Hi again, and, again, thanks for meeting me here; it’s just easier for me to talk to you this way; keeps my mind focused on the intent instead of wandering off to whateverness or dwelling on specific aspects of the content instead of just making my point and wrapping it up. Writing just works for me cognitively and functionally and I appreciate Your taking the time to read.
Look, I was going to be all playful and friendly about the last time we spoke and how we’re totally cool now because I didn’t even make it all the way through that entry before I admitted to not being mad at You in real life, etc. etc. And I hate to greet You by just slumping over on Your shoulder and being needy but, to be honest, that’s all the energy I have for today. And I desperately need one tiny, really simple favor from you. Please. I mean, honestly, it’s a really. Really. Tiny thing.
Also, this is going to be a LOT and it’s pretty heavy and, while I’m honestly going to stray from complaints, it’s going to be pretty crap-laden news I’m relaying. Heads up.
I’m not going to intensely recap the last week for You because 1)You were there; You saw it and 2)After rehashing it to my human support unit, I just don’t think I can deal with revisiting it all again on an emotional level. And I’m not an idiot; I know I wasn’t hiking through the Congo ambushing rape gangs with spears and saving women and children or exerting myself to physical/emotional extremes. I know what I’m about to say is going to sound pretty melodramatic considering the millions of alternatives, but, honestly, I wouldn’t say it to You if it wasn’t true. (Because, You know, You can just call “bullshit” on me, like, instantly. So, that’s pointless.)
Anyway, at this very moment in time, I am literally the most exhausted I have ever been in my entire life on all my intellectual, physical, emotional and spiritual planes. And I really didn’t see it coming, God, ’cause I’ve been working really hard to do good things and “move in the positive” (I’ve always liked how Stevie Wonder phrased that) and I just got pelted with it all, suddenly. Oh, and this covers a variety of instances and subjects, so if you get bored with the petty first part, please just keep reading because it gets better and the first part lends a dichotomous arc to the general story. Trust me.
I mean, last weekend was disastrous, sure, but I was totally proud of myself for using my Gandhi-like deflector skills to try to dodge the almost-comical-but-literally nonstop barrage of angry negativity constantly spewing from an old acquaintance I chose to visit with literally no provocation for her ongoing (and I do mean ongoing) tirades except her own inner hatred of everything. And you know me, biting my tongue while someone loudly proclaims blanket racist remarks in front of varied ethnic groups in public or publicly insulting the small beer purchase I surprised her with in front of an entire bar (where even the bartender looked at me like, “Whoa. What in the hell?”) without so much as an ounce of gratitude was a struggle for me in and of itself (Look, I was desperate to have a good weekend, I ignored crap I never would’ve tolerated at any other point. And she was just so busy attacking everything - people, inanimate objects, beautiful vacation resort towns… to name a few - with such violent hyperbole, I realized none of it had to do with me to begin with and handled my negativity shield accordingly. And, when I was finally exhausted from having to deflect her rampant angry tirades at nothing in specific and had just wrapped up an argument in which she adamantly, aggressively wanted me to believe that after one’s high school years, life just turns to shit and then proceeded to counter every positive, uplifting counterpoint I could conjure to such an absurd, ignorant thesis with genuinely empty volleys that were non-freaking-stop, even after I started laughing with incredulous hopelessness at the absurdity of the whole conversation and situation, I calmly told her that I was going to go home (even though it was midnight-thirty and “home” was 4 hours from there) Oh, and God, You wouldn’t have believed it… I know I could barely believe it but she wanted me to argue with her so badly she was getting into desperate-try-anything-territory with her responses and blind indignation, and, the more I kept calmly stating that I just wasn’t, the more ludicrous her attempts to lure me in became, flinging out character flaws that were irrelevant to the actual topic at hand and low blows regarding nothing in particular and, I honestly couldn’t believe how calm and serene and determined I was, God (’cause You know me and how much I really enjoy utilizing my singular gift of rhetoric to humiliate opponents verbally when they’re attacking me and making themselves look idiotic in the meantime… ’cause I’m just awesome at it and it’s one of the few things I can really do well and that makes me feel