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My mother and I have been BFFs for forever.  My mama was all mine.  When Mama wasn’t working, she was with me.  She taught me how to read.  She taught me how to ride a bike.  How to roller skate. We could read each other’s mind, so much so that I decided I was not going to talk until I was 4.  I mean, what was the point; Mama knew exactly what I was saying without hearing a single word.  For 6 years Mama was my entire world.  And I was hers.

Then the nightmare happened.  Suddenly I had to share her with 3 kids who were NOT A THING like me.  I was a reader.  I liked quiet. I liked solitude.  They were the total opposite.  And their father?  *extreme sigh*  Let’s give him his own blog entry, shall we?

So life unfolded. The manufactured drama of kids who have been taken from their mother and forced to live with a new one.  The feelings of being the odd man out.  The teenage years and all the angst that comes with it.  All on top of moving from one place to another every 2-4 years.

Then I had my first born.  Mama’s first grandchild. I needed my mama, and she wanted to see her grandbaby.  She was my best friend again. We had our differences, sure.  Like when she hung up on me for improper phone etiquette. And when she compared me to a door mat.  I was so angry, but she was my Mama; I loved her.   When I moved away, I missed her so much I called every day, maybe 2-3 times a day.  I was on the phone for HOURS with her.  She knew my work schedule, after work schedule, what time I woke up, what time I went to bed. The child’s school, schedule, probably even the last time he had a bowel movement.  It was as if she was next door.

Unfortunately we fell out, again.  This time was over her being Mom; she told my story to someone I specifically did not want to know my story under the guise of “I thought they should know”.  I was so upset I actively avoided her.  But the issue was not so much what she did, but the invasion of boundaries that I had experienced from the entire family.  I was (am?) a people pleaser and I was terribly afraid that if I did not do what was asked/expected I would be kicked out of the family.  I would write letters to friends, and my step-sister would read them.  My step brothers would call me names and no one would correct them.  My step-father treated me like Cinder Soot and apparently it was what I deserved.  And of course I said nothing to defend/protect myself because I was afraid of being ostracized.

In the past, Mama and I would drift and come back together, and drift again.  But this time needed to be different.  I needed my Mama to stay in my life, but I needed her respect as well as her love.  So I started setting boundaries.  I would hang up if those boundaries were violated, or not answer the phone.  I admit, there were days that she would call and I just would not have enough spell slots to deal with her.  (I know that doesn’t make sense to all of you, please go here for an explanation) But there were also days when I was truly too busy to answer.

It is important for my readers to know that the story she told was about me being in a mental hospital for a few days.  It was during this stay that I realised that the constant invasion of boundaries was toxic.  I also realised that it was not going to be easy for me to change a more than 2 decades old ritual that was beyond second nature.  It was going to be slow going.  I had to teach Mama how I interpret what she does out of love.  I had to teach her how to love me.  But first I had to figure out how to love myself.  Have you seen the movie Runaway Bride? Just like Julia Roberts’ character I had to determine – figurative speaking –‘how I like my eggs’.  That if you haven’t taken the time to learn who you are, then relationships with other people are going to be exhausting.  If you don’t assert yourself, relationships are going to be frustrating.

Not everyone is going to be happy about your self-discovery journey.  You are going to lose people along the way.  They may just fall away, or they may mushroom cloud.  I was so afraid to tell my mama how I felt, until the one day I saw how angry I was after having spoken to her.  And while I was stewing, she was going about her life as if she had done me a favor – absolutely clueless of how I really felt.  When I finally got that courage, she changed.  Little by little, she relearned who her first born is.  And now we spend hours on the phone laughing and crying, sometime laughing until we are crying.  All with a mutual understanding of what each other needs to feel loved.

Do not be afraid to be you.  Be unapologetically you.  Clichéd as it sounds, let your light shine.   You are absolutely going to napalm some bridges.  Others may just crumble away. Still others – and these are the best kind – will adapt.   But when the smoke clears, the relationships you have will be the best, most fulfilling, beautiful ones to have.

But first:  Be your most authentic You.

My best friend is one of the bravest women I know.  I cannot tell you why, because it is not my story to tell.  But the demons she has conquered to be the woman she is today were no easy prey.  She is one of the best examples of ‘If you want it, you can have it.”  She is one of my Sheros. Except when she isn’t.

So after the events of my last blog post I pick up my phone to tell my best friend what happened.  (If you haven’t read “How to lose a patient in 10 minutes” you should probably read that first.) Then I remember that ever since we had a disagreement about an anime that I personally think is rubbish, she has barely been speaking to me.  I would normally capitulate and say something like “ok, I’ll give it another shot.”  But this time I didn’t.  I was actually rather proud of myself for standing my ground. Anyway, with her not as an option, I vented to my sister instead, and my friend Tuck. (side note, I have a friend I have nickname Puck – midsummer night’s dream Puck – and one I have named Tuck – like Friar, but not.  These 2 have this uncanny ability to make me laugh at the same shit that 2 secs ago was pissing me off.)  All of the aforementioned people agreed with my decision to not see her, as well as others, including another psychiatrist.  So I scheduled a new appointment, and lucky for me the next appointment was a week away, and not a month.

