BY JOANNA C. VALENTE
This piece is part of the Relationship Issue. Read more here.
When I was in kindergarten, I made my first best friend. M happened to be an exchange student from Japan. We barely spokeβshe couldnβt speak English well, and really, what kindergartener speaks any language with precision anyway? Yet, for whatever ethereal reason, we chose each other. We were inseparableβwe watched βSailor Moonβ together and enjoyed eating lunch while the other kids played on the swings. But then, she moved back to Japan when I was in 1st grade, and the whirlwind was over. This essentially set the tone for most of my early childhood friendships.
I craved intensity from a young age. I yearned for the kind of friendship you saw in movies and books a la Judy Blume and βBabysitters Clubβ and βPretty in Pink.β Like many introverted, shy, and artistic kids, I wasnβt exactly Ms. Popularβmy idea of a good time was listening to The Cure, painting pictures of bizarre landscapes and women, and dreaming of becoming a day where I had real friends who βgotβ meβwho didnβt just sit with me at lunch because what else did you have going on?
The author, age 6 or 7.
Many friend groups came and wentβnot because I wanted them to or didnβt careβbut itβs just what happened when your elementary school friends migrated to different friend groups by middle school. For awhile, A and I did everythingβwe played pretend horror games in her apartment complex parking lot to swimming at our local pool in the summers. But when puberty hit around age 12, and I wasnβt quite into boys or Britney Spears or shaving my legs, the relationship waned. I got used to being alone from a young age.
By the time high school arrived, this sense of emotional isolation from my peers at once strengthened my need for authenticity and intensity, and yet, also made me reluctant to open up in a βreal way.β It was easier to say what people wanted to hear, versus what I wanted to say. It didnβt help that I attended a Catholic all-girls school where being different (not to mention queer, although I didnβt use the term at the time, but I was already aware of my attraction to girls) was not cool. It wasnβt until I was 15βhaving never been kissed yetβand found myself in a mall hallway ferociously making out with my best girlfriends C and C that I was finally beginning to realize I didnβt have to operate innocently, repressed, and alone. And in many ways, this high school make out session with my friends, while not unusual, spawned my complicated feelings about what I wanted out of my relationships and friendships.
Even then, I wanted connectionβthat kind of intense intimacy that is shared only by a fewβsome call it being on the same wavelength or being soul mates. Whatever the term, I craved that telepathic-I-will-love-you-always-type of relationship/friendship, and I craved it with multiple people. As humans, we often need to feel specialβand we often seek to label our interactions with each otherβlike having one or two best friends.
While I understand this impulse (because everyone does this to some extent), it can create unhealthy expectations, in many ways. On one hand, friendships change and evolve and go through phases, and having labels can put unfair pressure on a friendship to always up to the label attached (in the same way we attach pressure on romantic partners to be βthe one,β as opposed to βa oneβ). Conversely, of course, labels also divide our passions and emotions into boxes, and in many ways, close us off to other people who donβt deem as βbestsβ or βclose friends.β When I finally realized that I could actually allow myself to have and share intimacy with all of my friends, not just a select few, I realized that I wasnβt jealous when certain friends became busy or preoccupied (because everyone does at some point), and that I was becoming more honest and self-aware not just with others, but myself. So often in high school, college, and even part of grad school, I would feel vulnerable and left out when a close friend who make plans with someone elseβIβd wonder why I wasnβt includeβthat something must be wrong with me. It was tiring, time and time again, to feel this way. I was getting tired of feeling jealous or βrejectedβ even if I wasnβt actually being rejected.
Of course, this is not to say I currently donβt have friends who by definition are best friends or soul mates or kindred spirits. And sometimes I do use these terms, but often times, I try not to. I try to just let my relationships be. But for me, the distinction I find truly dangerous is the fact that a romantic partner has to be the sole focus and recipient of someoneβs emotional lifeβas if having a wholly different kind of intimacy outside of a partnership means you are βcheatingβ or somehow abnormal, for me, seems to be a quick recipe for disaster for everyone involved. How can any one person live up to that expectation? And how does that promote change and growth, if you arenβt learning from other people?
Maybe some people consider this unhealthyβthis desire to feel truly connected to others in an all-consuming way. I donβt care about getting drinks and having bullshit conversations about literary journals and literary gossip and the current Internet sensations and outrages. I rather cook dinner, talk about our fears, watch movies, sit in silence, have slumber parties (yes, Iβm still 12 years old, although I think this brings a sense family and security), and just not feel bound by polite rules or society.
When I was 23, I lived with a man who was 36. We were both poetsβwe constructed a fantasy world together, sewn together by pretty words and carefully crafted lineation. That relationship, while it didnβt last past a year, taught me a lot about what I wanted, and didnβt want. When I would go out with friends who were male, he would often get upsetβand even accused me of cheating on him with my best male friend C, despite the fact that I never harbored romantic feelings toward C. C and I would hang out multiple times a weekβwhich is not uncommon in a graduate program where you read and critique each otherβs work, and then eat lunch together before your multiple part-time jobs. Often times, C and I would play video games and talk about our dating life. If anything, I resembled a sister more than a girlfriend.
But I wasnβt even resentful of T for being possessive or jealous. It saddened me, because this behavior is often accepted by many intelligent and independent peopleβand to some extent, I thought this was normal, until it became so extreme that it seemed I couldnβt go out without him being suspicious or upset. After out breakup, I was forced to move out of our shared apartment, because the rent was too expensive for me to maintain. He ended up moving abroad, and I stayed in New York. This split, of course, proved beneficial to both of us. T got exactly what he wanted: a freedom America wasnβt giving him, a new relationship with someone who makes him happy.
For me, I finally found clarity. The fact that he often rebuked C and I for being βtoo close,β for hanging out too often, for sharing a bond that he and I didnβt exactly haveβwas the exact prompt I needed to dig deeper into myself. And that simple fact made me think: Why should I limit my relationships with other people, simply because someone else is jealous of a connection I have? That doesnβt scream support or love or happiness for someone experiencing a connection outside of a romantic partnershipβor any kind of relationship, platonic or not.
For some, this level of emotional intimacy may be a betrayalβand thatβs OK. Everyone is different and has their own unique needs, but for me, itβs just a part of who I am, and thatβs a part of me Iβm not willing to sacrifice for anyone.
Joanna C. Valente is a human who lives in Brooklyn, New York. She is the author of Sirs & Madams (Aldrich Press, 2014), The Gods Are Dead (Deadly Chaps Press, 2015) & Marys of the Sea (forthcoming 2016, ELJ Publications). She received her MFA in writing at Sarah Lawrence College. She is also the founder of Yes, Poetry, as well as the chief editor for Luna Luna Magazine. Some of her work has appeared in The Huffington Post, The Feminist Wire, Pouch Mag, The Atlas Review, The Destroyer, and others.