Friendshit.

Since I've been writing about her on Flickr publicly for about a year now, I see no point in changing her name to 'protect' her. Chances are you'd figure out who she is anyway. But I'm in a place where I don't feel comfortable calling her what I usually call her: Sissy. Things have changed and she's just Meg now. 

It's weird. For years she was my Sissy, my best friend, my other half-in-the-completely-platonic-friendship way. When you said one name, you had to say the other. "Where's MegandColey?" "MegandColey said they were going..." You know?

And somewhere hidden in the last 2 years is the exact moment our friendship took a turn for the worst. I'm guessing she knows the exact date. But me, I'm clueless.

I want to start out by saying that I'm not here to attack her. I'm more writing this for myself, trying to figure everything out. 

When I moved from MD to here my life turned upside down and the ground shit on me. When I did live in MD, in middle school and highschool Meg lived 10 minutes from me. Almost EVERY day was spent at each others' houses. We were inseparable. The siamese friends. We never fought. The only fight I recall is when she saw my arms with cutting scars and blew up at me. But I don't really see that as a fight, it's more concern for your friends' mental health and well-being. And even though I fought her through the whole process she didn't give up on me, she helped me get help and get through it. That's when I knew she really was my best friend, a true friend. In the middle of highschool her dad got transfered to another county for his job. Which meant Meg was moving. I thought it was the end of the world. She was only 30-45 minutes away, but still. I couldn't see her every day, or run over to her house at night when I got pissed off at my parents. We started talking more on the phone and I visited her every weekend I could. Summer was the best, I'd stay for weeks. I loved her, her friends, and they loved me. It was great fun. But that was when my communication problems started to arise. I've never liked talking on the phone. I feel stupid, awkward, so I tend to avoid it. I'd rather talk in person. It became a problem with us, she would call and I would say I'd call back and then I wouldn't. When I missed her calls, I still wouldn't call her back. I would joke about it and call it Telephonaphobia. But now that I'm thinking back, it really wasn't funny. It was frustrating to be on my end and irritating to be on her end. When we were together we were fine. But sometimes during the school week we, as BEST friends, would need to talk. I got used to it and it did get better, but it was always still there. I think seeing each other as often as we did kind of masked the problem. Because when I could drive over to see her, the phone wasn't really an issue anymore - I was there talking to her face to face.

Then my dad got transfered. To Oklahoma. I can definitely pin-point this as one of the worst moments in my life. I LOVE the east coast. The ocean, the stinky fishy smell, the weather, the cities, it's like heaven. And I just got dumped in bumfuck Oklahoma, 1700 miles away from my best friend. We cried. I think every time we saw each other up until the day I left we cried. And drank and laughed and cried some more. And I left. I felt like I was leaving a piece of me behind though. I cried 1000 of those 1700 miles. My dad said he'd never seen me like that before. I'd never been more upset over anything in my entire life.

Here's where the phone thing kicks back in again. Now I CANT drive to her house to talk to her. I HAVE to pick up the phone. And I did. I was so proud of myself. But like a New Years Resolution, it started to fade. Every day to every few days. Every few days to once a week. Once a few weeks. Once a month. Once every few months. Now? I haven't spoken to her since December 08. 

Now, I know this is looking like all my fault, the way I'm writing it. But it's not. Our friendship didn't just fall apart over a stupid telephone issue. There were other problems. Is the lack of communication my fault? Some? Most? Yes. I accept it. Because I'm not going to lie to make myself look better, or lie to myself, because there's really no point in that. Is the fact that our friendship is...I don't even know what to call it. If there's a word for it. In shambles? Over? Unfixable? "Under Construction?" I don't know. But is it ALL my fault? No.

