Friends in Journal

I finally told my best friend about my troubles with my mom. I’ve known my best friend since, well, since forever. She didn’t seem at all surprised when I told her what I was going through.
She was, as always, understanding and supportive. She even mentioned how she was a little taken aback at how my mom was so quick to yell at me- even in front of her- back in the day.
I guess I don’t remember much of that. I don’t remember the details. But, hearing that from my friend made me sad.
She knew. She already knew, and wasn’t surprised.

I guess I have this weird idea that my mom spun this wonderful fantasy of being perfect- perfect and correct and reasonable about everything, and she was totally unquestionable. At least, that is how I experienced it. No one could question her.
So, when people give me feedback now, about how they experience or experienced her back them, I am a little shocked. How come I never knew? Why didn’t they tell me? Was I so closed off to it? I wonder if I just didn’t listen.

And, I made a new friend, I think. I think I can call her a friend, now. We walk and talk every week, and have since about June. The weather is turning cold and rainy, and we both agreed that we’d walk anyways.
I suppose that I have another friend as well. Although I’ve never met him, we also talk once a week via interweb. We’re both in a book club and doing IFS as peer counselors together. I call him a friend but he does sort of rub me the wrong way a lot of times. I try to listen and not let that persuade my opinion. But it’s there.

Attachment anxiety. Every once in awhile there is a term or word that jumps out and snatches my attention. That is one. Not to be confused with anxious attachment. I have attachment anxiety.
My attachment type is (obviously) not a healthy type, but there are 3 main types of attachment disorders. Mine is avoidant. I can feel the anxiety creeping in whenever I perceive that anyone is becoming dependent on me- for anything at all. Emotional support, company, feedback, time, whatever, it doesn’t matter. I hate it. I want to run away. I can’t stand it. It makes me feel ill.
And of course I feel that my dependence on anyone else is absolutely repulsive. Something to work on.