Forgotten

The people in my life are generally good about inviting me to things, even if they suspect I won't attend for whatever migraine-related issue, but in the past week, I've been forgotten twice, and the two experiences were so different, I've got to talk it out.

So, the first one I found out about the day before the party. I asked why I hadn't been invited, the answer was that the occasion would have been noisy and it was thought unlikely that I would attend. I agreed that this was true, but asked to still be invited in the future, because while they may be right, I still like to have choices, and to know that I'm included, even if I can't join in. My friend immediately understood and promised to invite me forever after.

It was the simplest conversation, literally lasted three minutes, and left me feeling really good about my friends.

Less than a week later, I woke up in the morning, loaded up my facebook to see what all the cool kids were up to and my heart sank when I saw that there was a decent-sized family party the night before, for my grandfather's birthday. No one mentioned it to me, and the really frustrating part of it is that I could have gone. I was already in town for another reason, and plenty medicated enough for at least a stop-by. I would have loved to have given my grandfather a hug on his birthday, but I was denied the choice.

So, I sent an email to my grandparents, apologizing for missing the party and explaining that I didn't know about it. I'd emailed the morning before, to say happy birthday, but obviously hadn't mentioned the party because you can't rsvp to something you aren't aware of. The message I sent was bland, and ended on a good note, with an "i love you", but I also sent my mom a quick text to tell her I was actually really sad about it.

Being way up in the mountains is great for my head, but I get so lonely sometimes, I can't breathe. I rarely get visitors, and trips to the city are hard enough on me that socializing becomes more of a painful chore than any kind of fun, so the few social interactions I do get, I relish and savor and try to milk for all they're worth. Being so starved for human contact, after a lifetime of being surrounded by a huge family and a myriad of friends, has been really hard. I haven't considered myself an extrovert in years, and I do enjoy solitude and quiet, don't get me wrong, but I'm also deeply lonely.

So, when everyone wrote me back with the usual excuses of the venue being too loud, I was really not interested. When I replied, I ignored all that and just asked for a make-up date. That was the end of the issue for me; I was disappointed, but I'd gotten my point across and I'd resolved to move on with my day.

It hasn't ended there, though. There have been more emails and phone conversations and more apologies. Which, okay, except I hate those apologies that feel like they're more about the apologizer than the apologizee. The ones that go,"i'm so sorry (if) I did that! DO YOU FORGIVE ME?????" And then the apologizee is expected to immediately comfort the apologizer so they no longer feel the horrible burden of being Wrong. This is what these emails and phone calls are feeling like, as if I'm suddenly in the middle of a bizarre drama in which I'm expected to make someone feel better for leaving me out. Which I'm absolutely not going to do, so this lunch we've got planned in a week might be interesting!

Writing this all out has been really helpful, I've deleted most details to protect the guilty, but before I did I took a hard look at them to try to discern if this second situation was more emotionally charged because it was a family party I'd missed, if my hurt and loneliness were showing too baldly, if somehow I should have addressed the issue differently, but no. It's not me that's making the difference in this situation.

Oh well, people process things differently, I'll just have to let this thing blow over however it does and hope that the important issues haven't been lost in the overwrought drama of it all.

Don't forget me, please. I'm may be quieter and may be far away, but I'm here.