The argument against friendship

4.21.08

Finals week last year was marked by the unexpected death of my mother’s best friend. Losing a friend, I think, is harder than losing a relative. You chose your friend; you chose to be with them. In a way, it makes your bond more meaningful because it was cultivated purposefully. The time and effort that goes into creating a friendship is hard to go through again. After the loss of all my closest friends, I find myself wondering the same thing she still is: will I ever have a best friend again? More importantly, will I ever want one?
The possibilities for loss just don’t seem to outweigh the possibilities for gain anymore. The slight chance for companionship has become the sure chance for disappointment. My mom has the errant email or call from an old friend but there is no daily correspondence; why would she devote time to people who don’t keep their word or have any desire to be the friend she is to them? As for myself, I’ve completely stopped opening up. As Kenny Chesney would say, “I can’t go there.” Why would I bother to try when every attempt ends in dismay?
I do not have the desire to cultivate any more deep and lasting friendships, nor do I make the time to do so. Of course, there is a downside; there is no one to talk to “just because” and no one to listen to my diatribes. A year after the fact and there is still a large gap in my mother’s life: no one to talk to while doing the dishes, no one to confide in at all. I suppose she feels much the same as I do—in a strange way, betrayed. Anger, distance and death are cold and unforgiving. No second chances. I’ve come to stop desiring second chances at all.
I get very tired of hearing people say things like, “you can never have too many friends” or “you should get out more” to me. While I recognize the need for social interaction, I do not recognize the need to pour my heart out to anyone or risk relationships with a bevy of people who could stab me in the back at any moment. History is riddled with people trusting people they should not trust. Why fall victim to an obvious trap? I realize that many people feel the risk is worth the possible gain. That does not hold true anymore for me.
We eventually get used to our new way of life without someone important in it. We stop expecting to replace the people we lose. The trust we had in them simply dissolves over time; though the love we felt for them remains. We no longer check the caller ID or dial their number by accident. Normalcy is slowly replaced by normalcy v2.1. We readjust to life not necessarily alone, but perhaps with a canine companion or a good book—both less frustrating and more rewarding than people any day.