‘For once, will you stop thinking about yourself and try looking at it from my . . . from someone else’s perspective?’ The hard lines on Bay’s face are so unlike him that I take an involuntary step backwards. ‘Friends look out for each other, whether it’s needed or not. That’s what real friends do. Can you get your head around that?’
I turn away from him, swallowing repeatedly, desperate to stop the tears from falling. I try to ignore the human thunderstorm behind me. Maybe Bay’s right. I don’t know how to have friends, how to be a friend. Which means my mother was right, and Markus was right.
I deserve to be alone.
I heave in a deep breath and suddenly need to put as much space as possible between me and Bay, me and this stupid, pointless fight. I turn and, as the tears start to fall, I leave the yurt.
*
By the next morning, I’ve calmed down. I slept surprisingly well on the thin strip of hard floor at the foot of Geoff and Doreen’s bed, padded out with their spare blankets and one of Geoff’s old sweaters as a pillow.
After the fight with Bay, I stomped back down to the fire pit, hoping to find Doreen. As it turned out, only Messa, Moth and Bob were left nattering around the flames. As lovely as they are, a lecture on which particular planetary alignment was causing my upset or how taking up knitting would help wasn’t the kind of sympathy I was after, so I beat a hasty retreat. After a dark and rather winding walk, I finally ended up at Doreen and Geoff’s cabin door.
If I need to take lessons on how to be a friend, I know who I’ll be taking them from. I might have interrupted their evening by turning up snot-nosed and tear-stained, but Geoff and Doreen couldn’t have been kinder to me. We talked for hours. Doreen gently helped me to see that maybe, just maybe, I was defending a version of Than that I hoped existed, rather than the real version; the one who was publicly cruel, snide and downright mean.
And Geoff? Well, Geoff was the biggest eye-opener of the evening. I was mid rant about Bay when he interrupted and gently but firmly told me to give the guy a break. He pointed out that it couldn’t have been easy for him to watch as I stood up for a guy who was trying to break me. Of course I argued, but Geoff was having none of it.
As I settled down to sleep, all talked out, I had to admit to myself that maybe Geoff did have a point. Bay was on my side. He had been the good guy in all this. And to have that thrown back in his face had to hurt. I drifted off to sleep with one thought in my mind – Bay was right; I did have a lot to learn. But maybe I was finally ready to admit it and start trying.
*
This morning, it’s time for yoga again, and I’m thankful it’s not a more chatty kind of a session. As soon as we reach the studio, I set up my mat and am ready to get started before Claire even arrives. I’m nervous to see Bay after our argument, but I’m excited too.
So a small part of me wilts when he doesn’t turn up. I’d forgotten that he was due to be helping Ted out again this morning. The group feels strangely small with both him and Than missing. As Claire makes a start and I let my mind sink into the movements, I realize that, despite what happened last night, I’m way more relaxed this morning than I have been in a while. It takes a moment or two for me to realize that this is because Than isn’t here, and I’m not waiting for today’s dose of drama to hit.
Come lunchtime, however, my newfound sense of calm has deserted me, and my brain’s up to its usual tricks, hopping all over the place from problem to problem. I’m trying to listen to a story Bob’s telling the group, but I’ve missed most of it as I’m too busy staring over his shoulder, planning how I’m going to apologize to Bay when he finally turns up.
‘You okay?’ Emma asks me quietly.
I snap back to the present and stare at her uncomprehendingly.
‘You’ve been staring at Bob’s ear for the last ten minutes and you haven’t eaten anything. Are you missing Than?’
I shake my head. ‘No . . . no . . .’
‘No, you’re not okay, or no, you’re not missing him?’ Emma smiles at me.
‘Erm, both?’ I say with an apologetic grin. ‘Sorry, Em, I’m not very with it.’
‘Brain too full,’ she says. It’s not a question, just a simple, understanding statement.
‘Exactly!’ I say, relieved she knows what I mean.
‘I get that. This place throws up so many questions and changes, I think there are these moments where you just have to slow down and let it all sink in, you know?’
