The wonderful thing about long lasting friendships is that they often create strange, but very interesting combinations of people.
Meet Sarah, a warm and caring woman who's not afraid to love and love deeply.
And Susan, a cold-looking woman who never lets anyone into her life, because it's just safer that way.
And Rose, well-dressed, polished, seemingly happy, living what appears to be the perfect life.
And Mary, laughing, protective, all-seeing Mary, who keeps people away with her sarcasm and wit.
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I used to think that my relationship problems had started when I had fallen in love that first time at the age of eighteen. In reality it was probably many years before that, from my early years of childhood, but if I had to name one critical moment it would be that one first love.
It was a crazy, wild love that made me skip school, stay out late and generally not care what my mother said. She couldn't possibly know how much Seth loved me and I loved him. She was just jealous because she was a lonely old woman. But of course my mother was right about the "he's just using you"-part and the "he's a teenager boy, just one thought on his mind", because after finally saying yes to his heated "I need you" and "I want you" pleas, he laughed at me and made sure the whole school knew that I was a cold fish. He'd then gone on to ruin several other lives as well, whilst I cried myself to sleep not really helped by my mother's repeated, cold "I told you so"s.
I had given the relationship and human closeness-thing a few more tries as I grew older, but ended up hurt every time; hurt by the same comments about being cold, frigid, just lying there, stiff as a plank. And I was stiff and uncomfortable, because I was not even used to hugs and kisses – my upbringing was not exactly a loving one – and I was afraid that I'd do something wrong, say something wrong. In the end, I think it became something of a self-fulfilling prophecy.
And now words couldn't hurt me anymore, or rather I would never let it show on the outside. I could hear the whispers at work; I knew I was called "Ice woman", "Stone maid" and many other things describing my personality; at least the parts of my personality I ever let anyone know.
Along with the ice- and stone-descriptions I was also called something of a financial genius. I made beautiful piles of money for the already rich and sometimes famous, and I was respected and sometimes feared. After a successful investment or deal I would still always be referred to as a hard and cold woman. And in business I wasn't afraid to be just that, hard, dedicated, eyes on the target, in it to win it all the way through. And I didn't make any decisions based on emotions or intuition; it took hard work, calculations and hard core statistical analysis to become successful in my line of work.
The people that hated and feared the "ice princess" didn't know how much fire I had inside, how hard I sometimes had to work to keep my cold outer mask intact. Small things could set me off, like an unusually beautiful song on the radio, a bright and colorful painting or the scent of a man passing me on the street.
The money I made, for most people a small fortune, I spent on beautiful things that made me feel alive; the music that made me cry, the paintings that made me sigh and the books that made me think and laugh. My large, luxurious apartment in the posh parts of town was filled with – for me – unbelievable treasures. Some of the things were really expensive, but most were just small, cheap things, things that all held a special meaning for me. I was lucky that if I really wanted something badly enough, I could usually afford it. Sometimes it made me feel like a child, really needing something, absolutely having to have it; instant gratification supposedly not being good for you and so on. But it made me happy, and it didn't after all hurt anyone else.
As I came home from a long day of hard work, just entering my home made me feel as if my outer shell melted and after stripping away my strict business clothes and pulling on something old and comfortable, I could finally feel like the real me, soft and sensitive, no need for protection.
It would have been a lonely life if I didn't have my old friends to talk to once a week. Even my friends didn't know the real me from the block of ice I presented to everyone, but I really enjoyed meeting up with them on Thursday evenings, hearing them talk about everyday things, sometimes joining in, but mostly staying quiet, listening.
- - - - -
Mary called me one Monday evening after having talked to a heart-broken Sarah. She told me to meet her and the others at our regular bar the day after. We needed to talk to and comfort Sarah, because the guy she'd been dating had turned out to be a lying, cheating SOB – Mary's words, not mine.
