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It started with a dream. In my dream, I had a call from Joanna. Her voice, her warm, sweet, soothing voice almost caused a lump of emotion to rise in my throat.
And then, we were together, getting into a car and going to a restaurant. Joanna explained she had been busy, so busy, with the international toxic exposures working group, that it was nice to have some time for something different. She laughed.
I felt awkward, wondering how she could just reappear like this with no explanation. I broached the question, "Why didn't you answer my messages, my calls, or my letters?"
Joanna pressed her fingers to her lips, eyebrows raised, and shook her head with a mischievous smile. The topic, it seemed was off-limits and I wasn't going to get an answer. The dream ended with Joanna driving me back to my hotel, and then saying she needed to get something from the car, but instead of coming back, she drove away.
After my shower and breakfast, I told Frank that I felt incredibly sad. He told me to stop drinking so much wine at night. He felt that two glasses was one too many. I thought, "Drinking wine doesn't make me sad. I drink it because I feel sad."
I got in the car to drive to work, but just sat there, shoulders slumped, head down, keys in hand, unable to start the car. I was overwhelmed by the thought of putting in the effort it would take to drive six miles through the city. I felt like I had lost my best friend. Again. Eventually, I took a breath and backed out of the driveway. A half-mile from home, tears started to well up in my eyes. Within seconds, I was sobbing.
I cried, hard, the whole way into downtown. I pulled into a parking space in the garage, and continued to cry. After taking a few deep breaths, I grabbed some Kleenex and mopped up my face, grateful for my over-sized, very dark sunglasses. The feeling of grief stayed with me all day.
I am mourning this loss as if it were new, and not something that has been evident for two years now. Why? Why did this particular sadness come back? What went wrong in the first place?
Actually, I know the answer to that second question. It was my neurosis, my need to talk, to be heard--my neediness, in general, I suppose. Isn't that always what goes wrong? Nobody wants to call me, spend time with me, talk to me. I talk too much, I don't always get the point, and even when I'm bubbly, I think people must know I'm wracked with anxiety and self-doubt. I am a person that other people like in theory, but not in large or sustained doses. There's a reason I'm the one who always has to do all of the reaching out, calling, contacting... I do get it; I just don't like it.
And so, I mourn Joanna. I mourn my loneliness and the fact that I am, essentially friendless. I have virtual friends--those 89 people on Facebook who wouldn't even blink if I dropped dead tomorrow because, truth be told, my being or not being does not get factored into anyone's day. It doesn't matter if I'm funny, or stupid, or clever, or insightful, or interesting, or sensitive, or a source of factoids, or anything. Would anyone miss me or even notice? No. The answer has always been no. I've worked so hard to be a better person, to do all of those things Dear Abby says you need to do to be popular and to have friends. Abby, it just hasn't worked in my case. I've tried, really, I have. Nobody wants to connect with me. I have social cooties. And now, now I'm sad, and that's as bad as giving off a very unpleasant, toxic odor. Dammit, May, take a pill for that, would ya?
Joanna hung in there for a really, really long time. I miss having that kind of friendship where I never had to be self-conscious or worry that I was a nuisance or just only being tolerated as a polite gesture. I miss her calls and her visits. I'll never know what the breaking point was, what I did that made her call it quits. I only know that I regret whatever it was and I miss her friendship terribly.
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