Give it a rest

We'd been best friends since college; she was a magical, sweet, strange pixie of a girl, and I adored her. Reconnected and in the same area after years of hit or miss connections, something was going awry. We didn't fit as well, I felt choked and silent in her presence.

I'd been trying to get in touch with her for weeks -emails, voice messages - with no response. We'd last spoken on the phone when I'd asked if she could stop by my house on her way home from work, rather than our original plan for me to drive a county over to hers. She'd declined; "I just want to be home."

"Me, too," I thought. I didn't give in to the insistant nag of people pleasing. I was working on being more assertive, this was a reasonable request, we'd just get together later.

But for weeks: nothing.

The day my father is due for major surgery, I check my email to distract myself from the nauseating mantra "He could die, he could die, he could die."

She's written me a message. What serendipity, I stupidly think. A nudge of support from the magical universe delivered through her just when I most need it!

I have to reread the email a few times to get the point: she's ending our friendship. In an email. Said I wasn't there for her during a depression she'd experienced a few years back; she's not sure what she wanted from me but she didn't get what she needed; she'd tried to let it go but couldn't; she knew I was dealing with my own depression but...

I shouldn't have written back right then. Shouldn't have apologized. Shouldn't have groveled. Shouldn't have said I'd be there if she changed her mind.

We'd been growing apart; we'd grown apart. The friendship was already comatose when she mercilessly killed it.

I should have said:

"I feel there is no room for me to be myself within the rigid guidelines we developed for our roles in this friendship when it started. I see now that you're not able to allow this to grow and change. I wish you the best. Goodbye."

Better than saying what I truly felt, on that emotional day: "You BITCH. You dump because I didn't provide some service you decided is required of me to deserve your friendship? And that I should have done so without your having to ask for what you needed of me? You dump me because I dare asked you to drive 10 minutes out of your way rather than have me drive an hour out of mine? (that interaction seemed emblematic of our entire friendship) You dump me, on a day my father could die? You selfish BITCH!"

I cried, my mom offered some sage words of advice before we head to the hospital to watch and worry and wait. I cried for what? For the people we think we'll never lose but we lose anyway, for the person I'd been for so many years, for the person I was fighting to become.

And now, at least five years later, I'm seething. I haven't let it go, haven't grown up, can't give it a rest. I bitterly hope I somehow hurt her as badly, disappointed her as deeply as she did me. I'm electrified by the memory of it, I craft scathing speeches meant to flay skin from bone, I think of finding her address to send a last note of bile and rage.

Crying yet for the person I still am, for the person I fight to become.

Glass

There is some invisible barrier keeping me disconnected from my deepest feelings, myself. I remember magic, mysticism, poetry, playfulness; I KNOW I was once that person.

Is she merely dehydrated and shriveled? Could I awaken her with a secret password or the right fun?

I don't sense goneness, so she must still be there. How to break through?

Blast!

It often comes to pass that I cause a hullabaloo, move & shake, plot & scheme to make something happen faster, only to be thwarted at every turn.

And then, at the stroke of midnight (metaphorically), everything falls into place without any effort on my part.

Someday I will learn my lesson to take a deep breath, wait patiently, and let the universe whirl on without trying to steer it.

No lodestar

In general, I'm feeling better than I ever have.

In the past week, panic is winning. I've let slide the day to day habits I've fought to practice; the ones that steadied me, gave me control over my life.

Today, I was incredibly moody all through the day. Angry, irritable, giggly, serious in quick succession. And I can't figure out what I can do tonight to get my balance - journal, rest, push myself to do errands, eat a salad, take a long bath...

What feels yucky? Messy house, unbalanced account, items undone on the to-do list, lack of sleep, bad diet...

So I'll pick one of these to correct a bit with whatever effort I can think of tonight. And then, if I have the time & energy, I'll pick another one to chisel away at.

I'll feel better with small deeds done.

Equilibrium

I've only told 1 friend that I'm not taking anti-depressants right now. It's been about a month or so since my last dose - I ran out in the middle of my latest financial crisis.

I'm wary. I believe in the simple facts of a brain misfiring various neurotransmitters, and the ability of meds to right the scale. At the same time, I recognize my gift for spinning a web of anxiety & depression from nothingness - the impact of thoughts & "self-talk" on the brain.

Practicing thought stopping, taking small walks here & there, eating a bit healthier, forcing myself not to act on panicked impulse, talking myself through the worst of times ("wait 15 minutes, calm down, distract yourself, you are not in imminent physical danger, this will pass")...all of these have added up to an uncertain balance that I did not think possible. These practices are clearing out the dangerous expanse of my mental haunted forest that medication never touched anyway, that always lurked in the background full of specters ready to pull me into the darkest places with no warning.

I'm starting to understand about demons, about not only facing them but making pacts of peace (if not yet firm friendship) with them. These days, when a ghoul rears up from the abyss, I stare it square in the face without flinching. Growl all you want, I say; gnash teeth, try to spook me. It's all just myriads of myself, reflections upon reflections distorted through years of bad thinking.

I pull the thorn right from the beast's paw and get on with my day.

tornado up

I once saw a diagram of recovery - a tornado oscillating its way up the page, meaning that even as we improve, we'll dip back into old behaviors and feelings and crawl our way back out again and again.

I try to remember that on mornings like today, when I wake up feeling worse after a few days of feeling better. I wish there were some stasis; I wish I could have a lengthy stretch of feeling alright without panic ripping through my guts, without a deep sense of grief and depression weighing me down, without rage & knee-jerk reaction making regrettable decisions for me.

Just a respite.

Gah!

How awesome it would be to function like a multinational corporation: make all the rules stack in your favor, offer "customer service" that ultimately services you, to engage in crack pot schemes and, when they fail, ask the Big Bad Government (who you demand keep their filthy regulations to themselves) for billions in bail out. To say, "I'm screwing you over because I CAN, because I offered a service and you wanted it and now you will be subjected to my whim which was clearly outlined in the size .2 font on your introductory packet and it's YOUR responsibility to be educated about the consequences of crossing me, now pay up!" Well, actually, what would be said it, "I'm pretty terrific for offering you these services (although it would take a herculean effort on your part to function without services of this sort from someone) and you're rather stupid for not having more control over your own life so that you don't violate our contract, toots."

I'm becoming an angry left-wing nut in my ripening age.

I suppose I could divorce myself from it all. Never have another bank account, never purchase major electronics, make my own clothes, become one of those people that only take from refuse to survive - what is the term for them? there is one, and I can't even think how to google it..ooooops, no googling allowed in my new life...

How does one get divorced from consumerist capitalist culture? I write this on a name brand computer in an apartment surrounded by mass-produced amenities. Even the food I eat has caused untold misery and hardship on its journey to my table.

Christiana in Demark sounds so appealing - as Diana described it, I felt like a child, wide-eyed, head in my hands, listening to tales of Shangri-la..."really? they grown their own food? they make community decisions based on a direct democratic vote? there's a playground made of found-object sculptures?"

As I am arguing with myself about my personal responsibility versus the bank's ability to continuing charging me fees for no service whatsoever other than having my name in a computer somewhere next to a big negative number, communal living on a farm somewhere far off the grid is sounding pretty damn attractive.