It took some rescheduling for me to be able to join "the girls" that day and time, and my head was still filled with numbers and my last angry discussion with a lazy co-worker, trying to take credit for the work of others, when I walked into the bar.
They were all sitting there, at our usual table, Sarah looking absolutely devastated. I hurried over to the bar, got myself a glass of wine and then joined them. Poor Sarah, she looked so sad. The fact that I didn't show any emotions did not make me less able to feel them or to feel for other people's pain. I awkwardly pressed Sarah's shoulder and then sat down, mask intact, ready to hear her story.
The stories my friends told me usually made me feel like I was somewhat missing out on life, but what Sarah told us that evening made me feel two things, bitterly aware that my protective shell was absolutely necessary and sad, because I couldn't be a better, more comforting friend when Sarah really needed one. I could tell that both Mary and Rose were able to give her some of that well-needed comfort, but still at that moment, I didn't feel like a very good friend.
I'm embarrassed to say that the picture that Sarah painted with her quick words about the three-men-one-woman session she'd seen sent an excited throb through my genitals. "Thank you, over-active mind and sex-starved body, for that very fitting reaction" I thought to myself, glad that my inner turmoil was in no way showing on the outside.
- - - - -
Days passed by, with long workdays and lots of money-making activities. I didn't have or give myself time to stop and think about the feelings that Sarah's sadness had stirred in me, but that Saturday – the day in the week I forced myself not to work – all thoughts came crashing down on me.
My outer shell – my cold personality – that worked so well in my professional life and to protect me from potentially hurtful relationships, was hindering and could possibly destroy my friendship with the only three people I could actually call my friends. I didn't like the idea of, perhaps not long from now, being completely alone and having no one. Well actually, perhaps not being completely alone, my mother was still alive after all, but it would be difficult to call our relationship "friendly".
As always, thoughts of my mother made me depressed and had me absolutely dying for some ice cream – those sentiments usually went hand-in-hand after all. Keeping a strict, non-sugar diet on weekdays along with a steady, once-a-day workout schedule helped balance the intake of ice-cream on the weekends; an intake that I'd noticed had increased lately. Of course I took that as another sign that everything wasn't right in my world, I did after all analyze patterns and make decisions based on structured conclusions for a living, didn't I?
My increasingly depressed thoughts were interrupted by my phone signaling that Mary was calling. And yes, they all had their own separate ring tones, music chosen based on the feelings they brought me; in Mary's case an extremely well-written and complex piece with a lot of laughter in it. The music made me smile as I picked up and answered "Hello Mary".
"Hello there Sarah" she answered right back "I just thought I'd call and see how you were."
Already shaken by the thoughts that were running through my head, her well-timed call and her question made me feel naked and vulnerable; it also made me answer quite truthfully that actually I wasn't feeling very well.
"I could tell there was something wrong when met on Monday" Mary told me with a serious voice. "What can I do to help?"
Everything that I had on my mind sort of poured out of me in long, confused sentences. Mary kept quiet or said short things like "Continue" or "Go on" and when I was done talking she was quiet for a short while and then started talking.
"Being always in control is the easiest way of keeping yourself safe, but it could also be one of the most harmful ways." she said, voice still serious "Constantly masking your true feelings could eventually make you unable to feel anything, and that is a sorry way to live your life."
After a long breath she continued "Based on what you've told me, it seems like you've still got plenty of feelings left and that's a good thing. The hard part for you will be to start letting your feelings out through the mask. There are several ways to go about it though, and you'll have to find some way that works for you."
She was silent for a short while and then she said with a slightly shaky voice "I used a visualization technique where I imagined my mask getting thinner and then making it look like a sieve, lots of tiny holes in it."
I was surprised, both at the wisdom of her words, and her last confession on having had to deal with something similar to what I was going through. I didn't know what to say except thank you and after Mary telling me that I could call her anytime, we said goodbye. I put the phone away and sat down in my sofa, my head even more full of thoughts, trying to sort everything out and to put things in neat, organized stacks of information.