empowered and intelligent and good about myself, You know? You know…) but I didn’t give in to any of her petty attempts to bait me into any form of argument because of this bizarre, uncharacteristically weird, serene calmness that I’ve, again, NEVER had during a falling out with a friend (which totally came from the realization that she wasn’t actually mad at me; she’s just angry at the world and her life and she needed someone to yell at so she could get it all out or cry about it the next day or Youonlyknowwhat.) No, seriously, I didn’t even take the bait on the inane, superficial “insults” she attempted whose devastating counter-attacks were in the palm of my hand, had I chosen to casually fling them in her general direction. I mean, I hate to brag (and totally negate that whole Gandhi-channeling thing I was proud of finally “getting”) but I was kinda floored by my own behavior. I didn’t even laugh out loud when she started with the passive-aggressive “I’m sorry you feel that way”s and the “Whatever makes you happy”s. (I’ll quit gloating at how awesomely Zen I handled that because I know that’s WAY against the whole point, but I was just amazed. Obviously.) Anyway, I honestly, calmly told her I wasn’t mad (she angrily asserted that I was) but I was not going to make this situation worse by arguing with her because it was pointless and I didn’t want to make things worse by resorting to obvious insults old acquaintances could obviously hurl at each other forever, as that, too, is fruitless. I wished her the best and happiness in her life (which is true and, actually, was the point of the whole evening) and I started my drive home. And, for the first little bit, I was still kind of in awe with the amount sanity and clarity I’d managed to access for that and how I was totally proud for growing a pair and pulling the plug on a relationship the minute she stopped being a good friend. (I have a history of tolerating a “friend’s” hurtful bullshit for years before I make a big “thing” of it and then calling it quits. Recently I enacted the rule that my friends are welcome to be as messed up and chock-full of idiotic decisions as they want and I will listen to them deal with their problems until we die, so long as they are giving the same love, considerate and nonjudgment in return. I think that’s sane and fair, right?) I was kind of glowing with pride that I didn’t get sucked into the angry quagmire she sadly wants company within… But then the whole mood turned when I finally realized/admitted to myself this sad truth that I’d known but had been avoiding stating to myself for the last 10-ish years that we’ve hung out here-and-there which was that, no matter how many times I’d listen to her repeated mistakes and let her cry about how screwed up her personal life was at any given time, she would never actually reciprocate actions or sentiments indicative of a “friend”. There were never any baby gifts or wedding gifts from her, she kind of only called to see if I wanted to party with her or be her sidekick when she was off getting over another inevitable heartbreak with the guy she’s letting ruin her life. And, fully realizing that she was inevitably out there whining to this guy about what a horrible, heartless friend I was to her, I drove through the night with unexpected heartbreak and the sad reality that I was the only one in the relationship who’d actually let herself give a shit about the other time after time. And I was just too much of an optimist/idiot to notice until she literally started insulting me to my face and then refusing to listen or acknowledge it when I was standing before her saying only, “I’m leaving because you’ve hurt me personally.”
I mean, it was inevitable and I’m glad it happened the way it did, but it stings. All of it. Especially the fact that she pulled her patented “I’m done. Whatever” refrain thus signalling that she’s supposedly finished with whatever drama is present, even when a friend she’s had for 10 years, who has listened to her endlessly whine about her same mistakes and problems that entire time was standing there and honestly not judging anything about her lifestyle or plethora of easily-targeted faults but was simply saying “You hurt me to my face and I can’t tolerate that in my friends.”
So, yeah, God. I felt like an idiot. And one who had wasted her weekend to be pelted by someone else’s unbelievably overzealous misguided anger. Rough.
The next night, however, one of my very old friends with whom I’d recently reacquainted myself sent me a text saying that she was back in the hospital, alone, and would really like some company. Although I was exhausted from having caught up on sleep all day, I was eager to help a friend, even if it just meant sitting in a hospital chair for a few hours. The incredible dichotomy between that evening and the previous one should have been rejuvenating and awe-inspiring to me and, in many ways it was.