Best friend sends me a text, and it sounds friendly enough.  Maybe she is not frustrated with me anymore; I’ll fill her in on what happened.  I would tell you verbatim what she said, but it isn’t completely my story to tell.  She basically said that I should have taken what the doctor offered, because I need the help.

For those of you who suffer the way I do, I don’t have to tell you why that is not my jam.  For others that don’t, here’s the deal:

Mental/Behavioral/Brain chemistry disorders don’t have exact symptoms.  They are not all elevated heart rate + dilated pupils + fever = BiPolar type II.  It is observations + reported behavior + generalities = maybe Anxiety?  And the unfortunate part is that a person’s preconceived ideas of who you are greatly color the diagnosis you get, which determines the treatment you get.  This doctor had already decided that I was not worth her time and dismissed me as such.  I would be willing to wager that she heard my voicemail asking if I needed to reschedule and that caused her to change her mind.  If she is going make snap judgements like that, I don’t need her evaluation, and definitely not a mini one.

I dismissed what she said.  After all, she does not have the same experience with this illness as I do.  She meant well, I suppose, but this is not her situation, it was mine.  I told her I had already made a new appointment, and suddenly she was all smiles again.  Telling me to make sure I had all my first appointment documents together, make sure I knew the route, and that I got there early and on and on like a Mother Hen sending her chick to school for the first time.

Fast forward to the day of the appointment.

First message:  “Today is the big day, right?” – Big day?  Is it my bat-mitzvah? Quincenera?  Am I turning my first trick?

Second message: “So how did it go?”  She ain’t gon shut up is she? So I replied “Productive”

Third message “I am so proud of you!”    “WTF?!”

If any of you are like me, doing something that you are supposed to do is … what you do.  You recognize you need help, go get it. For someone to praise me for things I am supposed to do, not something above and beyond, is like giving fanfare for me successfully tying my shoe. Oh the condescension I felt.  So back to the silence game – it’s safer when I just don’t say anything.

And then I realized I was tired of biting my tongue.  I was tired of changing my mind and agreeing. I was tired of not saying what I really felt instead of letting her think I felt the same way she did.  It’s my fault I let this be our shtick.  I could have fessed up ages ago the first time I disagreed with her line of thinking.  But at that time I thought that telling her would be hazardous to her mental health and I just let it slide.  Or maybe I just thought our friendship so fragile that if I did disagree with her the friendship would be over.

So I waited almost a week, and then I spoke my truth.  I told her I love her; that I would do just about anything for her.  But I was hurting myself by not telling her how I really feel.  I explained the above, and how it made me feel.  I said I did not want to napalm our bridge, just remodel it a little.

What I got back was pure vitriol.  Again, not completely my story to tell, so I will not give a verbatim of what she said.  The gist is that I never bought her a Christmas or Birthday gift, and therefore I am a horrible friend because I have never done anything for her.  That she was not being condescending when she was giving me instructions about my appointment, only helpful.  That if I have such problems with relationships with (wo)men that I should do some self-reflection. But the nail on the coffin was when she told me not to respond to her until I have had 3 months of treatment.

Readers, I have watched her turn relationships into mushroom clouds, and each time I wondered when it would be my turn.  The first time she did this to me I fell to pieces; my life was over.  Since I have already gone through the stages of grief this time I can be a bit more Zen about the situation.

See, the thing is, I had to evaluate everything she said to me.  I thought about the last decade of my life (which how long she has known me), and how many relationships I had ended.  I came up with 3.  One of them is because the person had no respect for the actions I took to keep her from living on the street.  Another because she would curse me out and say that I was not the friend she needed, and then pop up a month later asking if she could come visit.  A few rounds of that and I had to end the friendship.  And the 3^rd was my marriage (totally another blog post).  I suppose I will need some more reflection on that because I am not sure where my problem is.

I wondered if I overreacted about her being “helpful”, then I remembered that there was none of that rhetoric for my initial appointment.  I still believe that she thought she couldn’t trust me to not have a repeat performance with the next appointment.  This one I am not going to waste any more time with.

And then there is the piece about never buying a gift for her.  Ladies and gentlemen, I don’t do Christmas and birthdays for adults.  I have said this before.  What I will do is little (and not so little) things all year.  You like this dish I make?  I will fix your plate first every time I make it, and bring it to you.  You need a driver for a last minute road trip? Schedule cleared, let’s go.  Your child is on the other side of town at midnight and you are too sick to drive?  I’ll send my husband.  You need someone to watch your zoo for the week?  I am not a fan of them, but I’ll do it.   You like drag shows?  I’ll make reservations for one of the best shows in town, even after you cancelled on the first 2.  I will give the shirt off my back, because most of the time I don’t have the money to spare to buy a brand new one.

