When I was a kid, my best friend was my cousin Ben. You see, we were a year apart. I was the older one. And our families did everything together. We congregated at my grandfather’s 50-acre farm about one hour north of Toronto. Whenever we could. Which was often more than twice a month.
I grew up close to my cousins. Specifically Benny’s family. His brother Mario, and sisters Mary Ann and Carolyn were like my siblings. Because we grew up on the farm together. And Ben and I did EVERYTHING together. From scaling the barns and pushing our siblings down into 12 feet of snow (sorry guys) to building forts. Whipping apples at cars that whizzed by the road. I rigged a cool rope pulley system to hide us in the branches should the car slow down.
Hey, we were farm kids. We also made boats and floated them down the ditch, after heavy rain. Built dams in the drainage ditches (and almost flooded a portion of the field). We rode horses. Used slingshots to fire at trees (I wouldn’t allow him to fire at an animal… a sibling once or twice? Sure!). He was my first and very best friend. And my brother.
I learned to be comfortable around men. Moreso than women. And that was because of the generally direct conversation style that men have. My own ADHD finds that style comforting. Relaxing. Succinct and uncomplicated. It can be really hard for me to talk to women socially. They both mystify me and scare the heck out of me. Predominantly because their mood (and intention) can change so quickly.
And to be clear, many women dislike me. But I really don’t know why and never have.
Thinking Intentional Friendships With Adult Men Could Be Valuable
It never occurred to me that any man who called himself my friend would have another intention. There are many sincere reasons for this clear gaffe in human understanding. First, understand that I don’t think I am attractive. I don’t care how many guys assert that I am cute, or sexy, or that my personality is challenging. It is. But you aren’t supposed to get ‘turned on’ by that.
Women call bulls*it on this one. But it’s true. You could ask my best friend Diane and she would tell you. I am always surprised if someone is attracted to me. There are better options, clearly out there to consider. Obesity? Sure, that is a huge factor for me. I am one of the only fat people in a family of hotties. Meet the Ugly Duckling! Then, now and perhaps always, that will be my perception of myself.
There are great beauties in my family. I am not one of them.
And then there are women who are so gentle. So cuddly, and warm, and feminine in their nature. I remember I think, I might have been like that once. Eviscerated for it. Healed. Was kind, and romantic and loyal and vulnerable. Eviscerated again. My herstory reads like “The Little Engine That Could”. With the caveat that in each new chapter, the track was completely blown up. And so, was I, to the core of my sensitivities.
EQ and What Men Do to Get Close to Their Target
Sometimes the people who feign zero EQ are the ones who have the kindest, most loving, and affectionate souls. But we learn in time that this sacred level of relationship has to be earned. It has to be! Because when we gave it willingly, we became road pizza on the highway of love.
Ready for some weird? The second a man I think is attractive flirts with me, I am having an anxiety attack. Not kidding. A full-blown, chest pain, rapid breathing, room-spinning anxiety attack. And if I am not attracted to the man and he makes overtures, it is so much worse. I want to be kind. Painfully polite and I don’t want to hurt anyone. But it is truly like watching a train wreck in slow motion.
Me, the seductive and sensual erotic writer and feather boa-wearing poetess? Yeh. A puddle of blushing and agonizing awkwardness. If you know me, you are laughing no doubt. Does that sound like me? No. Not even close. But it is my current post-divorce reality.
I thought having male friends here in Austin would be valuable. It would show me the kind and gentle side of men. So that maybe, one day, I might trust one with my heart. Romantic idea huh? Be a good friend to a man or two on their own healing journey. Like my cousin, I am capable of it. But it turns out that the concept of men being friends with women is just a facade.
It’s very much hope of a transaction, for the man. Meaning, of course, sex. I mean, what else would I offer that would have any value other than my genitals? Nothing. That realization hit home hard tonight, after a lengthy (and hurtful) debate.
Harry Was Right (My Heart Was Sincere With No Manipulation Intended)
Friendship I now understand with utmost clarity is dog and pony show for one purpose. And rather than being angry, I left the conversation and went for a walk with my dogs. I cried a little, although I am not 100% sure why. No wait, I do know. I actually cried a lot. But it doesn’t matter. I guess I am slow to realize malice because my intention is never to inflict it on someone else.
“Making friends with women is hard for you. Making friends with men was easy, only because they want to have sex with you. So, you suck at making friends, full stop. And you are too intimidated to date in earnest right now, given recent bad experiences. And you have too much integrity to satiate your needs with casual sex because whatever shred of romantic is still left in you, will die. And it won’t come back again. Not this time. It will be an emotional extinction event. So,get used to being alone. Women compete with and dislike you. Most of them don’t even give you a chance. Alpha ADHD girl. And men don’t want to be your friend. They are only trying to “F” you.”
I supposed I have to assume some important and real facts. There is nothing in me of value to a man, but intercourse. Not a damned thing. Not my humor, loyalty, support, fun personality, or anything else. Men truly don’t care about women beyond the biological imperative. We truly are a life support system for genitalia. And little value beyond that. Or maybe that is only true for the less attractive ones like me.
Now I see.
Nothing I am, or do, or choose matters. It’s all one big game. And this is not a world for romantics anymore. A least, not the ones that have a muffin top. And bleeding heart sentimentalities.
Life isn’t antiquated. I am.
Male friendships have always helped me retain my respect and love for the opposite sex. Because if I could see the beauty in some male friends then I would not swing the spiritual pendulum toward hating men. For every guy that takes me on a date, and treats me like a piece of meat. Or tries to. I thought I have my male friends and they aren’t like that! Therefore, good guys, however scarce, must still exist.
And I know they do. Just not for the twice-divorced workaholic, career-driven, responsible, confident, independent fat chicks like me. We’re the medium-rare steak thrown into the shark tank of really scary, manipulative, dishonest, and disingenuous men trying to get laid. How silly of me, to anticipate anything more than that.
The option to use a man is always there. My god, it is ALWAYS there. My toes are at this line I could cross. That would satisfy my needs. My loneliness. Does it really matter at this stage in life? This integrity regarding intimacy? Tonight, I am not so sure it matters anymore. At least to anyone else but me.
