The "Infected Friendship Disease" That Has Made You Sick
Ignores you when one of her friends walk up
She is "controlling" to a point of shattering your nerves
Everything is about "her"
There’s this girl. There’s this guy. They meet. They become instant-friends. Is this a miracle? No. There was no water being turned into wine or lepers being healed. Just two humans of the opposite sex becoming good friends almost-instantly.
Before you know it, they walk into the “Getting to Know You Process.” First a shared bit of background information. Then a piece of info that is shocking, but not in a “I’m into leather and peanut butter,” kind of way.
" And to her, we are really 'good friends.'"
They laugh a lot. They smile a lot. Even a bit of safe flirtation. Not too much to cause alarm, but enough to keep him in some state he cannot pinpoint. He would like to think she was “interested,” but on some days, her personality is likening to a thermometer—up, down. Up, down. She knows what she is doing. But he doesn’t. It’s like a game to the outsider watching.
Sportscaster: “Folks, I have seen her change moods multiple-times in one day, but she must be out for the record today. Hold it! Ohhh, nooooo! She has totally-stunned her male-pal and he is on the canvas and here comes Demico Rodriguez, the certified ref . . .9, 10. You’re out!” “Back in a moment with Floyd “Money” Mayweather for a round-by-round mood analysis. This is Jim Nance, CBS Sports, Madison Square Garden.”
That in a paragraph, sums-up how the male-part of this friendship feels most of the time. He thinks hard and often about what he should do . . .?
- Cut his losses and move on.
- Try to get an accurate reading on why “she” is like this, confusing and never in one place to talk to him.
- Keep away and start fading into the woodwork. (at least he will have peace of mind).
- Let her come to him—although that in itself is taking a big chance of losing her friendship.
- So he waits. And says nothing to her in public or in other outlets—Facebook, phone, messenger pigeon. And he is still stewing with uneasy feelings, rattled thoughts, and wonders why she looks too glib each time he sees her at public events.
- “It’s like I am invisible,” he thinks. And probably “nails it,” for he has counted the times that she has just went on talking to other people while he either waits for her to finish her tour of friends or just leaves without saying anything to her.
He begins to realize, that although she has a high IQ, and very gifted in many things, she might be:
- Self-centered, but not on a dangerous level.
- Loves to be praised.
So his mind is made-up. He will phone her, but “just” to “fish,” her for information and maybe she will, without knowing it, reveal why she treats him like a dead fish.
He calls. Her phone rings three times. He is thinking, “Maybe she isn’t home,” but in a nick of time, she answers. He talks to her. She listens. He begins to inquire about why on certain days she . . .(then with the accuracy of the sun rising) she interrupts, and finishes the conversation leaving him dumbfounded, hit in the face with a bucket of cold water, and ran-over with the power of a blitzing Mean Joe Greene.
“Ha, that’s just her being her,” this stupid fool man thinks to himself trying to convince himself that nothing is wrong and just maybe she was under a lot of stress those 20 plus times she ignored him and when she “did” talk to him, she had a look of resentment plastered all over her face.
“Cut your losses and mooooveeeee oooooonnnnnn . . .” he hears “a” voice that night in bed. A voice that sounds much like the voice of “Jody, the Pig,” in the first Ametyville Horror. He sits up in bed. Then realizes he is soaked with sweat.
“Is she woooooorrrrtttthhhh iiiiiitttttttt . . .?” the “Jody, the Pig,” voice whispers in his left eat. He looks quickly to see if this demon is sleeping with him. Whew, what a relief. Just Stephen King tonight and he is harmless as a pair of old house shoes.
With no sleep in sight, he rises, dresses and heads out to the kitchen to brew himself a stiff cup of black coffee. Oh, how he wishes it was whiskey he was about to swig, but those dangerous days are history.
In the wee hours, he sits swigging his coffee while staring at a sunflower on his tablecloth. His thoughts are clear. His wisdom is being whetted by the thoughts of “personal freedom,” how good it would feel.
