On freaks, geeks and being alone

My father told me during my particularly difficult senior year in high school that I shouldn't worry about being friends with my classmates because in less than a year, I'd move on to bigger, better things and I wouldn't need them any longer. I made the mistake of repeating this to my friends and they promptly did what any high school senior would do upon hearing they were going to be left behind: they dropped me like a bad habit.

I spent the last month of high school in such an angry, lonely state of mind I almost had a breakdown.

Something similar happened in college. I never had a roommate I particularly liked enough to hang out with all the time. To me, college was a means to an end. The very few friends I had in high school that forgave my defriending faux pas were chronically busy and I saw them once or twice a semester while we were in college.

Throughout my 20s and 30s, I remember my grandmother as someone that was chronically alone. On the outside, she had lost her need for people. It seemed as though people were constantly disappointing her; therefore she deemed them unnecessary to her daily life and went on about things by herself. On the inside, she was a lonely old soul that probably would have given anything for a dear friend. She used to tell my mom that she wasn't born as cold as she'd become. That it took years of being worn down by life to get her to place where she was at.

I've noticed a lot of similarities between my grandmother and I lately. I've pushed people away, citing that I can do things on my own and don't need them. My living alone during the week has reminded me I don't need a husband; my stepping back as a stepmother has reminded me that I'm not needed as a parent; my friends and their small children are a reminder that I'm a someone that they try to fit in every once in a while.

On the inside, I'm screaming at the top of my lungs: Will someone please be my friend? Could someone please find it in their heart to ask me out for dinner or to go to a movie?  

Despite how it sounds, I try to make new friends and to reach out to people with whom I share similar interests.

I've always been a bit of a freak. I use that term loosely because I'm not a pierce-every-orifice kind of freak or one that abandons reality while I run around in costume every second of the day. I'm your garden variety march-to-your-own drummer freak that likes to veer just slightly off the beaten path.

I'm also a bit of a geek. I can talk tech, love video games, possess a rather large Lego collection and am a sucker for a good electronic gadget. I'm not into interior design or trips to Disney like most of my friends are. 

You would think being unique and geeky would help me fit in to a certain niche... regardless of how cool or geeky I am, I apparently still tend to unknowingly push people away.

When I first started Karate two years ago, I was part of the fun inner circle that hung out outside of the dojo. Because my husband wasn't at most of the events and I had a happy-go-lucky attitude (and I could crack a joke like a 12 year old boy) I was deemed the 'party girl." I didn't care -- I was included and invited. Fast forward to now. I've not only been transferred to the outer circle, but the inner circle talks about their upcoming get-togethers right in front of my face...without so much as a mention that I should stop over.

I'm not sure what I did or to whom, but I've managed to be removed from the only set of acquaintances I had in our small town. My other friends -- my stepkids' mom and her family -- and I don't talk much any more. In stepping back, I think I've pissed off my stepkids' mom to the point that she wants nothing to do with me unless she has to be in the same room with me.

I guess what I'm saying is: I'm lonely and I'm sad because of that loneliness. I'm back to the same place I was 18 years ago when I was graduating high school. I knew that there were other things in store for me in the future, but I wasn't at the same place in time everyone else was at that time.

My mom has always prided herself in having children that were unique, just like her; however, I often wonder, what price do we pay for being unique? How much is it worth to be so different from everyone else that you wind up feeling sad and alone because no one understands you or has the patience to deal with you? 

I would love some insights...