This is a girl I’ve known since we were in kindergarten together, who just finished throwing a gala for 400 disabled teens (all with donated supplies; ballroom, gowns, hair, makeup, band, performers, etc.) and who has been suffering from a disease that is slowly filling and destroying her lungs for many years and, yet, being around her is like having a fresh strawberry ice cream cone in blistering summer heat. She’s so full of life and optimism that, when you first meet her (or re-meet her, in my case) you kind of wonder if it’s all some sort of Stepford-Wife facade… except, you know, dressed in comfy hippie garb and with a penchant for elephants and steampunk art. I show up to this hospital room where she is clearly exhausted and in her bed but still starts trying to make me comfortable, “You need anything? You comfortable?” Being that this is the only time we’ve actually had a chance to take some time and “hang out” in two decades (she’s been busy getting the gala together since we reunited) she wanted to talk about her stepgrandkids (she’s my age, by the way) and show me photos of her last cruise with her husband (and insisted that my husband and I totally join them on their next one) or photos of her being wheeled around DisneyWorld in a full-on formal gown because she wanted to be a princess, dammit. (I love the story of her going to the Princess Luncheon - an overpriced “character event” where you eat and get to be photographed with the Disney princesses in the castle - and, when the hostess said, “Um, we don’t really allow adults to dress up because we don’t want to confuse the kids with who is an entertainer and who isn’t.”, she retorted, “Look, lady, I’m fat and in a wheelchair; I don’t think anybody’s going to confuse me for Cinderella.” Awesome.) I hadn’t seen her in 20 years until we reunited on Facebook and I learned of this incredible gala she was putting together on no budget (oh, and while waiting on new lungs) and, without having any idea what kind of person she’d become since last we spoke, I said “YES! SIGN ME UP TO VOLUNTEER!”
And, I know You know this already but she’s nothing short of a phenomenon. She’s like a cute, girlie, Southern Dalai Lama with her easy-as-pie wisdom and effortless optimism. And she’d been handed a good deal of shit in the years we weren’t friends (seriously, some of the stuff she told me had my jaw dangling and I was seriously using, “Oh hey! I’ve been in a mental hospital, too!!” as a means to try to relate in some way to the serious shitstorm she’s been and continues to go through.) And she does EVERYTHING; she designs cakes, she hosts silly parties at her house every month, she went to Burning Man, she makes fairy dresses for little girls (and, sometimes, big girls) and, when you talk to her, she’s just so comfortable with who she is and this life that she has and the inherent joy she finds in everything and, while most people like that would get on my last nerve, she presents optimism in such a way that it isn’t preachy but is just kind of how she looks at life… and you’d feel like an idiot not believing her because she makes such valid points about the awesomeness of things in general (without, you know, going out of her way to try to actively prove a point or shove it in your face.) And, while all that is amazing, what is the very most affective/unbelievable aspect of this whole story is that she’s going about all this while her body slowly deteriorates. Every other week (if not every week) she’s back in the hospital, treating the ever-worsening symptoms of Cushing’s Disease while she’s waiting on a lung donor. She told me (after I asked) that she sometimes has to rest up for days in order to be able to attend something special and, while she can get around without it, she does rely on a wheelchair and guide dog when necessary. Basically, getting to re-know her in the last three months has smacked my humility in the face. Hard.
Anyway, I went to see her late at night in the hospital and finally just enjoyed taking it easy and enjoying her company (which is like a vacation.) And, you know, I tried to make harmless jokes when shit got rough; for example, she was taking a steroid aspirator treatment and an RN came to check on her. She wasn’t able to answer, so I attempted a, “Yeah, man, she’s totally Bogarting that thing… hasn’t passed it over once.”… I know. Comic genius here.) and when she asked if I had planned to stay the night, I answered, “Um, pshyeah. We’re like, 20 years overdue for a slumber party.” And she squeezed my hand but I swear to God, those pathetic, predictable excuses for jokes and a hand-squeeze when she needed it were all I could offer and, dammit, I did my best, but I’ve never felt so useless in my life. (I know, this isn’t about me… I’m getting there.) And she kept saying things like, “I hope I’m not keeping you up with my coughing.” to which I didn’t even know how to respond. Really?! You’re coughing fluid out of a collapsed lung and you’re apologizing to me for keeping me awake!? Seriously. You’re fine. Knock off all the selfessness for a few minutes; I’m here for you, remember? She woke me up once (profusely apologizing as if this wasn’t the exclusive purpose for me being there) to ask if I’d hold her hand through a shot she knew would be superpainful. I was the one who ended up holding on way too tight.
