How Does One Make Friends at the Age of 14,693 Days?

I desperately needed a friend today. Someone to hear me and see me and let me cry and, I dunno, do friend things that friends do. But I had no one to call. There are certainly people I thought of to call, but I felt I shouldn’t. Or, I worried, what if I think of them as a good friend, but they don’t think that way about me at all? What if I am that person. I live in mortal fear of being that person. The next thought was, who in the hell do you think you are? You haven’t been a very good friend to the few friends you do have, how dare you call anyone now? It’s not that I don’t want to be a good friend. It’s that I have been so intent on trying to survive and work and get food on the table and breathe and not break into a million pieces these past three years that I’ve not reached out and initiated like I probably should. The few times I have gotten my head out of my own ass and initiated contact with amazing people have ended up me being sick with a migraine, or the amazing person cancelling, or my having to work.  Blah dee blah dee bloo. I don’t even have a mom to call and talk to. IS THIS A PITY PARTY OR WHAT. Or maybe I’m just a human lady having a shitty time of it?

Human Lady. Shitty Time.

 This morning was a breaking point for me. Straw and Camel and Back and all that.

After waking up early only to be turned away due to Medicaid issues at what I thought was going to be my 20 week pre-natal appointment; after phone call after phone call trying to resolve the issue; after being yelled at by a case worker, I sat on our unfinished bathroom floor (which is still in shambles from when a pipe burst in our bathroom after a tree fell on our house), in my wet underwear and jeans from where I peed myself from throwing up so hard, my face puffy from weeping and snot being funneled through my face in vast quantities, seemingly from a nothing-but-snot parallel universe, I was absolutely not going to call anyone and dump everything that hurts and is going wrong and is overwhelming me in their lap.


            “Hi, it’s me, Meg. I know we haven’t spoken in forever but I thought maybe you’d be up for helping me survey my mountain of shit while I cry and try not to panic. Doesn’t that sound positively THRILLING?! Here, take my offered hand and prepare for an ADVENTURE!”


I feel like I spend all of my time making sure that everyone else is taken care of. I try to take care of me. But the taking care part that involves me having relationships outside of my house? That isn’t going so well.


It’s hard making friends when you’re my age.

I’m 14,693 days old.

Or, to be less precise: 40 years, 2 months and 22 days, and when one is 14,693 days old, and trying to make it through each day without crying and trying to be a not shitty person, and feeling overwhelmed because you have to figure out what to make for dinner without using too many dishes because the plumbing in your house hasn’t worked for months and the kitchen sink backs up and the dishwasher won’t drain so dishes are washed by hand in the utility sink in the utility closet because we don’t have the 18K to fix said plumbing and your children have homework and you’re worrying you’re screwing them up because you drop the F-bomb way too much and they probably have too much screen time and you should be doing more crafts or something learn-y and developmental-y with them and you need to upload more pictures to all the social medias for the new business you’re trying to start that is exciting and cool in theory but isn’t making enough money to pay for itself yet which sucks because you’re the only one making money at all because your partner has been out of work for almost six months and can’t find a job even though he is brilliant and has a Masters in English and you just had to sit in the DFACS waiting area for four hours for the second time in less than a month to try and get Medicaid coverage so as to help birth the human in your uterus because you can’t afford health insurance which sucks because you currently have a double ear infection and a sinus infection…how does one make friends? When? When does one make friends?

 And say, if I did make friends, who would want to hang out with THAT dumpster fire I just described up there?

 Then there’s the vulnerability of even admitting any of this because then if I admit this, will people feel sorry for me?

 Well gotdangit. I don’t want THAT either. I am a Quinn. We don’t let people see that we’re hurting. And even if we are hurting, there are people that have it way worse. Walk it off. Shake it off. It doesn’t hurt that bad. Distract! Distract! Make a joke!

So why am I writing this? If I were to share this, what would be the point?

 I guess I’m just lonely? I guess I just need to know that I’m not the only one out there who thinks, “Gee. I wish I had a friend like it seems so many other people out there have a friend.” But then I wonder, do a lot of people feel this way?


If you feel this way at all—I see you. I get it. I do. If you’re struggling just to get through the day and you feel like a misfit because you can’t seem to catch a break—I get it. Maybe you could come over, in your pajamas if you want, and we could play Canasta or something. I would need to learn how to play Canasta but I am a VERY FAST LEARNER. Or, if you need to cry and vent first, I understand. I’ll help survey and chip away at your shit mountain if you don’t mind helping to survey and chip away at mine. That’s the great fear though, isn’t it? That what if your offer goes unnoticed? Or isn’t appreciated? Or isn’t wanted? What then?


How does one make friends?