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Friday, September 12, 2014


You are hereby cordially invited to bite me.

I've been a bit emotional lately and I've been catching a lot of fire for it. I think I've said before that, when I get emotional, I say things I mean and those things aren't really what people want to hear. My latest rant has been on friends vs. "friends." Not quite sure what I mean? Allow me to enlighten you.

When I hear "I'll Be There For You," I think of the TV show "Friends." When I hear "Follow You Down," I think of a lot of people in my life. Part of it goes, "Any where you go, I'll follow you down. I'll follow you down, but not that far." I've had almost every one of my Facebook friends express support in my decision to go public with my illness, which is amazing, but support in the illness itself is pretty hard to find.

So, when it came to saying what I mean this time, I called out some people who never call/text/whatever and expect me to always be the one to make invitations. This infuriates me, as it is; but it gets worse. When I (as usual) call to make plans, it winds up that I end up at someone's house, pretending to enjoy watching the helicopter moms give constant, undivided attention to the spoiled brats, or force a polite laugh at things found online. Obvious stick: I didn't come over to be ignored.

So, as I'm pointing this out, I get a comment that (paraphrased) I go onto Facebook looking for a pity party. Oh, I'm sorry. Did my mental illness get in the way of  puppies, sunshine, and denial of your own? News flash: I'm in pain that you can't even imagine. Don't you dare try to tell me what I feel/want/need!

Story: I have a friend who, a few years ago, I stopped talking to. I hadn't been diagnosed and didn't really know why I felt the way I did. Why did I stop talking to him? Because I was immature, and he told me one day that I was "too much drama." Now, it's different. He seems to understand without saying anything. Tonight, I put on my Facebook that I was feeling lonely. I don't know if he saw this or not, but he texted me this ridiculous picture that made me smile.

I yelled at him, I insulted him, and he still talks to me. That, ladies and gents, is a friend. Not to say that he's the only one (they know who they are), but he's on my mind at the moment.

Moral of the story: I don't say anything I don't mean, and I mean that I've been hurt. If you want me to be a good friend, you've gotta be one, too.

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