She ignores me in public
"I" get one call and she goes into a rage
She plays games and never lets me talk
"I" cannot eat, or talk, for her making various noises while she scarfs her food down
"I" start to share my problems with her, then a friend of hers calls--and she will not postpone their talk
“Well, listen for a minute. Then I will hear your problem With another swig of black coffee he grabs a pen and paper and lists the things “she” is either doing now or has done to make him feel depressed one day and happy some of the next day:
- She “has” to control every situation concerning their friendship. (e.g.) He calls her to talk about some issues he is having, and as soon as he starts talking, she “heads-off” the conversation and steals the opportunity to tell him “we can talk about this later. I am tired. My head is hurting.”
- In medium crowds, she brushes by him while whispering, “hello,” then arms-up with her other friends as if to not care that he is waiting to talk to her.
- The ratio of her calling him is way-smaller than him calling her. And he loves fair-play. This definitely is not fair.
- In public places, stores and such, it’s a quick “hi” and “bye,” and a “too busy to talk,” peppered with a feminine giggle as she scampers away.
- Seemingly, she must enjoy the tension she is creating in his life, otherwise she would make an effort\to meet him halfway.
- Friends may not be that important to her as it is him.
He decides to just ease-away from this relationship, not email or call her, and one day she might either get the hint about how she is making “their” friendship so one-sided, or call him to ask, “is something wrong?”
Although that one sounds delicious, he is not going to be a Bart Maverick and gamble on a straight flush when he is only holding a king and a jack.
No, he adamantly screams. “I can just vanish. She has said in the past how much she appreciates me,” he says to his empty coffee cup before hurling it in his finest Catfish Hunter fashion into the trash can.
He decides to “sleep on it,” his decision to walk away from her and get back to living his life before he met her. With a breath of relief inhaled and exhaled, he heads back to bed to catch a few hours of sleep.
Welcome to another day.
He has not slept from 4:30 a.m. until 7 a.m., plenty of squeezing the covers, fluffing his pillow until it turned into a pulp of nasty feathers, and his head is pounding, but not from boozing, from pure tension and nervous brain activity.
The phone rings. “7:30 a.m? Who could that be? All of my family are deceased,” he grumbles as she stumbles to get the phone.
“Hello,” an angelic voice says. “You up yet?” the athletism in her soft voice is evident. It’s her. Calling this early. She never calls this early. Something is going on.
“Uhh, what’s wrong?” he manages to form his lips to say. “What’s going on?”
“Silly! Nothing’s wrong. You are a worrier. I just wondered why you haven’t sent me an email. You know I got use to reading “your” emails,” “she” says weaving her feminine web.
He feels too stupid for sitting-up and making that stupid list of things she has done to make him a neurotic-wreck.
“Well, uh, been sorta busy. Nothing is wrong,” he confirms. “Where have you been?”
“Can we talk for a minute?” she coos like a summer dove. “I need your advice.”
“But, uhh, I wanted to . . .” (interrupted again) . . .
. ‘Dr. (INSERT GIRL’S NAME) is in.”
She talks straight from 7:22 a.m. until 9 a.m.
Then says, “What did you want to say?”
“It’s like this. You and I, uh, we seldom have time to . . .(conversation hijacked) . . .
“Hey, I need to shower, dress and head to work. We can talk about this soon. And besides, I have this ‘monster headache,’ to fight,” she says . . .
Still sticking around like the flu.
Please, let me give you some serious advice . . .
If you are in a friendship and your friend displays signs that I list in this piece, then unless you want, or need, a friend who rules your very life, or never listens to you . . .start doing something to cure yourself of this "friendship disease."
But if you or you and some intelligent people can have the patients to get your friend to see and admit that she or he is doing one-sided things to you and then calling you and them, "good friends," go for it, Bucko.
Friends are important. But not all friends are friends.