So when someone tells me that I don’t do anything for them, I really have to pause and say “Is that true?  Am I really that callous?”  Because if the answer is yes, then I am truly sorry and I feel I deserve to be berated for that.  Because it is never my intent to take without giving.  So maybe I need more reflection on that too…?

What I refuse to do, however, is to let someone tell me that I am too crazy to know how I feel.  That is the kind of thinking that keeps people from ever recovering.  Regardless of how chemically imbalanced I am, I know what made me angry, I know how I interpreted it.  My feelings are valid, and whether it is 3 days or 3 months I will still know what set me off.  And anyone who is truly my advocate, truly in my corner and has my back, would understand that.  And they would realise that no matter how unintended the hurt was, it still hurt, and try to find a different way to say the same thing instead of dumping  on more hurt.

So I raise a glass to a friendship that was beautiful while it lasted, but has now run its course. I love you, and I wish you all the blessings this world has to offer.

After my “Things fall Apart” post, I decided that it was time to get back on the wagon, or at least shore up my coping skills.  If you read between the lines, you probably assumed that to be my next step.  So I looked through many, MANY options and I chose one that I thought would be good for me.  Her profile indicated that we had similar backgrounds and I thought we would get along.  I set an appointment, and for those of you who know the struggle, new patient appointments are most often times in high demand and short supply.  The earliest appointment was for one month away.  I booked it and waited.

So appointment is at 4, in town.  I work in a different section of town and I left there at 3.   I figure I’ll take the train because traffic in this beautiful city is always bullshit and parking is not much better. And it is only going to take me 20 min to get there on train anyway.  I get on the train near work, get off the train in town and that is when my GPS says ‘oh you thought this was gonna be a couple blocks?  Oh no, this is a half a mile!’  In this heat, are you fucking shitting me?! I think I probably would have chanced traffic for that.  But ok, whatever, I’ve come this far already so let’s do this.  I start walking towards this place and suddenly I am lost. I can’t figure out where the hayell I am supposed to go to next; my GPS apparently isn’t used to me walking.  So I’m like fuck it, I am just going to call a Lyft. At this point I am already 3 minutes late.  I tell myself  ‘doctors don’t like when you are late, so let me just call and see if it’s still ok before I pay for this Lyft.’  Call rings to voicemail.  I’m thinking I’ll just leave a message because she may be finishing up a patient. She’ll check the voicemail after she’s done because she’s waiting for me and she’d check to see if there is a problem, right?  I leave a voicemail that says I’m lost, I’m on my way, but if it’s too late call me back and I’ll reschedule, blah blah blah.

No response.  I get there and it’s 4:15.  There is no receptionist, but instructions to ring the bell.  I ring the bell.  And wait.  This lady walks up the hallway looking at me like she has no clue why I would be there ringing her bell.  I said I was her 4 pm appointment.  She looks at me like she smelled something foul, then says, (cue snooty English butler voice) “Unfortunately we need the whole hour, so you will have to reschedule.  My receptionist is out so you will have to call us back later. And right now we are scheduling a month out.”

Are you kidding me? I had to wait a MONTH for this appointment!!! And *I* have to call *YOU* back?!

I left.  It is as hot as Hades’ left nutsack when his legs are crossed, so I sit on the front step of the building catching my breath and deciding my next move (“Lyft or no Lyft?”).  I must have been out there for 10 minutes when I get a phone call.  The number looks familiar; I realise it’s the same doctor I just walked away from.  Fuck that bitch she can talk to my voicemail.  The lovely thing about my voicemail is that when I get a message, it is transcribed and then sent to me as a text.  “Well, if you are still in the area we can do a mini evaluation.  It’s not ideal but it might get us what we need. “

Wait, what? You wait until I am out the door and possibly on the expressway to call and offer what you could have offered while I was still in the building, looking at you?  Naw bitch.  I am good.  But out of courtesy I call her back and say I will not be coming back inside.  I said that it is not because I was too far away – I am sitting on the front step deciding if I want to take a Lyft back to the station or just walk (she laughed at that) – but because I don’t think she has enough compassion to be my doctor.  Her response?  “Well, just to let you know…”  Nope, no more.  I am not listening to her rationalize why she treated me like so much garbage.  Not a “I’m sorry you got lost.” Or “That must have be frustrating to be lost in an unfamiliar place.  Here’s what I can do, and you let me know where you want to go from here.”   Nope, just rationalizing why she didn’t have to treat me as a fellow human being. And then she wants to play nice AFTER I have left the building.

Nope. Double nope. Triple nope.  Nope “To infinity and Beyond”

I found a psych doc.  Man is she spectacular.  She should give the other one lessons.

But with all of that, she was not the worst part of the adventure.  But you’ll have to read my next blog entry for that beautiful drama.