A Friend In Need is a Friend Indeed.

"A friend who helps out
when we are in trouble
is a true friend—
unlike others who disappear
when trouble arises."

I have a friend. I have a girl friend. Not to be confused with girlfriend. We’ve been friends for nearly a decade, give or take a couple of years. Her name is not relevant. We’ve been there for each other through a lot of bad shit. Except, it seems, my struggles with mental illness and addiction. She’s the only one I had given any idea about how I was feeling, although I didn’t even tell her the intensity or depth of it. Increasingly, over the last few months, she’s sounded less and less happy to hear from me. I ignored it for awhile, because I didn’t have the emotional currency to try to figure it out and fix it like I usually would. She was one of the privileged (hah) few who got the text message from me that Monday night, and apparently I had sent a few more to her that were more or less incoherent because of my incapacitation.

I didn’t hear from her until the next morning. She chose the ‘tough love’ route. Asking me in a harsh way why I was doing this to her (?) and sending her incoherent texts- don’t I know how scared she was? And threatening suicide? How dare I. Nearly yelling at me. Let’s make it perfectly clear that I don’t ‘do’ tough love. When I am in pain and asking for help, rare as that is, I need empathy, compassion and love. She gave me none of those. I felt like I a child abandoned. I was admitted to the hospital later that day, and neither heard from her nor did I contact her. Not while I was in the hospital, and not for about 2 weeks after. Michael felt badly about it all, and encouraged me to contact her.

So I called her. She sounded like Eyeore, I swear. I don’t even remember the conversation, except that I did gently ask why she sounded so down, what was wrong, did I do something? She went from sluggish, depressed voice to angrily snapping at me, “You’re being paranoid!” (later events would prove her a liar). I dropped it, as is my usual way of avoiding angry confrontation.
The next time I spoke with her was just this Sunday. Mike had told me that he’d spent a couple of days with her, having dinner one day and going to the Renaissance Festival another. Again, that stab of abandonment. How did I manage to lose even my closest friends? She said I’ve been very hurtful in the past 6 months. Now, I distinctly remember being hurtful to Mike, Bryan and Damon, but I have no recollection of being hurtful to her. But, okay, fine, I can accept it. I explained that during the last six months I was going through an intense period of depression, self-hatred, and suicide ideation. I said I couldn’t kill myself because I didn’t want to leave that wreckage behind me for those who cared about me to clean up. I also said that during that period I became resentful of everyone, because I had to live even though I wanted to die, and it was because of them. I fully accept that’s an illness-driven statement of feeling. I was actually resentful of myself for caring enough to live when the rest of me wanted to die.

Is that how she took it? Not a chance. She started yelling at me. She doesn’t know if she can forgive me yet. (Wait…what? Are you kidding me?) I said something to the effect of, “I really can’t deal with this, I’m sorry I have to go,” and I hung up on her mid-rant. Let’s consider the fact that I just got out of the hospital, I’m in a terribly fragile and frankly needy state, and I’m barely hanging on, much less able to cope with this. After I hung up, I sent two text messages. One said, “What hurts is that you think I did all of this on purpose and not because I had an untreated illness. I thought you, who has a medical background (she’s a medical secretary), would be there for me.” She responded, “I never once said you did it on purpose.” My reply: “Well either way I need my friends right now and I feel like I lost everyone and everything. I thought I had friends who loved me.”

Okay, that was a bit histrionic. But it’s my journal, and I can cry if I want to. I didn’t hear from her again until today, when I received a long email from her.


Some tidbits:
The beginning: This is my side of things, how I personally feel, and it is important to our friendship that you try to understand how I am feeling.

A little later: The last few conversations we've had, including before you went into the hospital, you have put a lot of resentment, guilt, and overall feeling of inadequacy on my part, onto my shoulders.
I am not making this up, folks. I’m being lectured about my behavior when I was suicidal, drunk, and using cocaine. I don’t even remember the last six months except as a blur of despair, loneliness and pain. How am I supposed to respond to this? “I’m sorry, I had an untreated mental illness and I was in the throes of addiction, please forgive me”?