I nod at her. ‘You know, I really don’t miss Than,’ I say, just to make sure she understands.
‘No, I bet. Not after what he was like with you.’
‘Well, he was going through a lot,’ I say like a stuck record.
‘So what? That’s no excuse.’
For some reason, hearing it from Emma makes it sink in. No, there really isn’t an excuse for treating anyone like that, is there?
‘Anyway,’ she says to me, ‘I find when my brain does what yours is doing, I head off and follow some of Russ’s mindfulness tips.’
‘You do?’ I ask, surprised.
She nods. ‘Does wonders for clearing the fog. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone for a walk and just found a patch of grass to stare at,’ she laughs.
*
The garden is quiet. I’ve left the others at the lunch table, tucking in and swapping stories. I’ve decided to take Emma’s advice while we’re still on our break. Everything is looking lovely in the early afternoon sunshine.
I wander over to the potato patch and admire the long ridges where Geoff and Bay worked together last week to hoe them up. The dark leaves have already re-emerged in tufts from the tops of the ridges. I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting my shoulders drop. The beds that we weeded last week are now dotted with sturdy little plants. They must be the courgettes that Bay had planned. The bed nearest the compost heap is still half full of weeds, the ones that needed a fork to lift them as they’d taken hold a bit too strongly for weeding by hand.
I grab a bucket and hand fork from the little tool shed, perch on the railway sleepers and start methodically working away at the weeds.
*
‘Hi, Tori!’
Bay’s voice makes me jump. I’ve become so engrossed in clearing my little patch, I’ve lost track of time, and by the angry complaints coming from my back, I’ve been sitting in one position for far too long.
I stand up slowly and stretch as Bay makes his way over to me.
‘Wow! That’s quite some job you’ve done. Thanks.’ Bay grins, inspecting the now pristine patch in front of us.
Now that he’s here, I don’t know what to say. Emma was right though; I had to consciously keep my head clear for the first five minutes of weeding, bringing my attention back to what I was doing and the feel of yanking each clump of weeds out from the earth . . . but it didn’t take long until it completely absorbed me, and it’s been a blessed relief from worrying in circles.
‘Hi!’ I say at last, realizing that Bay is just standing there, staring at me. I’ve just remembered what I was worrying about in the first place. ‘Bay, I wanted to apologize . . . for last night.’
Bay cocks his head. ‘So you did some gardening for me?’ His smile almost looks shy.
‘Well, uh . . . no . . . that was actually me trying to calm my head down a little bit.’
‘Oh. Did it work?’ he asks.
I nod. ‘But I do still want to say sorry.’
‘What for?’ he asks curiously.
‘For reacting like I did. Again.’
Bay nods. ‘Well, for the record, help with the weeding is always an acceptable apology,’ he laughs.
I smile at him in relief.
‘Anyway, I’m sorry too. What I wanted to say, well, it kind of came out wrong. I didn’t mean to upset you. Actually, that’s the last thing I wanted to do. It’s just, you’re good at being a friend to other people, and I hate to see you not accepting that friendship in return.’
> Damn. This doesn’t feel like it’s going to be a case of easy-peasy, gloss it over forgive-and-forget. Bang goes my sense of calm for the second time today.
I let out a sigh and sit back down on the side of the raised bed. Bay sits next to me.
‘Talk to me, Tori. Why’d you disappear on me last night, other than because I was being a bit of a knob?’
I let out a chuckle and shake my head. ‘We were both being knobs, if it helps.’ I look at him and see that he’s just waiting, just being my friend. There’s no ulterior motive here. ‘Look, I’ve been on my own for a very long two years. Probably longer if I’m being honest.’
‘What do you mean, on your own? As in, single?’
I clear my throat. ‘Well, yes, that. I spilt up with my ex, Markus, just after Mum died in the accident. We were both part of this huge group of friends. We’d all been close since school, you know?’
Bay nods, but stays quiet, waiting for me to carry on.