I left the next morning because I had to, but I would’ve stayed if she’d needed me to, fumbling around to do my best to be of any help I could. I was still dumbstruck by the sensation of it all; watching a girl I was childhood friends with as she was slowly falling apart (until they can find her a donor) and not at all complaining about the monotony of her situation (I’m sorry; after 35 spinal taps, I would be a whiny bitch and I would dare people to tell me to can it.) but, instead, making plans for her upcoming adventures and talking about how grateful she was that the gala had gone so well and how she planned to start a non-prof organization to help manage the one next year and asking me to join her in future escapades, of which she was excitedly planning many. It wasn’t just fake optimism for the sake of making herself look awesome; it was all real. And incredibly humbling. (And, yeah, I wanted to drive out to my negative ex-friend’s house, snatch her by the hair, drive her all the way back to that hospital room and make her sit there with my radiant, optimistic friend who would share her excitement for life while being hooked to IVs and monitors and aspirators that aren’t actually healing anything for a couple hours, just to show her that the only difference between the two of them is their attitudes toward life…grumblegrumble) I drove home, exhausted and a bit shell-shocked from the extremes I’d experienced in the last few days. I knew I’d been granted extreme gifts and lessons, but it all seemed like a lot to absorb at the moment.
(For the record, it took me four whole days before I randomly got knocked on my ass and started uncontrollably sobbing about seeing my friend in the hospital. I don’t want her to know that, actually, because she doesn’t go for sympathy and I certainly don’t want her to think my wailing was out of pity; in fact, embarrassingly, my sobbing was because of my own self-centered attitude and guilt and this feeling that, even though I was so so honored she trusted me to come by and hold her hand, there was nothing more than that than I can/could do to help. And then I got obligatorily angry, like “Why is it someone legitimately awesome who’s dealing with this? Why not any of the hundreds of thousands of sucky people? Hell, why not me? On my best days, I’m barely 25% as positive and productive and selfless as she is!” and, to cut an hour-long sobfest’s storyline short, I basically went ahead and adhered to every cliche of being frustrated at seeing someone so rad have to deal with something so, so shitty and unfair… Um, I may have even considered shooting a hobo to harvest his lungs so she’d have a new pair, but then I thought about how they probably wouldn’t be a match and you never know what’s in a stranger’s lungs, etc… But yeah, I threw myself a big ole pity party about how pissed I was about it and how powerless I felt when I really just want to DO something to effing FIX it and then I felt all guilty because my mother (who was on the receiving end of all of this wailing) simply said, “Well, SHE’S not sad and mopey about it so what right do you have to be?” and that just made me feel worse and I just blurted out, “Yeah, well she’s more ridiculously enlightened than me, which is why I’m so frustrated to begin with.” Ugh. But I’m glad I got that out of my system, if we’re being honest. I don’t anticipate that happening every time I hang out with her or mention her, etc. I think I just needed to process it because it’s heavy stuff.)
Also, something weird happened at the hospital that I kind of didn’t put any credence to until today. Lemme explain. Long before I knew anything about “energy” and “vibrations” and all that, I visited a friend who was living with a well-known (except to me at the time) violent psychopath (like, he gets disability for this condition. His name is known around town as synonymous for “RUN AWAY!!”) and during our visit, he was a little intense for my taste but wasn’t glaringly insane or anything. Anyway, while I was there, I was suddenly overcome with the sudden, urgent need to vomit - the kind where it didn’t percolate in my stomach for a while but it was coming rightfuckingnow. I ran from the room, hovered over the toilet and nothing came. It was bizarre and happened a couple more times while I was there, actually (and, of course when I left, I was fine again.) I had no explanation for it until many many years later when I started getting into metaphysics that I realized “Holy crap. Could it have really been the energy of Evil McMansonEyes conflicting with mine that caused that?” and, even though I’m not one of those people who is supersensitive to people’s energies unless they’re verbally declaring it, I kind of bought that theory ’cause that dude’s evil was palpable to everyone he met, apparently.
Well, ANYWAY, the same exact thing happened as I was lying on a chair next to my friend’s bed and it was the first time I’d had that since the aforementioned incident, which seemed weird because, again, she’s a freaking ray of sunshine. Again, I just thought, “Hunh, weird. But I know it’s not her, so whatevs.”
