There's You and then there's Me.

So I'm sitting here on my bed, looking at pictures, reading tweets and looking at Facebook. I know this doesn't surprise you in the slightest. Especially given that I have three blogs and have accounts for twitter, Facebook and tumblr plus flickr, photobucket and deviant art.

Anyway, my stalker-slash-need-for-attention aside, I was reading my friends' status messages and debating if I should annoy them with responses when I read a comment for a friend who is going through a really nasty time. It was simply:

"you + me and a bottle of vodka. You up for it?"

I started to cry. Yes, yes, I know I don't cry and that I hate it but I'm sick and tired of being alone and so yes, I freaking cried in front of my parents and everything. That's how upset I was.

I cried because I can't offer to do that for my friends because they're either too far away, don't talk to me and mostly because I don't drink so the offer would sound more like "you get drunk while I listen to your drunken woes." It might just be me but I don't really think that's very appealing to anyone.

The main reason that I cried is because no one, no one, has ever or would ever do that for me.
While I appreciate the offers from my interstate friends, it's not really the same seeing as though I have to drive 3 plus hours, depending which friend has offered. Given that I'm generally in a pretty bad state of mind when I need someone, anyone, it's not really safe for me to drive (as discussed in many previous posts.)
There are some friends in my state territory, however they avoid me like the plague. Perhaps I am a plague seeing as though the highlight of my day is writing a blog post or going to my my psychiatrist appointments.
Sure, it's lovely to have people comment on my blogs, which always results in a few moments of sheer excitement and it's always lovely to have artificial hugs, again causing brief moments of joy. These moments are small but potent and I wouldn't diminish them for anything in the world; it's all I get.

All I can think is that I must be a terrible person, seriously awful, to have no friends. Of course there's a rational part of my brain telling me that it is my fault since I require a lot of space or sometimes I smother people when I crave human interaction. Apparently I haven't heard of moderation.
But it's more than needing space or smothering; it's my personality that hinders me the most. At least, that's what I think it might be. All in all, and without dissecting my personality that would take many years to complete, the only conclusion I continually come to that fits like a square peg in, well, a square hole, is that I'm an awful person. People don't want to be around me. Most likely due to being a leech and sucking the life out of people.

Perhaps this blog accounts for some of the trouble too. Being so honest here and talking about what annoys me, what I think and need, how I'm coping and the random waffling in between is actually putting people off. I suppose they can keep updated with my life through this and thus have no need to see me or talk to me.
Yet even without the blog I am basically forgotten. Well, forgotten is great for the dramatics, however I'm not sure it's true but "forgotten" is definitely what it feels like.

I would really like a friend. A real friend. A friend who will actually listen to me sometimes instead of always talking about themselves. Although you have to be what you want to receive and given that I have to beg on my blog for people to even notice me, I suspect this means I'm an awful friend. Okay, okay, I know I'm an awful friend. I was just trying to put it nicely so I wouldn't cry more.
And yet, there is still an element of me that feels like I should be able to be a shitty friend sometimes because I was such a good friend for 23 years of my life. It's just a pity I haven't known anyone for that long for that comment to be proven. The joys of moving around as a child sure pays to bite you in the arse later in life.

So I'll cuddle my teddy bear and participate in internal conversations as I try to piece things together and attempt to make sense of everything. I won't ask for help because I'm ignored, probably with good reason if I were to analyse it. I will write this blog and then remind myself never to speak of it again as people don't want to read things like this. I'll cry in the shower so no one can see me. I'll wonder if it's possible to get better and to live life. I'll read blogs and social networking updates about how wonderful everyone is, how their friends spoiled them by taking them out and all the lovely things they do for their children. During all this, like always, I will keep my mouth shut and keep the hurt inside. I'll let little things slip, either to see if anyone is listening or because I'm too emotional, usually the latter.

And I'll do everything on my own. Simply because that's all I have.