The last bit: I feel like you don't have the ability right now to consider anyone's feelings but your own...and that is perfectly fine. You need to work on you and find a sense of yourself before you can begin to think about doing that with anyone else. However, as of right now I can't completely forgive you, and I feel like you think you deserve that. You broke trust w/ me when you lied about the drug use…
A) All drug users lie. It’s part of our definition. Look it up sometime.
B) You’re right. I don’t really have the ability/ emotional currency/ whatever you want to call it to consider anyone else’s feelings but my own. I just got out of the hospital a month ago! I was and will be again in a very intense program designed to maybe help me live a little longer. And the passive-aggressive mood here is a little much. “that is perfectly fine” my left foot.
C) I don’t know if I feel like I deserve your lack of forgiveness. It’s your emotion and I can either accept it or not. I choose to acknowledge its existence, and accept it for your current feelings, no matter how I feel about it. Actually, I think before I sat down to write this journal entry I did feel like I deserve it. Thank you for making me see that this is your failing, not mine. I can sleep easy tonight.

No matter how much I want to ask you what kind of friend does this to someone who is fresh out of the psych ward for wanting to kill herself, I won’t. No matter how much I want to tell you what it feels like to be not only abandoned but abused while in need, I won’t. No matter the fact that I think I should tell you those things if only to help you grow emotionally, I won’t. The dramatic thing to do would be to stop taking your phone calls altogether. So, I’ll do the opposite. I’ll take your calls. The dramatic thing to do when taking your calls would be to get angry and emotional. So, I’ll do the opposite. I’ll be friendly. And while I’m at it I will be as emotionally unavailable as you were to me during my time of greatest need. I do not accept into my support system someone who is not willing to give any support.

I had a friend. I had a girl friend. Not to be confused with girlfriend. We were friends for nearly a decade, give or take a couple of years. Her name is still not relevant. We were there for each other through a lot of bad shit, but no longer. Farewell, friend.

The Return

I thought the road of Return would be eased by the care and understanding of those I love, those that love me. The last six months have not been easy for anyone. I treated them all with less and less kindness in direct proportion to how often I considered death. I hate asking for help from anyone, and so the black disease-ridden psyche damaged me and everyone around me until I had no choice but to ask someone to help take the weight off. So I don't blame them, I guess, for not wanting much to do with me now.

I had been hopeful, however, that they still cared enough to be compassionate, kind, and present in my life. Instead, my road is paved with the hurt I gave them, and they have no compassion left to give.

Weighty Matters

Yesterday, I spoke with a dear friend. I can't remember the last time this friend sounded happy to hear from me. With others, she seems her cheerful self. I certainly bear much of the blame for this; my personality in the last 6/7 months has been nothing if not indisposed to friendship. When I tried to ask her about it last night, she snapped, "You're being paranoid." ...Am I? Perhaps.

I seem to be seeking out my friends to see if they really are going to be part of my support system. I'm finding more and more that I won't be able to rely on them. Oddly enough, one of the few people who has made the effort to ask me how I am is a bartender I met when I used to drink before going grocery shopping every week. She doesn't drink or use- I've kept her in the "safe" list. There are not many left in that list.

Today, I spoke with my mom. I told her of my thoughts of going to Brockport and getting my Psychology B.A. We talked for awhile about it; well, she did most of the talking. It was hard to hear what she had to say, because her delivery was, as with my friend yesterday, rather unnecessarily harsh and cold. We agreed it was probably not the best time to talk and got off the phone before someone's feelings got hurt. I'm still susceptible to harsh voices; would much rather be treated gently by those who care about me. Not as if I were about to break, but with a measure of compassion and empathy in the face of the turmoil that my life has become.

With some time (and vigorous bathtub scrubbing), I am able to better see her point. It is true that in the past when I make quick, life-changing decisions, I'm often running away from something else that's too hard. When things get difficult, I tend to want to give up rather than stick it out til the end.

So, is this another of those decisions that will end up being another failed - I mean, halfway committed choice? Well, let's look at what it means to stay at RIT, first.

Staying at RIT (Web Development) Pros
1) It's a more prestigious school than a state school.
2) It's familiar.
3) There are some aspects of Web Development that I love.
4) I have already committed 2.5 years and $20k to IT.

