We began by catching up. Her fifth marriage was the real one, the one that would last. My daughter was doing well, a university junior with the fullness of the world ahead of her. My son another story - bipolar, ADD, panic attacks, seasonal affective disorder, dystonia, failing high school despite having gone through a gifted-and-talented magnet school from grades one through eight.
"So what's ahead for him?" my friend asked. A sharpness in her voice I had not heard before. "Trade school? Community college?" I said I didn't know, his special-ed teachers were working with him. I was working with him. Things were bad. Every session with my therapist revolved around his deteriorating mental health: how guilty and helpless I felt, how it pained me immensely that I had passed on my genes to him, what could I do to make it better. I said I had reached an insight. Perhaps if I detached a bit and lived my own life, went back to the discovery of small joys, his condition would improve. I could be a role model.
"You call that an insight? You have no insight. You have no clue about anything."
I was shocked. Where was this bitterness coming from?
"You've been seeing this therapist for how many years? And look at the drugs you're taking."
Yes, I was taking drugs. A mood stabilizer, an antidepressant, two medications for anxiety. All legally prescribed. They saved my life and kept me on what some people would call an even keel. I held a job, paid the bills, stayed out of the hospital. I was able to sleep at night, at least sometimes. My one marriage had lasted over twenty years. I was able to read books and enjoy them. I gardened. Sometimes I cooked and sewed as I had done in the past, before the mania came on and then the despair - the despair that always lifted when I spoke to my best friend, when she embraced me, when she told me how wonderful I was.Â
"You've ruined your son's life."
An almost physical blow, from someone who had no children.
"Your marriage is a sham. You should have left him years ago."
Did I mention the five marriages?
"You're a junkie. Your therapist is an enabler. You're . . ." A pause. "I don't even know what you are."
My friend had been in therapy for more years than I had. She spoke of her therapist with devotion. he had saved her life, and continued to do so on a weekly basis.
She stood up. "I can't stand to see you again. You need to find someone else. Maybe you should look into a women's group or something."
A women's group. Or something. She walked away and did not look back. A ten-year friendship ended in twenty minutes.
One year later, a dream: I was wearing silk pajamas, the top unbuttoned. She walked up to me and put her index finger to my heart. And pushed. Hard.
Does hurt never end?
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Comments: 9
This isn't a poem, but I'm still featuring it in Poets, New and Old
Thank you for posting it. I also have a group, First Time Writers and Our Memorys, that you could post to - for now, I'm featuring it here. I'm so sorry this happened to you.
Hugs,
Marilyn
I am sorry that you were treated in such a manner.
We walk on our path and the path is not always easy and each one of us tries to do the best. You shouldn't consider her a friend BUT neither judge her. She already made the mistake judging you. Dp as you feel it is right for you and live in the knowing that you are guided and protected. Do not let others hurt you. I do not say it is easy , but once you try and continue to do so, it will come easier.
Thank you for sharing and thank you for joining " our soul journey.
Love , light and peace profound
How dare she, - needy with external help and childlessly so all her married life - overlook the pain and efforts that you have had to put out just to help your son pull himself off of this troubled phase in his life?
Yet, sensitive as you are, I hope you find solace in the knowledge that the ones who hurt us are the ones who suffer the most. And yes, it is only when we consciously let them can they actually succeed at hurting us. NOBODY CAN HURT US EXCEPT OURSELVES.
As for me, a newfound freedom from this regimenting friendship would be my only revenge.
You are strong, M M; it shines out to where I am at right now. My prayers, too!
From a writerly standpoint, I'd say this one is laden with honesty and the loads of pain that you had to reel in for us - just about the outstanding traits of a good prose.
You write with a rich vein of personal experiences, it is at once layered with a lot of meanings. Could well be the pivotal piece for future bigger writing projects.
When I think of this person now, I have no particular ill feelings toward her. Just a monumental sadness. When she touched my heart in my dream, it hurt, but it also seemed like a message that she had touched me in my most vulnerable place, and I had survived. It was also a message - spiritual in nature, source unknown - that I need to wake up to the realization that joy and sorrow go hand in hand.