‘After we split up, our friends did try to make me socialize, but I was so cut up about the accident. I was numb and completely confused. The last thing I wanted to do was party – and their sympathy had a really short shelf life. Anyway, it didn’t take long for the invitations to dry up, and basically, Markus ended up inheriting our friends in the break-up.’
I feel a bit foolish saying all this out loud, but if Bay really wants to understand what last night was about, this is where it came from.
‘But you must have had other friends, work colleagues, family who stuck by you?’ Bay asks quietly.
I shake my head, feeling the usual sense of shame, as if it’s somehow my fault that I ended up so isolated. ‘Nope. I’m self-employed, work from home and am an only child. Suddenly my life was quiet and pretty empty.’
‘Shit, that must have been tough.’
I nod and shrug at the same time. Tough. Nearly impossible. ‘I think it would have eventually broken me if it hadn’t been for a couple of friends I made online. They helped.’
I stop again, but Bay’s still quiet.
‘Anyway,’ I say as the silence starts to feel uncomfortable, ‘that’s why I disappeared on you last night. You made me face something I’ve been trying to hide from – that I don’t know how to be a friend anymore.’
‘That’s bullshit,’ Bay says, and he turns to face me full on. ‘You’ve supported every single person here when they’ve needed it. You know how to be a friend—’
‘But when you said—’
‘I’m sorry for the way things came out last night. What I meant was, perhaps you struggle to accept friendship in return. And after what you’ve just told me, I’m not surprised that you might be a little bit . . .’
‘Rusty?’ I laugh.
‘“Hesitant” was what I had in mind, but I think they both work,’ Bay says a little sadly. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry that it all came out in the way it did. I was angry and, well . . .’
‘What?’ I ask curiously.
‘Jealous, Tori. I was jealous.’
‘Of me?’ I say, confused.
‘No, not you. Than and you. And the way that, no matter what he threw at you, you still stuck up for him.’
I stare at him, mouth open.
‘Sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that,’ says Bay, looking a bit sheepish.
I close my mouth and shake my head. ‘Actually, it’s fine. After talking to Geoff and Doreen last night, I think I know where you were coming from. They’ve helped me see that the version of Than I’ve been busy defending is nothing but a figment of my imagination.’
‘For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry I was right about him,’ says Bay, digging his heel into the mud.
‘No, you’re not,’ I smile, giving him a nudge with my elbow.
Bay grins at me. ‘Okay. Maybe not.’
Chapter 27
Issue Deep Dive
‘Working through issues is never easy. When you first seek external support you will experience breakthroughs – but you’re not done! Now is the time for an issue deep dive. Don’t cheat and use this moment as an excuse to stall in your progress – keep pushing through.’
©TheBeginnersGuideToLoneliness.com
*
‘I’m so sorry I’m late!’ I puff as I rush into the little, light attic space that Ted uses for his one-to-one counselling sessions.
‘No problem.’ Ted looks up from a book on his desk and smiles at me. ‘Oh, by the way, I take it Bay managed to catch up with you yesterday lunchtime?’
‘Bay?’ I ask, surprised. I drop into the seat at the little coffee table in the middle of the room as Ted turns to join me.
‘Between you and me, he was extremely anxious that he might have upset you, so when you weren’t at lunch, I suggested he went to look for you.’
I look at him, surprised. I thought counsellors were usually more woolly than this rather direct approach.
‘Yes, he found me. I was doing some weeding.’
‘Good for you! I find the garden’s a good place for sorting your head out.’
‘I . . . well . . . Bay and I had an argument the night before.’
Ted just nods.
‘About Than,’ I continue. ‘Well, that’s where it started, but it became more about friendship, and, well . . . how to give it and how to receive it.’
‘And when you say you argued . . . ?’ Ted nudges me.
‘It was my fault,’ I say quickly. ‘I was defending Than, and Bay got annoyed.’
‘It’s hard to see someone we care about being treated badly.’
‘I don’t really care about Than . . .’