Staying at RIT (Web Development) Cons
1) There are more aspects of Web Development that I despise- namely traditional programming- than aspects that I love.
1a) I'm not like the other geeks - I have never tried to learn this on my own for fun. I am way behind their knowledge.
2) $30k+ per year.
3) I'm already struggling with the core classes- the concentration classes are going to demand a great deal of me.
3a) The quarter system is much more difficult than I expected.
3b) I am not used to being on the bottom of the totem pole in regards to intelligence and drive. I don't particularly care for the feeling. I want to be around normal people so I can shine. It makes me feel good. Being at RIT doesn't make me feel good.
4) Each setback and almost failure makes me want to stay less.
5) I just don't want to be a web developer anymore. I want to make websites and learn new things because I want to, not because it's my job and if I don't study all the time to keep up with it I'll get left behind.

Transferring to Brockport and changing my major to Psychology Pros
1) $4,500 a year!
2) I'll be smart again. I'll be around normal people. I'll feel good about myself.
3) I've come to realize that I'd much rather write papers than write a program.
4) In helping people like me, I can help save myself.
5) I want to help people like me.
6) It is possible to have a BA and the CASAC (credentialed alcohol and substance abuse counselor) and have work. I can do that while I get my master's.
7) Did I mention $4,500 a year? And being smart again? And helping people?
8) Oh, and it won't take me much longer than it would have to stay at RIT.

Transferring to Brockport and changing my major to Psychology Cons
1) It could be that I am running away from RIT because it started to get hard and I don't want to put forth that much effort.
2) I may come to regret my decision to not stick with RIT.
3) I may come to hate psychology as much as I do programming.
4) There is just as much continuing education for a counselor as there is for a programmer.
5) A year into it and I might beg to be able to write a program rather than write ANOTHER #*@)!*$# PAPER.

I've been a student my whole life. Is that such a bad thing? Maybe, maybe not. What I do know is that if I do this, I have to commit to seeing it through til the end. I truly think it can help me understand myself better. And I truly think this could be the fulfillment I've been looking for.

Or I could just be making a manic decision. The best part is- I can't tell if I am or not. Jokes on me, kids! "Oh hey, you're bipolar type II and oh by the way you'll never be able to trust your own decisions because they could be manic, impulse-driven and WRONG!"

Ain't life cool? I'm going to do a puzzle and listen to meditation music.

Day 1

Today, questions, in a positive and mindful manner. Then a quick recap of the day.

How/where will I earn enough to survive?
Should I slow my schooling down?
If I do, should I transfer?
How soon can I make the commitment to a sitting practice?
How do I set up a budget and stick to it?
How do I balance a checkbook?
How do I increase my support system?
How will I increase my mindfulness and decrease my thoughtfulness?

More as I think of them.

On to today, as non-judgemental as possible:
I woke a little less "up" than I've been in the past few days. As the day progressed, I became much less "up" and much more "down". A discussion with Peter (therapist at PHP) led to tears and welling hopelessness regarding my ability to financially support myself. Made the decision to at least take this quarter off at RIT. Scary- school has been my focus and much of my identity for the last 3+ years.

Group wasn't very fun today. I wanted to get out of there so many times. Yet again they're showing a "higher power" video. Come on, Amy, just grin (or is it grimace?) and bear it. Activity hour was excruciating; very loud group playing rummy made me very anxious. I went to the vending machine room for the quiet and made a few phone calls. Went back to main room, the loud group was sort of gone, so I fell asleep on the couch. Took 2 people to wake me up. Visteral is making me sleepy.

Got Home. Lay on rug enjoying the silence and the MINE-ness of it. Played with Henry the Chewer. Mom called, had a good talk with her - still anxious - but realized that she's right- I can't worry about anything at the moment. I will just write the questions I have and we'll deal with them together when she gets here in a week(!!). And so we have From Here to Now. I'd rather have an electronic journal anyway; handwriting is too hard.

Goals:
short term- be in the now. Write all else down to be dealt with when mom gets here.
long-term- keep this journey documented here for many years.