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.

love letter to my copy of order of the phoenix

baby,

i love you so much. you've been with me through it all. i first purchased you at a walmart the morning you were released in 2003. i had to wait until about 11am because i was only a wee 9 year old at my grandma's house, where the nearest place (walmart) to purchase you was 40 minutes away. i got into the series in 2nd grade, after goblet of fire came out, so i never got to purchase a potter book on the day it was released. i hardly slept a wink while i awaited your arrival. in mere hours i ran into the chilled walmart in altoona, my goose bumped legs carrying me toward the books section.

even though i knew millions of other people purchased you from midnight onward, i felt SO special sitting in the backseat of our subaru, opening the fresh binding and grinning like i was about to discover the secret of the universe (i was). i saw "dudley demented" and felt pretty intimidated. i suddenly realized how big of a book you were. but then the gryffindor in me reminded myself that my fourth grade teacher had told me i couldn't read goblet of fire because it was too big. so therefore, i vowed to myself that i'd get to the end of you. 

i remember having to ask my mom what "bespectacled" meant. and what "enough - effing - owls" meant. "they said effing?" my mom asked incredulously. "well...yeah..." i thought i knew what that meant, but i wanted proof. 

i remember when reading you how harry's humor struck me for the first time as seriously funny. i would have laughed out loud at "we're not stupid, you know" "well, that's news to me" if i wouldn't have been such an awkward child. 

before i left for tour i found pictures in the basement of me at a family reunion at age 10 or 11, rereading you. my family was gathered inside the pitcairn park building but i was sitting outside with my huge thomas edison shirt, with you propped up on the picnic table in front of me, bigger than my head. i didn't care how it looked, i just wanted you alone, baby, and nothing more.

my dad dated the first page of you, and i remember feeling violated for your sake. i didn't want anyone touching my precious. "they say the third time you read a book is when you truly start to understand it," my dad told me. but i knew better. i knew i'd read you only once and understand every little thing about you. i judged you from your cover, and i couldn't have been more correct about your brilliance.

over the years i've brought you to the high school cafeteria and read from your pages instead of eating, stuffed you in my purse and brought you everywhere, and defended you from the hating muggles. once i even screamed and cried to get my way out of a bad situation, all the while focusing on your open pages for support. you've helped me more than you know.

you've accumulated various pen marks (i honestly don't know) and eyeliner stains when the sad parts came. you are waterlogged from when i cried and when my brother spilled water on you. you are taped up in some places and the back cover of you has flower and grass stains from when you tipped over the wooden porch railing and smashed onto my grandma's newly planted plain purple-and-red flowers. i thought i was so cool, underlining specific passages or words in pen as if they'd have a deeper meaning in the future. one time i was so tired reading you at the dining room table i fell asleep on the tablecloth, and another time i used you as a pillow on accident and woke up with your words imprinted on my face.

i was so excited and proud when i finished you. i ran to my sister's bedroom door - mine, now - and knocked, jumping up and down with my news. "i finished!" i squealed. "what happens?" she asked, and so i began to read to her.

every so often, i go back and read the first four books published before you. i did this recently, before looking at your size and getting overwhelmed and unwilling to bring you to college and carry you around since you were so damn heavy. but now i'm home, baby, i've come home and i'm sorry for neglecting you.

if possible, you mean more to me now than you did then. i will never forget the 'THEN I DON'T WANT TO BE HUMAN!' and how i could relate to your depiction of harry more and more as i got older. thank you for everything.

i will now open your pages and once again fall under the spell of 9 year old tianna, with no doubt that the world is magical.

can we still be married?

love, 

your part time lover and full time friend,

tianna