Today was a bit of a rough day on my brain. One of my very best friends is in distress, and not only can’t I do anything to help… I may have done things to hinder. This pretty much my life’s worst scenario. I live to make people smile, and am wounded when I cause them to frown. If they yell at me, I’ll break.
Dear S.
The last words that come to my memory, on the day I decided to move out, and no longer live in your basement; I said you no longer needed me. I’d done what I came to do, and you don’t need me anymore.
I believed it. In the four years I lived under your care and teachings, you had grown up, gone outside, met people, and smiled. You got a few jobs, and felt a confidence.
You ad found a new community, and felt joy and acceptance for, perhaps the first time. You even started dating and having a new life.
I believed it. I felt helpful in some ways, and grateful in others. While you were gaining social skills and experiencing new things, I was on a similar journey. We became great friends and benefited from each other.
As was, and is my ritual, I get scared when things go well, and I peak. I lose the spark, for whatever reason and my mind wanders to what’s new. 4 years seems to be about as long as I can handle. All my relationships all the way back to birth, didn’t really last more than 4 years.
I sabotage, or find reasons to move on.
The second reason I decided to leave, was a bit harder to explain. I was no longer comfortable watching you be unhappy. It disturbed me to witness you being treated poorly, and without deserved respect by your boyfriend. I had such respect and admiration for you, it was hard to watch you accept poor treatment.
It was not my place to interject. Not my opinion to lead.
The third reason to me, but perhaps the one most significant in your mind at the time, was when I did disrespect you and breach a trust I had spent 4 years building. In hindsight, I see it may actually have been one of thge only bonds and trusts that mattered.
You were quite irate. You learned, through my actions two lessons. People talk about people behind their back, and some people are assholes.
The third lesson was that I had talked about you to an asshole. I handled it extremely poorly when he handled it like an asshole.
I lost your friendship for another 4 years, and perhaps your 100% trust forever. I am regretful it happened, but you must understand, that I still talk about you behind your back. You’re too cool not to, and too irritating not to require a venting at times.
I have so many memories I cherish, and one includes the very first time I ever swore to you. The first time I wanted to say OH Fuck Off.
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Music tone changes, and I switch from the past and good thoughts, to the current. We had been planning a reunion reversal where it’s time for me to take you in when you had the need. Not just as a favour repaid, but because I sincerely wanted to. My time in Waterloo was the greatest room mate experience of my life – and I’ve had a lot. I put that time in Waterloo in front of my first love, and her four years.
However, I got scared. As much as you living here solves all my ; problems and it (in my head) exactly what I want and need, it’s not right for you.
It’s hard to admit at times, but I’m 53, and although we grew up together in some ways, we’re different… And my influence is not what you need. I have hopes you can overcome the mental restrictions I wasn’t able to.
Although our origin stories are different, there are far more similarities between us than you’ve ever wanted to admit to. I had a 25 year head start, and am not quite as stubborn.
I am remember of an old story my mother once told me. I sincerely wondered if I was crazy. IN fact, I often still do. I remember my mother assuring me two things. 1) When you talk to yourself, it’s OK, as long as you don’t talk back… And 2) If you have the mind to ask if you are crazy, you probably are not.
I talk to myself with all emotion, and I often think I have two minds to battle back and forth, but I never talk as anyone but me. I also am always wondering if I’m crazy.
So— that means I’m ok.
However you, I’m not sure you know how crazy you are. I’m not sure I could talk to you about this, without you stopping me, correcting me, and then going on with several justifications.
After our last visit, I got really worried that you might be on drugs beyond your weed. However, the Canada’s as you insist on referring to it, was certainly making you higher than I’d ever seen before.
You were talking fast, with an unheard of confidence. I was given the impression you sincerely thought you were smarter than anyone and everyone you had met, including all the doctors and therapists. You were on a super turbo high, speaking a thousand words a minute, and only a few making sense.
You were shouting out random words with hashtags and then rushing to write them down as if they were the most vital words of wisdom ever spoken, until the next sentence when it would loop again.
You gaze and focus moved from one thing to the next in the room, and any new sentence or action would change your life mission, and now helping, changing or teaching that new things was your new life goal.
A commercial would come on, and you’d have a plan to change the way commercials work, so that everyone could be happy.
You told me you were sad that the Pokemon game allowed people to win, and that everyone would prefer if nobody won. If you hadn’t been distracted by the text flash of glitter, you probably would have written a letter.
When I mentioned the old man upstairs had some issues, you jumped tio his aid like an old friend, and interrupted him being taken away to the hospital by ambulances to lecture the paramedics on proper care. You offered to read the entire newspaper, and then read it back to him when he returned, and then considered dedicating a day or two towards his after care. It kept you awake all night.
You broke my flow of conversation at every phrase, to correct me on the way that I talk.
Often you would describe how you hate… And the correct yourself, but how something bothers you, and in the SAME sentence, do that thing. Over and over.
In my head, I wondered if I should say anything, or if you should move in, and we’ll talk for hours about everything, and I can slowly work away at – – and then I would stop. Maybe being crazy isn’t a bad thing if you’re a functional manic.
Maybe that’s the secret to success. Positive thought, confidence out the wazoo, thinking everyone else is wrong, and just doing stuff with that passion.
I had none of those things, so who was I to say it was wrong.
Again… I was back on the four year plan. Move in… We’ll make it work.
It was selfish of me. My needs momentarily overshadowed your needs.
I have lived around crazy people all my life, and kept them close… Either in my circle of friends, or the ones we made fun of.
The truth is this. You are an amazing woman. I look forward to discussing the universe with you one day. You will always be my friend.
You just need to ask the question; Am I crazy?
Yes. Bats hit crazy, but not lost. Not too crazy.
Own it. Take pride. Smart people can break. You are broken. Let people help.
Let Anyone help, and understand from their perspectives, they’re never the assholes.
Smile. Remember. Look forward to…
I’m old. I’ve been crazy a few times. I’m currently the happiest I’ve ever been. You might get to experience that 20 years ahead of me.
That’ll make me smile too.
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