I spent the next couple days in and out of sleep, trying to recover from sleeplessness and the intensity of the weekend. (In retrospect, I can practice Gandhi’s tactics all I want but that guy had a lot more spiritual strength than I do at the moment so, I should probably pace myself a little.) I couldn’t focus to meditate because my brain was all over the place and I tried to pray like a normal person (i.e. not in a blog) but my brain would fixate on just one of the negativities I’d encountered or the incredible guilt and sorrow I felt after visiting my friend and feeling powerless to change her situation, so I’d get off track and never really commit to a full prayer. (Sorry to leave you hanging there. I hope you were answering more important calls than my self-pitying introspection at the time.) I just felt… wrong… and I didn’t know why, exactly.
When the hubs and the Bear got home on Wednesday, I honestly did the best I could to show them how relieved and happy I was to have them around again but my brain was just all over the place and, apparently, I was distant and acting not-like-myself according to my husband, who has, at this point, calmly tolerated my annual about with The Crazy (yes. it comes in the Spring. Like nobody else on the planet experiences. Moving on.)
And then, despite my best intentions to act like I was okay, it aaalll kind of came to a head last night when, out of nowhere, I went into one of the two manic episodes I’ve ever had in my life. (We all know I’m not a manic-depressive kind of Crazy. I have a long history with depression and, while I’m not happy when it’s around, we know how to handle each other. I’ve got his bullshit on lockdown… I think that’s what that expression means.) And it was fucking scary, really, because I have no idea how to handle those (what with the tiny amount of experience I’ve had) and I was awake all night, heart-racing, OBSESSING about things that ordinarily wouldn’t have bothered me at all or that I could’ve handled without too much worry. Like two friends who read my blog got all weird and insecure and decided to attack me about passive-aggressively using that forum to insult people reading it to their faces when literally anybody who knows me as a person (or even as a blog-writer) knows I’m not um… an idiot who handles problems with friends that way. And, instead of just saying, “Yeah, there are childish people who are into that but I’m not the type to try to get my friends or readers paranoid about my opinions for fun. Because I respect my friends. And am an adult. And have done this exact thing before. So settle down.” I got really defensive and really angry/offended about it (even though I know it’s all based on their insecurities and the irrational fear that I might insult them publicly for no apparent reason and has nothing to do with me, since, again, I’m not into that and they should know that.) and felt the need to really stand up for myself loudly and extravagantly and, then, when a guy from my past whom I’d cared about and kind of lost after a short relationship of sorts gave me a short, direct, perfect answer to a question I’d [passively-aggressively publicly put into a lame public blog to hide my terror when I[ asked, I responded with a gigantic volume of overzealous insight and, seriously, couldn’t stop myself, even though I maintained the whole time that I had the best of intentions. (He says it’s fine. This makes me feel better.) Seriously, it was a sense of mania I’ve never experienced and it freaked me out a lot.
When my husband woke up this morning to me being loopy and exhausted from a night of involuntary mental fuckery, he kind of broke down and admitted that these months of my unpredictable bouts of depression had been really wearing on him and he loves me and is worried about me but he’s starting to become exhausted with it all, which broke my heart, especially knowing how patient he’s been with all of it. He never threw out ultimatums or said he’s leaving or stupid go-to jargon a lot of couples tend to resort to, but he did say that this was wearing on us and would continue to do so and that he didn’t want that.
And then, strangely, he mentioned something out of character for him, which was that, ever since he got back from his trip, there’d been a “weird energy” around me; not just in the house but that gave off a sense of hopelessness and despair (which, as bad as things have been this week was nothing close to how I was feeling.) And I remembered the feeling I had in the hospital and wondered if, in my subconscious desire to take some of the pain away from my friend, I’d absorbed something harmful and taken it with me. (I know, it sounds a little nuts but, seriously, when my husband says things about “vibes” and “energies”, I take him seriously because he doesn’t subscribe to that stuff very often.)
Anyway, he looked exhausted and on the brink of giving up (which I know he’d never do, but his eyes said, “I’m out of options. I don’t know what else to do.”) and, not to overshare our personal interactions as a couple but, it became obvious that, crippling springtime depression or not, I needed to make some changes because 1) obviously my tactics for dealing with these bouts aren’t helping me and 2) my husband is starting to resent me because I let my disease dominate so much of our time. And, after watching my friend push through every day with optimism and selfless nurturing for the people in her life (she was counseling a heartbroken relative late into the night as she was struggling to breathe through the aspirator, for example. Seriously. She’s amazing. I’ve said that.) while having half the physical capabilities that I do, I realized that I was going to have to find a new tactic for dealing with my daily mindfuckery so it isn’t destroying my support unit.
