Jason
Recently
I’ve got back into meditation. I used to pay lip service to this
rather fabulous bit of mental defragging but most days missed it
completely and on the days that I did it, it would be about 5
minutes.
After
about a month of forcing myself to meditate every day, for at least
10 minutes per session, I’ve disciplined myself to two sessions,
just after I wake up (after a glass of water and a stretch) and one
just before I go to sleep at night.
The
great thing about meditation is that it gives lots of answers to the
riddles of life.
Problem
is, dealing with those answers can be emotionally draining and I’ve
been given insights that have left me in tears.
Two
days ago I had a breakthrough that has solved a lifelong problem. It
involved an ingrained inability to trust other people and why, for
most of my life, I’ve been lonely and unable to have anyone I could
call a close, or best friend.
It
all came down to an incident that happened 44 years ago.
When
I was 4 years old in 1975 I went to the playschool in the village of
Bishop’s Itchington, Warwickshire, UK in the local memorial hall. I
remember the playgroup and one or two of the teachers at it,
including the boss Mrs Mann. We played games, had toys and learned
the nuances and etiquette of sharing, being kind, manners and above
all, making friends. Every time we went out for a walk in the village
we were obliged to hold onto a long blue rope wrapped in blue plastic
tubing, and woe betide anyone who let go of it. One of our earliest
excursions was to go to a house around the corner and watch a tree
being chopped down in someone’s back garden.
My
memories of this time were vivid, joyous and fun. I loved the
playschool and looked forward to each day there. The main reason was
that I had a best friend, and his name was Jason.
Jason
lived down the road from me and every day me and my mother would stop
and call for him on the way to the playschool. My mother would wait
at the top of the path as I walked up to knock on the door. Jason
would always open it and I’d excitedly shout “Jasooon!” and
hold my arms out for a quick hug before we walked together to
playschool, with our mothers a few steps behind.
We
were best friends. Friends for life. We talked about how we’d
always be friends, no matter how old we got and that we’d be
friends even after we got married, whenever that might be. We were
inseparable and spent all our time together at playschool. We played
together after playschool too and I remember just how happy I was
having a true friend. A best friend. Someone that would always be
there for me and I’d always be there for him. Till the end of time
there would be me and Jason. We were Batman & Robin.
Outside
of the love I felt for my own family this was the strongest feeling I
had for anyone else. Jason was my friend, and nothing was ever going
to change that.
And
then one day, we weren’t friends any more.
Me
and my mother walked to Jason’s house one morning, like we always
did and he opened the door. “Jasooon!” I shouted excitedly,
holding my arms out for a hug.
He
wasn’t pleased to see me. I can’t remember the words he said but
he looked upset and grumpy, telling me off for something. Behind him
stood his mother, with an “Oh dear!” look of disapproval on her
face. We walked to playschool together and he chatted and was polite
but something had changed. When we got to playschool he played with
toys on his own and played with other children but not me. I was
confused and hurt. Later, around lunchtime when our mothers collected
us, he walked home with his mother and I went home with mine,
separately. I was so upset. He didn’t want to play that day, he
went straight home.
“Why
doesn’t Jason want to play with me?” I asked my mother.
“He
says you pushed him over at playschool yesterday and hurt him”, she
replied.
I
shook my head in disbelief. “I didn’t! I wouldn’t do that to
Jason, he’s my friend!”
My
mother clearly didn’t believe me. Later that day my father came
home from work and I told him at the dinner table what had happened
and how my best friend in the whole, wide world didn’t want to play
with me any more. Before my father could respond my mother said
“Well, you shouldn’t have pushed him over at playschool”. I
started to cry and shouted back “I DIDN’T!” and my mother
simply smirked.
Over
the next few days me and Jason didn’t walk to playschool together
any more. I was hurt and confused. I hadn’t hurt him. I would never
do that. Why would my best friend say that I’d done such a horrid
thing? My mother said to “leave it” for a week and then go to his
house and ask if he wanted to play.
A
week? That was an eternity in my eyes.
I
waited and waited, feeling more and more miserable each day. On the
sixth day my mother suggested that it might be time to go and see if
Jason wanted to play. I was still very upset, I missed my best
friend so much and wanted these horrible last few days to just go
away and be forgotten. When I got to Jason’s house I was nervous
and when his mother answered the door she politely said that Jason
was busy and couldn’t come out and play. I went home crushed,
crestfallen and still confused. I hadn’t done anything, why was I
being made to suffer like this? I hadn’t hurt my best friend and
now he wasn’t my friend any more. When I got home my mother was in
the kitchen.
“Jason
couldn’t come out and play” I said, hoping she’d give me a
cuddle and say that she understood how I felt.
After
a pause she said “Well, you shouldn’t have pushed him over at
playschool”.
“I
DIDN’T” I screamed at her, tears running down my face.
She
smirked and went “Oh”.
Jason
found other friends. I watched my best friend become friends with
other people and I was beyond miserable. Every day I had spent with
Jason had been joyful. I’d felt at peace and that my world was
perfect. I’d lived each day happy and confident, wanting to learn
new things and be with my best friend all the time. Even my own
mother believed that I had hurt Jason, something I know even now, 44
years on, that I never did.
Two
years later I saw Jason walking down the road. He was with another
boy who lived a few doors down from me. Jason was bigger now, taller.
When I saw him again I felt that pain once more and realised how much
I’d missed him. I told my mother I’d like to be friends with him
again and she asked Jason’s mother if he’d like to come round and
play. The reply came back that she didn’t like him to play on a
school night. My mother told me that and then after a pause, said
“Well, you shouldn’t have pushed him over at playschool.”
“I
DIDN’T!!!”
As
the months and years passed I forgot about Jason and moved on but
that situation, which was the first bond I’d ever felt for someone,
broke my heart and any ability I had to form friendships. It was
another 4 years before I had another best friend but the intensity
and trust wasn’t there, nothing and no one could ever replace
Jason. That friendship too, ended when my family moved house and
after that I spent my childhood and adolescence lonely and isolated,
afraid of getting close to anybody in case I got hurt once again.
Only problem was that I didn’t know why I was virtually friendless.
Having been so young when I lost Jason, the intensity of emotion
imprinted on my childish brain as a first experience, I was scarred
in a way that I couldn’t articulate or even fully comprehend.
And
one day aged 48 while meditating in Rome, I finally realised the
reasons behind my loneliness andI also saw that I had never grieved
for the loss of my best friend. The despair, frustration and misery
of this, I had been unable to deal with due to being only 4 years
old. I began to cry, nearly half a century later, finally able to
fully process what had happened.
Someone
recently described me as having an “edge”. It wasn’t a
compliment and even though she didn’t articulate exactly what she
meant I think it was that part of me that always remained slightly
cynical, aloof and obnoxious. Never willing to get too close to
anyone, always keeping people away just enough to be unable to fully
feel anything for them that would cripple me a second time, like
being falsely accused of hurting Jason had.
The
anxiety I have felt for decades around people seems to be a little
lighter this week. I think this realisation was the one I most needed
to have.
Charles
Bukowski once said “Being alone never felt right, sometimes it felt
good but it never felt right”.
It also never felt good.
How cathartic...it is powerful experiences stay with us shape and form us. I tend to hold people at arms length not ever wanting to relive past pain and rejection.
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