I’ve had to tell this story so many times I’m going to write it down. A long time ago I had a girlfriend with Borderline Personality Disorder. We didn’t know that at the time, & I had been with her through thick & thin (see Lives), held her hand in high school through abortions, moved her in with me & rehabbed her from her ruined junkie life… we’d been friends for over a decade. She was a great friend, unless you counted the times she told her cop boyfriend she was at my house when she was actually out with her other cop boyfriend, or if I had to stand there & fret while she talked to one cop boyfriend on Line 1 of my fiance’s business phone (we’d given her a job) while she had the other cop boyfriend on Line 2. Or when the nice cop boyfriend showed up alone at my workplace to ask me if he was being played. And I couldn’t tell him because I was loyal to her. Or when all the girls at work gathered together & told the manager they refused to work with her (I’d gotten her a job with me since she’d gotten fired from her retail job), so I said to put her on my shifts. And then she’d spend up to 2 hours outside talking on her phone. While clocked in. And I worked for 2.
Good friends don’t make you do shit like that.
I had a long talk tonight with a grieving girlfriend whose bestie just committed suicide. They’d been distant over the last few months, not because of her, but because he was going through a hard time & it made him act like a jerk, & he was the worst to the ones closest to him. She was hurt, resentful, doubted their friendship, but she never really gave up on him. She gave him the distance he seemed to want, not sure how much friending he wanted from her.
Before he did himself in, he wrote her a letter. The cops confiscated it & she’s still never gotten to read it, but I can guess what he wanted to say to her. He also sent her a scheduled text, written while alive but arriving days after his death, which, understandably, freaked her out. The text contained instructions – the kind you give to the person you trust most in the world. Clear my browsing history. Throw out the entire contents of my bedside drawer. You know.
There are people in my life who are not going to like that I’m talking about this, but after an hour of Googling, I’ve been unable to to find sufficient information regarding the continuation of Wellbutrin/bupropion in spite of hives. Wellbutrin is an antidepressant (that’s right; I’ve just started antidepressants) & the only one in its class. It’s a norepinephrine/dopamine reuptake inhibitor – meaning it raises the average levels of norepinephrine & dopamine (that’s right, the good stuff) in your body.
I’m currently on Day 10. My therapist suggested I try antidepressants after I talked to her about a few “bad spells” I had this year. I had disproportionate reactions to disappointments – friends flaking out on a project, a vacation to Fenway Park canceled, family drama that didn’t even involve me directly. I’d be paralyzed by despair, my productivity severely impacted, & well… even as I thought to myself, “This is ridiculous!” I was still stuck in my chair, weeping, feeling utterly hopeless & unmotivated to do anything. Depression & anxiety runs in my family, & I didn’t have the most nurturing childhood, so, here I am. I’m not ashamed of it like certain people around me think I should be & I’m perfectly fine talking about it. Too bad. It is what it is. Deal with it.
A few of my friends have been posting this on Facebook. I’ve watched it circulate, & I know they just think it’s funny, but there’s something dark about it. Something not cool. One of my girlfriends had posted it, & since she is one of my few friends who doesn’t take every single thing personally, I decided to share my thoughts on it.
The black car & white truck were already there long before that blue car parked, for those wondering.
I avoid most of my high school classmates. There are only a few that I both like & think are interesting enough to talk to. But recently a classmate – I’ll call her Molly – has been popping into the bar to visit me. She was one of the popular crowd in high school – prom court, cheerleading – & although we were always nice to each other, I didn’t really hang with her crowd.
So apparently she’s been through a lot & her brain is pretty destroyed. She was pretty, but I guess not that smart, & right out of high school, her rich boyfriend dumped her (probably for college). I think she simply didn’t know what else to do with herself, so she got into an escort service because it was easy with her looks.
Sometimes, in the midst of joy & laughter & wonder, something unexpected happens & your heart just… breaks.