And, yeah, I’m totally scared about giving myself some tough-love. When I’m having days where I get a panic attack just trying to decide what to wear to the grocery store, it’s going to be tough to try to power through it instead of “just laying down until my head gets straight.” and on days where my mind can’t connect thoughts enough to physically enable myself to get out of bed or form sentences, it’s gonna be a bit of a challenge to um… do anything. But I know there needs to be a change, even if it’s not for my spouse (which, primarily, it is at the moment because, frankly, I really like taking naps instead of trying to get my brain to work.) So I told him to make a list of things that he gets frustrated about when my depression is in action and I told him we’re going to make ground rules to stop enabling me using his kindness to the point of exhaustion and resentment. That seems like the best I can do right now (even though I’m secretly glad that he’s still hesitant to sit down and brainstorm a list entitled “Things that Make You Sucky Because of Your Disease”. He was awfully beaten-down and frustrated and resentful today but he still loved me enough not to want to do something like that, even when I asked him to, so I can make changes to make us happier. Yeah. I’m a lucky girl.)
ANYWAY, all of this summed up comes to one very small, very simple request I have of You. I know You’re busy and I hope You’re paying more attention to starving children than me, when it comes down to it, but I intend to spend today resting and restoring myself from last night’s delirium and the past week’s intense emotional lesson plan (Don’t worry; I took notes. I got it all down and am reviewing for the test.) and I might even try meditating if my brain will just chill out for a change and be.
But what I’d really, honestly, appreciate is if You’d grant me an evening of genuine rest in every sense of the word. I know that sounds like a hefty order for an 8-ish hour snooze, but I’d really like a calm, serene, rejuvenating sleep that isn’t interrupted by nightmares or images of people my subconscious brings up as ancient personal mascots of self-doubt or anything bad. I don’t need any visits from relatives or any cool messages from the Beyond (the one you slipped in the other day was pretty intense, though. Thanks for that. Oh, and for the record? I’m sorry for totally getting pissed at what you were trying to tell me in that Tarot reading before my weekend trip a few weeks ago. I was pissed because I was still trying to figure out where to venture on my own and you were totally foretelling how to handle the negative-friend situation which I didn’t even know would be an option at the time so it didn’t make sense to me and I got all pissy and I didn’t mean to call you bullshit because I didn’t understand. Seriously, I can’t see into the future; I’m sorry.)
I’d like a sleep that will wake me up outside of this negativity I’ve seemed to get bogged down with in the last week and ready to focus on revitalizing myself and my household and all the things that are legitimately important in my immediate life and maybe even be rid of manic spells (because I’m really not good at that, even when they’ve been driven with my best of intentions so far… thank Yourson) Seriously, leave me with the depression; I’ll deal with that sack of crap for the rest of my life if I have to but the mania has to go. Please.
Please just let me rest tonight and get my (mental/figurative) head back to where it is most comfortable and my spirit back to a quiet, centered place so I can get back to being the productive, positive person I feel like I’m really capable of being. (I know better than to try to read Your thoughts but I have a hunch You kinda believe that, too, right? C’maaaan. You think I’m capable of good stuff, too…) I don’t wanna be greedy and ask for strength to push through my whiny, spoiled attitude so I can work through the physical limitations of depression and make myself active and not a drain on my family anymore but, if You wanna fling that in as a bonus, I’d be grateful as well, of course. But mainly the all-encompassing rest would be much appreciated. That’s what I’d really really like and kind of need right now. Do whatever work on my unconscious self that You’d like; I trust it. Just rest. For energy to go after some change. Please.
Oh, and thanks a lot for everything else. All these people who inexplicably love me and send their support and my family and the one kitty we have who knows when I need her to curl up and purr into my abdomen and the flowers I planted and haven’t killed and the forgiveness I’ve found from people in my life recently and, seriously, everything. Thank You for my life and for helping me manage it.
Most sincerely,
L P-S
Who's said what now?