how could that happen?
how could that happen again?
where the fuck was I looking
when all his horses came in?
and he built a whole army
- PJ Harvey 'kamikaze'
I had a difficult time transitioning into high school when I entered year eight. I had been split up from my primary school friends who were all scattered in different 'houses'. These 'houses' dictated the students who would be in my classes all the time, so I was spending the bulk of my day with them. I didn't really have anyone; I didn't have anyone who would necessarily notice if I was absent from school.
Then, some familiar lines were found. A girl - K, she'd gone to a different primary school - but it turned out we had the same birthday! And our Mothers knew each other, and my extended family knew her family... it was all there.
Little did I know that K too had been struggling to fit in and make friends - this I discovered when my Mum told me she'd happened to bump into K's Mum, who divulged this information. K's Mum suggested perhaps organising a 'play-date' so-to-speak (although, I think we were a little old for that). Nevertheless, this time, the meddling was appreciated, because I thought maybe this could be the makings of a good friendship.
Then, I guess overnight, K became 'cool', and I became 'uncool' or at least unnecessary. Either way, the 'date' never went ahead.
See, I felt a little cheated back then. Like I was 'good enough' for a time, and then I expired. This situation echos to this day; proof that you never really outrun your past. Proof that maybe I am the eternal loser that I fear I am... unmemorable... unremarkable... forgettable.
Since the walls came crashing down I've been trying with C - to be chatty, to be open - I have even tried to organise a cinema date, twice, to no avail. She too has been chatty, and somewhat open - but she's also been spending a lot of time, inside and outside of work with "the cool kids".
You never really leave high school - you know, there will always be a cool gang that I'll never be a part of; there'll always be the weirdo, the one that smells, that you want to avoid, and then there'll always be me - stuck somewhere in the middle. No wo-mans land.
I've been trying with C because I genuinely like her - she is sweet and kind (especially when drunk) and she's not so self-involved like all the others. But I feel her pulling away; I'm losing her. And instead of ripping the band aid off quickly, or neglecting it so it falls off on its own, she is hanging - pulling and tugging - making it so much worse for me, and probably her. She's too young to realise you can't make a home in-between two worlds. It works in movies, but not in real life. I'm the bird, and they are the fish - and whichever metaphor she turns out to be, she cannot inhabit the middle ground - nature is strict that way.
I think I give in - the fish can have her. I cannot tell her these people are fake, that is something she must come to see on her own... if she's equipped with those goggles.
Sometimes I wish that I was one of the flock, in the crowd of cool kids - I'd have besties and we'd hang, and people would talk to me at lunchtime, and I'd know the inside jokes and oh, it would just be so la-di-da. I'd have a dozen more phone numbers in my mobile - I'd just never have reason to be alone. But, I'm just not like that - maybe I should just stop pretending like I could be. I'm not a renovators delight - I'm fucking heritage listed - take me as I am 'cause I ain't changing.
I'm just beginning to feel like I'm a magnet for pity, or lonely people. They see me, they latch on, like I'm a stepping stone between the land of the lonely and 'cool-town'. Once I've served my purpose, I am discarded and forgotten. I wish they wouldn't bother. If they can't stand this bird - get out of the fucking nest.
I want friends, I don't want to be lonely, I want my name to be at the front of the invite list, and not an afterthought at the end - but I don't want to compromise who I am to get that. I just, I don't know how to get that.
I'm with you PJ Harvey, how the fuck indeed.