you know

they say you can only find true friendship once in a blue moon
now i know that shit is true cuz
talkin bout it's not me it's not you
then who is it, cuz it's not my cats
not my fish
not the fuzz between my toes
or the dirt under my green nails
not my pretty face, my mannish face

tell me why you mad when you're fuckin up
pushin me away when i get too deep
tellin me watch out, stay on my damn feet
i can't live in a fairytale when my income is 77% of yours
i'm just an angry feminist demanding open doors
well grow my pit hair and you'll be scared
tell me go to france, try to fit in elsewhere
maybe a gay bar or a graveyard

Fandom friendship reflections: bitter working on better.

Last night I was lying in bed, attempting to explain to Katie my experiences at Terminus, a 2008 Harry Potter convention in Chicago. It was marvelous and exquisite. There is a reason I’ve written about Terminus extensively. My friend at the time, Liz, told me not to get too sad when it ended. I was like, “okay.” And then I got really depressed when it ended. And not just an, “I miss my friends a lot” kind of way, but in a, “my friends all hate me because now they don’t talk to me since the convention is over and it wasn’t real friendship anyway and fuck them we’re over.”

Four years ago, I’m finally getting over that feeling.

As I was explaining to Katie the awkward Terminus hallway heart-to-hearts, meet-ups, concerts, and drama, I realized that I was talking about a different person. Certainly not me. Certainly not even the four-years-ago me, but a different person entirely. But I can’t tell whether I’ve grown up since then. I think I’ve just grown… on.

I was part of (what I thought was) a very tight knit group of six friends for the first time in my life in 2008. I had gotten over my best friend of 5 years who I was in love with, I was still dealing with my sister and dad moving out and refusing contact with my mom and I, and I was a depressed high school freshman. So I met these people through the Internet who I thought were going to be my life. They were so much like me, they had so much passion for Harry Potter, and I could be myself around them - on screen and, it turned out, off. 

I was immersed in this group of friends for what seems like most of my life. I was the messenger in the “he likes him, but does he like him back” and I was in the middle of the “don’t tell them, you’re the only one that can know”. I was the backstabber, I was the liar, I was the sweet girl, I was the trustworthy young’un, I was the playful redhead, I was the only one that kept in touch with all of them at the same time.

Because none of them cared about each other like I cared about them all. And it took me way too long to realize that.

Four years later, I am only loosely friends with two of them. One of those relationships is merely because we live in the same area. The other is because she and I started out as best friends before the other ones came into play, so there will always be something special between us. 

I’ve bitch-blogged countless times about how I don’t believe friendship to be the “oh! You’re in town? Let me visit you!” kind of ordeal. I don’t see friendship as the talk-to-you-every-other-year guy or the  ”oh girl you so pretty”-on-my-photo-comments girl. They’re acquaintances. And acquaintances I’m not that fond of having. I’d rather refer to them as “some girl” or “stranger”.

I’ve accepted that some people find me really ridiculous for this. But I have to do it for myself, I have to. I can’t keep thinking of past conventions and meet-ups as divine or OMGSOKOOLIMISSITSOMUCH!!! I have to just think of them as normal, regular people who fuck up and ignore each other, just like they did, and do, to me. They don’t think about me anymore. If they did, they’d get in touch. And I won’t do that for them, because I’ve tried. There’s only so many times you can be like, “Hey, let’s hang out/catch up” before you stop fucking trying.

It’s strange to think back on Terminus and realize those friends are now just another name on Facebook. Here’s to you, past. And here’s to a brighter future, one with real friends who will stay, regardless of geographical convenience or potential drama. 

“Remember when Zach said this and everything was fucked up from there?” “Who is Zach?” is supposed to be funny. I’m supposed to laugh at something I cherished, but I won’t. And 99% of people I know would suggest that I laugh rather than sulk, but I just can’t make myself smile when I think about the awfully dramatic conventions I’ve gone to. Because I was happy then, and now I see what I was missing that caused me to be happy - perception.

I think it’s just miraculous how something so dear to me destroyed my mind, my world view, so much.

I just want new.