which is completely empty. When you open that door, there is a cold draft coming at you, from a dark place. You soon close that door. It's an unpleasant place.
Worse than that, I feel like I don't know how to make friends. I must have known once, but it seems I've forgotten, or I'm afraid to try. I spend time with local men regularly, but I find none with whom I share many ideas or concerns, and they have lived here all their lives and seem to know everyone. Whether I am an outsider or not, I feel like an outsider most of the time. I feel lonely, and the danger is always there that I will feel sorry for myself and withdraw even more. I'm sure I do that a lot.
When I was younger, and wanted a sibling, I used to fantasize that my mother had carried a second child, and somehow lost that pregnancy. I don't know if that is fact, or simply fancy, but it occupied my mind for many years. I haven't thought of it for awhile, until just now.
I realize that my mental image of a friend, or a sibling-friend, is idealized, and that many people don't experience their sibs that way at all. I've heard enough tales of horrible sibling rivalry and hostility in the therapy room that I know I have to curb my own idealization or I'll never find or make a friend. But how do I begin? Where will I find a man I can connect with in the way that my children connect with one another? I have the questions. I don't see an answer anywhere in sight.
Until a couple of years ago, I had two such friends. One, I had known for fifty years, the other, for almost forty years. My closest friend slowly sickened and then died just over two years ago. I miss him terribly. The other man - actually the partner of a woman friend I met in University in the 50's - was always sharp and witty, somewhat overbearing, but supportive and warm in his way. After his wife died, he gradually became more acerbic, even nasty, with me, at least. When my closest friend died, I became aware that I was being verbally abused regularly by the other man. I simply stopped connecting with him. I should have talked with him about it, but at the time, I felt wrapped in grief for my closer friend, and I just walked away from the other man. So now, I have no one in those roles.
When I was a kid, I always had at least one friend, often never more than one, or at most, two. There was Les, and Curtis, and Edwin, and then later David and Don. These last two remain friends, although we are separated by distance, and see one another seldom. Some time ago, I became aware of that deficiency in myself that comes with being an only child. I never learned how to "befriend" another in such a way that our relationship was solid and unquestioned. I actually didn't know that about myself until I began to have children in my life, and I watched my own children relate to their siblings. Three of the four kids were closely bonded. They fought and made up and supported one another without any question. Today, all of them are middle aged, and they remain good and close friends. I envy them.
The one sibling who isn't bonded with any of them is a whole other story, for another time.
Friends. When you lack even one, the awareness of what you are missing is profound and oppressive. It's like having a room inside you which is not heated, and which is completely empty. When you open that door, there is a cold draft coming at you, from a dark place. You soon close that door. It's an unpleasant place.
Worse than that, I feel like I don't know how to make friends. I must have known once, but it seems I've forgotten, or I'm afraid to try. I spend time with local men regularly, but I find none with whom I share many ideas or concerns, and they have lived here all their lives and seem to know everyone. Whether I am an outsider or not, I feel like an outsider most of the time. I feel lonely, and the danger is always there that I will feel sorry for myself and withdraw even more. I'm sure I do that a lot.
When I was younger, and wanted a sibling, I used to fantasize that my mother had carried a second child, and somehow lost that pregnancy. I don't know if that is fact, or simply fancy, but it occupied my mind for many years. I haven't thought of it for awhile, until just now.
I realize that my mental image of a friend, or a sibling-friend, is idealized, and that many people don't experience their sibs that way at all. I've heard enough tales of horrible sibling rivalry and hostility in the therapy room that I know I have to curb my own idealization or I'll never find or make a friend. But how do I begin? Where will I find a man I can connect with in the way that my children connect with one another? I have the questions. I don't see an answer anywhere in sight.
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