A recent post on friendships and bipolar disorder has had me thinking of my friendships ... both current and past.
Throughout school I would have a "best" friend, but they always semmed to drift away. No one ever really stuck around for long. I began to accept there was something flawed in me that, the more people got to know me they discovered that flaw and didn't want to be my friend anymore.
I found drugs and alcohol, they were good and reliable friends. They had seen me at my worst : my angriest, my stupid - yet funny, and vile behaviors. But they always were up for a visit.
I grew up, became a wife and floated into a different social circle. The women in the group were close friends from childhood and I always felt shy and backwards around them. Although we became friends, I always felt like that "third wheel" in the friendship.
I became a mother. Once again the social circle shifted. I worked long hours at my job. Between work and responsibilities as a parent, friendships had no space on my dance card.
My only child grew up and now I could develop friendships. I had time! I joined a different circle. The metaphysical community. I found love, peace and acceptance there. With them, we were all focused on similar goals with similar, yet distinct journeys. It was about looking within to see without.
We became active in the community and I developed many, many friends. People I shared secrets with, who had bled from the same wounds as I, the Survivors. I learned from them and they learned from me. An endless circle of giving and receiving.
I met a kindred soul at work. Someone I felt was a soul brother, a connection. He had heard my secrets, but didn't run away. He saw my manic, he listened to me depressed. If ever I came close to a best friend, it was him.
Then I took another job. Friendships faded away and some the realization work was your only common connection. I allowed my job to consume my life. Slowly, I withdrew from the strong circle of friends I could rely on before.
But, the worst, the one I most regret, is the one I destroyed. My soul brother. I felt justified at the time when the words left my mouth. But...I...didn't...think... I was manic. I was riding a wave on the bipolar surfboard and had no idea who I was. I almost walked away from my job, began to crumble at the seams, I was ready to explode. I was angry. That one and only person I could count on became involved in another circle. One I wasn't a part of. He was drifting away and he was one of the only pieces that kept me together when I was falling apart. He got me.
But friends can only take so much. I took care of that. Since then, I've had a smattering of friendships here and there. But each time it gets close to being "the real thing", I become frightened and paranoid again. Have they seen the ugly? Will they like the ugly?
Even worse...what the hell am I going to one day say that will, once again, drive away another friend? So, should I even try? Should I waste their and my time? I'm tired of hurting people or saying things I regret. Perhaps, I'm only meant to look through the window at a world of friendships.
Or...maybe the word "friendship" is an illusion altogether. Foreign. No comprehension. Perhaps I long for something that doesn't really exist? My expectations? My flaws? My illness? Excuses? Or is it just surrender?
Perhaps a life with one best friend, my husband, is better than a life with no friends at all?
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