...
a long time ago, in a place far.....no. That's not right.
sitting probably right here at my kitchen table, a few years back, I started documenting a year of my life; a pact I made with a friend. We were both going through hard times in different ways. Mine, personal: divorce and its aftermath, the questioning of place and of future. She: addiction, struggling with being bipolar and doing what she could as a single mom. Our pact was invented by me: I would quit drinking for a year and she'd stay clean. The way I portrayed it to others was that I was doing it for her, and I was. But the unsaid portion was that I was doing it for me, too. A lot of things were upheaved and out of control. I needed to take back what I could.
She and I were unlikely friends. Different people, different backgrounds, a generation apart in age. I'm not really sure what brought us together, other than that we both were outsiders at the church we both were going to at the time. "I can't talk about this with them," she'd say. "But you understand."
She did pretty well for a while, at least with the addiction. But addiction and bipolar disorder are nefarious together. One feeds the other, and I saw the warning signs again and again until one day she disappeared. She had finally gotten enough money to buy a car and the resulting freedom led her to using again. One day I talked to her, the next it was just voice mail, for over a month. I talked with her family; they'd not seen her. Her dad warned me to stay away from her if she called. I thought of her son and how many times he'd been left with his grandparents in his short life.
One day she called me, out of the blue, in the middle of a workday. She sounded terrible and scared and said that she needed money. "I fucked up," she said. "I fucked up bad. And now if I don't give these people two hundred bucks they're going to beat me up and take my car." Where are you? "In Detroit." I'll come get you. "No, no....don't. I just need some money. Can you wire me some money?"
What do you do at this point? Someone you care about, obviously in trouble. I had no previous experience with this. It's enabling, they'd say. What do you do? You wire the money. You tell her to call you. You pray.
I didn't hear from her for a few more weeks. Nothing. Then, she called me from the hospital. "I'm getting help," she said.
That was over a year ago. Since then, she's been okay. Not good, but at home. We've been different, though. I've only seen her a handful of times. We'll talk occasionally, she always wants to get together, talk, have coffee. Okay, I agree. Maybe sometime next week. I'll call you. But usually I don't. I just avoid it or make up an excuse.
I feel intense guilt over this. I'm not that kind of friend, I tell myself. Yet I keep avoiding her. I wonder how she feels about it. I wonder if she needs people to talk to, and whether I could be that person or not.
What is this world but billions of interconnections and relationships? Someone once said that the very least you can do for other people is to engage them as other human beings. We all have our scars; some just show more than others. I may call her tomorrow, I may not. I'm really not sure what's best.
sitting probably right here at my kitchen table, a few years back, I started documenting a year of my life; a pact I made with a friend. We were both going through hard times in different ways. Mine, personal: divorce and its aftermath, the questioning of place and of future. She: addiction, struggling with being bipolar and doing what she could as a single mom. Our pact was invented by me: I would quit drinking for a year and she'd stay clean. The way I portrayed it to others was that I was doing it for her, and I was. But the unsaid portion was that I was doing it for me, too. A lot of things were upheaved and out of control. I needed to take back what I could.
She and I were unlikely friends. Different people, different backgrounds, a generation apart in age. I'm not really sure what brought us together, other than that we both were outsiders at the church we both were going to at the time. "I can't talk about this with them," she'd say. "But you understand."
She did pretty well for a while, at least with the addiction. But addiction and bipolar disorder are nefarious together. One feeds the other, and I saw the warning signs again and again until one day she disappeared. She had finally gotten enough money to buy a car and the resulting freedom led her to using again. One day I talked to her, the next it was just voice mail, for over a month. I talked with her family; they'd not seen her. Her dad warned me to stay away from her if she called. I thought of her son and how many times he'd been left with his grandparents in his short life.
One day she called me, out of the blue, in the middle of a workday. She sounded terrible and scared and said that she needed money. "I fucked up," she said. "I fucked up bad. And now if I don't give these people two hundred bucks they're going to beat me up and take my car." Where are you? "In Detroit." I'll come get you. "No, no....don't. I just need some money. Can you wire me some money?"
What do you do at this point? Someone you care about, obviously in trouble. I had no previous experience with this. It's enabling, they'd say. What do you do? You wire the money. You tell her to call you. You pray.
I didn't hear from her for a few more weeks. Nothing. Then, she called me from the hospital. "I'm getting help," she said.
That was over a year ago. Since then, she's been okay. Not good, but at home. We've been different, though. I've only seen her a handful of times. We'll talk occasionally, she always wants to get together, talk, have coffee. Okay, I agree. Maybe sometime next week. I'll call you. But usually I don't. I just avoid it or make up an excuse.
I feel intense guilt over this. I'm not that kind of friend, I tell myself. Yet I keep avoiding her. I wonder how she feels about it. I wonder if she needs people to talk to, and whether I could be that person or not.
What is this world but billions of interconnections and relationships? Someone once said that the very least you can do for other people is to engage them as other human beings. We all have our scars; some just show more than others. I may call her tomorrow, I may not. I'm really not sure what's best.
random bits cobbled together by j-dub
1 Comments:
I've read this post three times. I keep trying to come up with something to say. Something besides, jw, I love this post for reasons I can't even explain.
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