All I know is that I've taken and accepted my part of the blame. But I feel like she doesn't see, or doesn't want to see her share of the blame. And I know this probably sounds really confusing to everyone who's reading this. But I really can't put out anymore detail that what I've already done, because I feel that would be disrespectful to her. As angry as I am at her and as much as I don't want to - I still love her. Coming into this friendship when I was younger felt like being born into a new family. I considered her and her family mine and she did the same with me and mine. We were sisters. When strangers would ask when we were out "Oh so you're sisters?" we would say yes. Because it was the truth. The comfort of those words: family, sister, they made me feel safe. Like we would never grow apart or "break-up" or give up on each other because we were linked by such strong, powerful words. So when things escalated and I found myself kicked out of the sister circle, the family circle, the friend circle...I was hurt. I still am. Bitter. Angry. Extremely untrusting. If my sister can do this to me, who's to say any of my other friends won't? It's kind of ironic. One of our favourite movies was Lilo and Stitch. And we would say "Ohana means family. Family means no one gets left behind." We were Ohana. And I got left behind. I thought family doesn't give up on family. Even friends, true friends who love you will never give up on you. No matter how mad they make you or frustrated. I've never given up on a friend. And to feel like I've been given up on, it pretty much sucks. Because I thought we were better than that. And as dramatic as it sounds I'm afraid to get close to anyone now. Even just friends. If my family can give up on me, so can they, is how I feel.

I called her everyday for weeks after everything blew up. She wouldn't answer her phone, when she did she didn't want to talk to me, she'd "call you when I feel like talking about it." I waited. For MONTHS. And now she's calling me. Every couple days. Talking to my mom and leaving voicemails on my her phone. Following me on Twitter. Probably reading this. And in my head I can't figure out if I want to talk to her or not. I'm angry because I still love her and I don't want to. I have such mixed feelings, I want her to go away and never see/hear from her ever again. Just disappear. And then I want things to go right back to the way they were, when we were sisters. Held together by what I thought back then was an impenetrable bond. I want to talk to her, but I don't pick up the phone. Because I want to hurt her as bad as she hurt me. I want her to have the same fears I had running through my head all day, everyday -  that she's lost me forever and I won't ever speak to her again. I want her to know what it feels like to call and call and call and never get an answer. I want her to feel what I felt and still feel. Yeah, I fucked up. But she fucked up too. And if she's allowed to persecute me for what I did, I have the right to put her through hell until I feel like talking too. I don't know when I'll be ready to pick up the phone. But I deserve a waiting period too. I deserve the time to think about everything and figure out how I want to handle the situation. 

I feel better after writing this. Maybe you readers could give me some input. Have you been through something like this? Have any suggestions? What would you do in this kind of a situation?

I just don't want her to think that by picking up the phone, I'm giving in to what she wants. If I answer the phone, it's because it was my choice. Not because I feel guilted into talking to her. Just because I answer the phone, it doesn't mean that I'm backing down or that she wins. 

So is Coley gone forever? Will I answer next time she calls? I honestly don't know. Maybe.

<3nicole

Coming out

Those who follow me on Flickr know that I recently came out to my mom. I never followed up on how it went so my coming out story seems like a good subject for my second blog post.

I'll start at the beginning. I've always been into women. Since I was around 5 or 6, I knew there was something different about me. My friends would come over and we would play with Barbies, my Barbie would have sex with Stacy and my friends' Barbies would have sex with Ken. I was always fascinated by women, they way they looked, acted, I always found them more attractive than men. They were prettier. In highshool, the feelings only got stronger. I found myself dating boys but never really feeling fully satisfied in any of my relationships. There was always something missing and I constantly found myself looking for more. I was a terrible monogamist. I remember the feeling of being in a relationship with a guy I really did love and care about, but always keeping my eye out for something, someone better. They were just filling the spot until someone better came along. Then I started making out with girls every time I got drunk at a party (roughly every 3 or 4 weeks during the school year, and almost every week or every other work during the summer). One of my best friends was super rich and had really relaxed parents who didn't care what we did or the fact that we drank underage, as long as we stayed at her house and didn't make too much noise. The fact that she had a pool and and a hot tub didn't hurt either. So I partied it up and slapped a 'bisexual' sticker on my forehead. It was easier and more accepted to wear the bisexual label. It didn't gross the girls out and the guys thought it was 'hot.' 

