Don’t Try to Befriend Me…
Wait until some day when they have medications that will cure my mental illness. I am thinking genetics will be the next big breakthrough in psychiatry. I need to ask my physician brother and sister.
My point is that I am incapable of friendships. I am just too paranoid and suspicious of people and online activities. Email pushes this certain button in me and many have written me over the years only for me to never respond back. I am afraid to even open my email program these days for fear of what I may find. They say to have a friend is to be a friend, and am unable to do such a thing due to my mental limitations it seems.
One reason George is my friend is that he doesn’t take no for an answer. He is the perfect fit for my illness as far as friendships go. He will knock on the door until I answer and will call until I pick up the phone. He will come over and look in the window to see if I am sitting at this computer as usual. He has no qualms about bothering me or forcing me out of the house. He is not afraid of my illness or my often odd social behavior.
I once had another friend like this named Jay when I lived in Calera, Alabama in my late twenties. We loved Birmingham Bulls hockey and drinking beer at the games. He would drive me absolutely crazy until I got a shower, got dressed, got in his truck, and he drove us to a hockey game or the strip club, Lynn’s Den. I was constantly paranoid that he didn’t like me, though, and that he just felt sorry for me. Isn’t that crazy? I guess that is why so many mentally ill people end up alone without family or friends.
More Midnight Shenanigans…
Mom called me after midnight again last night. Mom is like me. We keep weird hours. I wasn’t going to answer the phone until I thought, “If I was having a tough time with my mental illness, then I would want mom and dad to answer at any time of the night.” Mom wanted to bitch about dad and how he treats her, but I successfully avoided the subject. Mom and I can have a weird relationship. For years, we never talked. Our mental illnesses in our later years have seemed to have developed this bond or truce between us. One moment she can treat me like a dependent son like she did yesterday with my groceries. The next, she is treating me like a brother or sister – an equal or confidant.