We Can't Be Friends

by Cyndy Etler

  Here’s how: ask yourself another question. Try to really listen and be open to your own answers. The Q: What do your mind and body really want?

  Physical closeness that involves sex stuff? With what gender? How far do you want to go?

  Physical closeness that’s just affectionate and huggy?

  Romance-y stuff, like dates? What would be fun to do? Can you do those things even if you don’t have a girlfriend/boyfriend? Who with? If you don’t have friends who are down to do this kind of stuff, would it be fun to do them on your own? (Seriously. Consider the idea of “dating yourself.” I know, but the longer you think about it, the better it sounds. Who wants to do what you want to do more than you? Plus, when you start to enjoy your own company, you no longer want to waste your time on people who aren’t as cool/kind/interesting as you are.)

  A feeling of social belonging, of closeness with others? Are there ways to find that feeling other than sex?

  Hint: Yup, there really are. Promise. You’ll find where you belong faster if you can ID what you are really into—for me, it’s writing, dogs, and being in the woods—and look for those who love the same stuff. If you’re social, find groups at school that are doing whatever you’re interested in. If you’re more comfortable behind a screen, search out online groups that are discussing whatever you’re interested in:

  • vbook/writing/anime/gaming/activism/whatever clubs at the library or online

  • church youth groups

  • Boys and Girls’ Clubs, or scouting, or local community center groups

  • ask your neighbors if you can walk their dog. And take that dog hiking in the woods. You’ll never find a better friend than a dog, and you’ll never find more calm good than you will in the woods. Swear to God.

  And back to the sex: if you were abused as a child, you may have absorbed the lesson that “This is all you’re good for; you have to do this stuff whenever somebody wants you to.”2 If that mess sounds familiar, let me be the first to tell you: That is some bullshit. That is somebody else’s control drama. You can just shake that shit off now, like a scungy, hand-me-down overcoat. When you were little, maybe somebody else told you what coat you had to wear. Maybe you didn’t know you could say no. But now, you can see how icky that thing is. Just take it off. Burn it. Choose a new coat. Choose whatever coat you want to wear.

  We had to sing a lot of crappy songs in Straight. Probably the crappiest was Whitney Houston’s “The Greatest Love of All.” The punch line was that the greatest love of all was loving herself. I know. Talk about puke. But seriously. When you start respecting yourself—by knowing what you like and doing what you feel comfortable with—people sense it, and start treating you better. Weirdly, they start liking you more.

  So. Maybe life sucks right now. Maybe it hurts. Maybe you feel totally alone. But you’re not. You’ve got you. And if you’re like me, once it hits you that you actually like yourself better than you like anybody else? Well, shit. Suddenly the whole world’s lining up to love you. Swear to God.

  1. Except when it comes to using protection. Birth control pill, dental dam, condom, whatever: if you do decide to have sex, make sure you’ve got what you need to be safe. And be ready to be that badass who, when things get going, says, “Hey, listen, we’re gonna use this.”

  2. If you were abused as a child, or are being abused, there are tons of resources and people who can help you deal with it. Who can help you get safe, if you’re not safe right now, and help you feel safe if the abuse was in the past.

  Asking for help isn’t easy. It can be scary and awkward. There’s a good chance you may not feel like you deserve help, because you’ve been told you’re “making it up,” you’re “just trying to get attention,” or some other victim-blamey line that abusers use to keep you silent. But baby, listen to me: if you feel like you have been abused, that’s all you need to know. Trust yourself.

  To find help, look for an adult who seems interested in you, without wanting anything for themselves. In addition to guidance counselors, there are cool, caring adults in many other roles that work with youth: librarians, teachers, nurses, LGTBQ-club mentors, that friend’s parent who actually looks at you when they ask how you’re doing… Of course, you can also find help through organizations, many of which are also online: BornThisWay.Foundation, LoveIsRespect.org, or PlannedParenthood.org.

  To start the conversation, you can keep it really simple. When you say, text, or hand a kind adult a slip of paper that says “I don’t feel safe,” you’re taking the first step to getting safe. It might be the first of many steps, but you can get here, I swear. Safety is possible. I know, because I live in it. Finally. Come join me.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Since I could move a crayon across paper, I wanted to be a writer. More than I wanted a boyfriend. More than I wanted a family. More than I wanted designer jeans, even. I wanted to be a writer. When I was writing, and again when I was editing (and editing and editing), the scenes in this book where people said they liked my writing, I cried with gratitude and shock. Because it started way back then, and it’s happening now. My sharp, shining, impossible dream is coming true. You’re holding it in your hand. I’m—I’m a real, true writer.

  To all you fairy godmothers who sprinkled magic on the process, who saw glint in my words and told me so, I thank you. I thank you. I thank you: Ellen Hopkins. Myrsini Stephanides. Annette Pollert-Morgan. Penny O’Dell. Jane Cochran. LouAnne Johnson. Mercy Pilkington. Rachel Rubin. Nancy Noonan. Connie from CoDa. And you hundreds of students and cohorts and readers and writers in classes and workshops and writing groups who said to me, “Damn. You can write. Keep writing.”

  And to you former kids who were cool with me when I was weird, thank you. Thank you, Christina. Shawn. Maryann. Tim. Gina. Senya. Dave. Heather. Shelby. Diana. Steve.

  And to you Sourcebooks pros who roll with my comma obsession, who answer my zillion questions, who make these books lush and important and gorgeous, thank you. Thank you: Alex Yeadon. Heather Moore. Cassie Gutman. Gretchen Stelter. Sarah Kasman. Dominique Raccah.

  And to you pagan angels who give me love and safety, thank you. Thank you. I love you. Eric. Eli. Oscar.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A modern-day Cinderella, Cyndy Etler was homeless at thirteen and summa cum laude at thirty. As a teacher and teen life coach, she convinces kids that books work better than drugs. She lives with her brilliant husband and adorable rescue dogs in North Carolina. Find her at cyndyetler.com.

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