‘I didn’t mean him. I meant Bay seeing the way you were being treated.’
Oh. I didn’t see that coming. I don’t know what to say, so I plough on.
‘Anyway, we both got a bit . . . cross . . . heated . . . you know? And I thought Bay was saying that I didn’t know how to be a friend.’
‘And when he found you, did you discuss it?’ Ted asks gently.
I nod. ‘That’s not what he meant. He . . . well, he said that he couldn’t stand that I seemed not to be able to accept friendship even though I could give it.’
‘And what do you think?’
I look at my hands in my lap and pick at the skin around my nail. ‘It’s not the first time someone has said that I’m a crap friend,’ I mutter, thinking of my mum and Markus again.
‘But that’s not what he was saying, is it?’ says Ted.
‘No. It’s not. But . . . I mean . . . I’ve been on my own for so long now, maybe that’s the case. My only friends are online and . . . well . . . yeah, I’m lonely, and I’ve enjoyed having people around while I’ve been here. But it’s not real, is it? When I go back to my life, this isn’t real?’
‘Everything you do in life is real. Every experience changes us, shapes us and will impact on how we think and what we do in the future. So yes, I’d say this is very real. And only you can decide how much it will affect your day-to-day life when you leave here. It might be just a memory – a happy one, I hope. Or it might have a profound effect on every moment of your life from here on out. Or it could land somewhere in between.’
I swallow as the words lodge in my mind and take root. These friendships, the things I’m learning here . . . I’m the one who decides how important they are to me.
‘Now, I’d like to touch on how you’re doing with your phobia. Sharing it with the group was a huge step. Have you talked it through with anyone since your visit to the river?’
I feel like I’ve just swallowed an ice cube. I shake my head. ‘I’ve been focusing more on the loneliness and where that’s coming from,’ I say.
‘And it sounds like that’s bringing you some great insights and understanding. But I think it might be important for you to remember that one issue doesn’t sit separately from the other. They’re interlinked; both a part of you.’
‘Okay . . .’ I say. I don’t like where this is going. I’ve become comfortable with
the idea of talking about being lonely. Sounds strange, but after writing about it on the blog for so long and discussing it openly here several times now, I’ve got the talking points all mapped out. Quitting my job. Losing Markus and my friends. Grief making me pull back. It’s like a safe little list I can work through.
‘You mentioned that your fear of water is linked to your mother’s death?’ Ted asks gently.
‘Mentioned’ is a very polite way of describing how I screamed this at Than after the disastrous swimming session.
‘Yes. She drowned in a car accident,’ I say tightly.
‘And you weren’t involved in the accident?’ he prompts.
I shake my head. My hands have started to sweat and I rub them on my trousers. I don’t want to tell him. I can’t tell him. I couldn’t bear to see the look on his face if he knew that it was all my fault.
‘Tori,’ Ted says, looking at me steadily, ‘I think, this week, it would be good for you to use the sessions to talk more about your phobia. Have you sought professional support before? Did your doctor ever refer you to a grief counsellor after your mother passed?’
I shake my head again. ‘I just . . . no. I’ve not been to the doctor . . . or anyone. I just . . . deal with it,’ I mutter.
‘I’m afraid your body’s way of dealing with your grief is via this phobia and your panic attacks,’ says Ted seriously.
I swallow. ‘I just want to focus on the loneliness. Tackle one thing at a time.’
Ted leans forward in his chair, placing his elbows on his knees. He peers at me intently.
‘Sometimes prolonged isolation is a defence mechanism, you know. Your subconscious thinks it’s protecting you by keeping you away from other people. You keep yourself stuck there because you’re afraid of anyone coming too close, and finding out too much. Essentially, without working through it you will keep sabotaging your new connections.’
I feel a bit sick. Actually, very sick. I swallow hard. Ted pours me a glass of water from a jug on the table and pushes it towards me without a word.
I take a sip. ‘But I’ve admitted I’m lonely and I want to do something about it,’ I say shakily.
The Beginner's Guide to Loneliness Page 22