After highschool my interest in guys slowly faded. Their wet sloppy kisses started grossing me out and the thought of a penis almost made me want to gag. The role I was supposed to play as girlfriend got boring and made me angry. I was supposed to be good, quiet, arm candy; my opinions were always second and my role in the bedroom was to please HIM, it was never the other way around. After a short stint with a girl I'd known in highschool, I knew what I wanted. I wanted curves and boobs and I would never be the All American Housewife, married to a businessman with 2.2 kids and with white picket fence. Despite the fact, I still dated guys. I tried so hard to cling onto my bisexuality, not wanting to let it go, in hopes that when/if I ever did come out to my parents, there would still be that 50/50 chance that I would still marry a man, despite the fact that I liked girls as well. I wanted to give them hope. Maybe it wouldn't be such a disappointment if I still dated guys. 

I finally got tired of pretending to be someone I wasn't. I accepted the fact that I was a full blown queer, I didn't like men and I never would. With that acceptance came relief, I was able to embrace my gayness and love it. Eventually came pride. I found myself more able to love myself and my sexuality, and to be proud that I was part of such a wonderful, welcoming community.

By then, everyone I knew, except for my family (minus my brother) knew I was gay. I hated keeping it a secret. It wasn't fear that they would reject me or kick me out, it was the fear of disappointment that was keeping me from coming out to my parents. The disappointment that I knew would overwhelm them and bombard them with the questions, "Where did we go wrong?" "What did I do to make her this way?"

My mom is one of my best friends. She's one of the people I respect most in the world. I tell her everything. I feel lucky to have the kind of mom who I can tell things that other kids wouldn't dream of telling their parents. I felt like I was lying to her by not telling her the truth about my sexuality. It started eating away at me to the point where I felt I would just explode if another day went by that she didn't know. I finally decided it was time to come out to her. I couldn't keep it from her any longer. I tried telling her several times but all I could manage was to stutter and then quickly change the subject. With help from a good friend I was able to compose a letter to her explaining everything. I left it in her chair and went to bed, terrified, knowing that come the morning she would see me as a different person and things would never be the same. When I woke up the next morning she gave me a hug. She told me she loved me, that I was her daughter and that she would always love me and nothing could ever change that. She said she needed time to think and process everything before she was ready to talk about it. 

It's been almost 3 months now and we still haven't talked about 'It." I've asked her if she'll ever be ready to talk about it. If it's something she'd rather forget and pretend never happened. She says no, she just needs time. I'm starting to lose faith that we'll ever talk about it. That it will just be this unspoken secret between the two of us. It's frustrating but I feel guilty in a way for complaining. I've heard horror stories about gay people being kicked out of their house or disowned by their families. I feel lucky that I have such an understanding mother. But the need to talk about this is making me insane. Should I feel this overwhelming need to talk to her? Or should I just let it go? Just be happy with the fact that now she knows and it's off my shoulders? I don't know. I'm in a weird place with this right now.

Anyway, that's all I've got for tonight.

<3nicole

She lives!

Fist off - I'm not dead. I just needed a break from the Flickrverse. I did quit the 365days project. Again. It's really disappointing to me, especially since it's the 3rd or 4th time I've dropped the project. I just feel like at this point in my life it's obviously not something I'm ready for yet. I'll do it eventually. Just not right now. I'll still be posting pictures, Im not leaving Flickr completely but I wanted somewhere I could write more lengthly blogs without feeling obligated to post a masterpiece as a precursor. Enter THEPINKLESBIAN. I thought it was fitting. I know I'm known as Like_shipwrecks everywhere else but I wanted something different. For those of you who don't know me or follow me on flickr, I'm Nicole, I'm 21 and welcome to my life. I'm hoping this blog will be more of an outlet for my personal opinions on what's going on in the world as well as a personal documentation of my life. I want to be open and honest about everything. I may change names for the sake of the people I talk about (and for my own sanity) but just be prepared - if you know me in real life or if we're good friends who have met through flickr, I'm probably going to talk about you. That doesn't mean I'm going to sit here and spew off a load of bullshit, just be aware that you're 'name' might come up in a few blogs. Because I might kind of love you :) Or be mad at you. Whatever the case may be. So I guess that about wraps up my first post. Check you later!

<3nicole

And if anyone is willing to help me with a few coding problems with my layout it would be SO much appreciated if you could drop me a line - like_shipwrecks@yahoo.com. I want to add an extra side panel for a blogroll, all the blogs I read, as well as another one with all my personal websites, flickr, twitter, etc. It's been a while since I've coded layouts and things have changed!