I know that I am not a good friend.

I’ve had the nagging thought for a while that I am not a good friend. Finally, this week, I was able to allow my mind to contemplate that thought, and I’ve come to the conclusion that this is true: I am not a good friend. It certainly is not my wish or desire to be this way. For the longest time I thought I was a very good friend. But the evidence speaks otherwise, and it pains me to admit this about myself.

The first example I can think of concerns my former best friend, Faith. We parted ways this past May. I got triggered from something she said, and then things were made worse when her partner got involved and triggered me further. The whole thing was a hot mess of misunderstanding on all of our parts, but the sad result is that we are no longer friends. I thought we would be life-long friends.

We did apologize to each other via text, and we wished each other a happy birthday when our birthdays came around in September. But she is not open to restarting our friendship. I can only guess why, but I think it’s a pretty good educated guess on my part. I think the whole experience has her scared of being my friend, scared of inadvertently triggering me again. I can understand that. It’s painful, but I understand it, nonetheless.

I also tend to disappear on people. It frustrates me that I do this. It seems like it’s some sort of dysfunctional defense mechanism. Sometimes I disappear because I am not doing well, and I don’t want to scare a friend with how I’m doing, and other times I disappear if I sense that I’ve scared them or burdened them. Then there are times that I disappear for no discernible reason. It perplexes me probably as much as it perplexes them.

The end result is that I am alone a lot of the time. I do have friends, but I am especially careful not to tax them or get too close. Screw it. I’ll admit it. I’m lonely, plain and simple.

But then I have days like I had this week where I felt so dissociative that I felt like I was walking through huge swaths of cotton, and it just solidified my idea of how I’m not fit for friendship.

It would be fab if I could have real friends, a serious relationship, children … or at least one of those. But those things feel like they are not for me as I am too sick, too unwell. I’m stalling at what I really want to say: too mentally ill.

My dream: a best friend, a dog, a child and a relationship. At this point, just one of these would make me happy.

16 thoughts on “I know that I am not a good friend.

  1. Reblogged this on laurablough and commented:
    I feel I know what this person is saying. Even though our problems are different I know what it is to be lonely and to feel as if you are unable to change your circumstances. It is very difficult to overcome these, as yet unidentified, barriers to social connection, at least for me.

    For me and for, I think, this other person, I have this need that wants to be filled. An aching, lonely, sometimes consuming hole, that needs filling. Food does not fill this emotional hole. Compulsive buying does not fill it either. Exercise helps me sometimes in being able to push away these feelings but they are still there.

    I seek out relationships to fill this hole. People I am drawn to are the ones I am most likely to see as possibilities or as manifestations of hope. But for one reason or another (like the instances described by this fellow blogger), one should or should not, one right or wrong, one can or can not, it does not fit. The “relationship” does not work. By “doesn’t work” I mean the need is not or cannot be met. And I do not even know how it, the hole, needs to be filled. What is it that I (we) need?

    For me, sometimes, it is kind of like those cop shows that tell a story about some kid who has been through some sort of trauma, like a fire, or abuse, or neglect. When the cops arrive on the scene the little kid latches onto the first officer who represents hope, familiarity, comfort, reliability, and security. That kid latches onto the officer like a monkey and has a figurative and literal death grip on the officer. Sometimes I feel like that kid and I am waiting for my life raft of hope, familiarity, comfort, reliability, and security.

    • Thanks for the reblog. I can relate to just about everything you had to say on this issue. I think it’s especially universal for those of us with mental health issues. It accentuates the feeling of “not belonging.” My fantasy is to eradicate loneliness for everyone, even those that are less than charitable to me. It is the worst feeling in the universe.

  2. if it’s any consolation, i struggle with the same things. i have been moved for 6 months now and haven’t made a single friend. i do consider you a friend. don’t be to hard on yourself. you’re working throught hell on earth righ now. xo

    side note: with my new site, if you want post updates (no pressure) and to follow you will have to sign in on the sidebar with your email address. sorry.

  3. This made me cry. Im one of many insiders in this system. You can have friends and be mentally ill. We do. You can have kids, I know plenty of people who have them. Dont let your mental illness hold you down hon. I have a guide dog, as we’re blind, so I know how theraputic a dog can be. My boys the light and soul of my life. Keep going, you will make it 🙂 take care and safe hugs

  4. I went through a similar situation when I first began working on my healing. Suddenly, friends seemed to be dropping away from me like flies. But the thing is, when I look back at those “friends,” I realize they really were not good friends to me. I was in a process at that time of truly taking care of myself, focusing on myself, and they did not want that — they wanted me to focus on them, take care of them, instead of stepping up to the plate and supporting me. A handful of friends did stick by me no matter what and supported me, accepted me as I was, and have been true friends. Those are the kind of people to have in your life. I hope that you find two for each/any friend you lose while you are going through this healing process. Take care of yourself! Cinda

  5. Pingback: lost friends | A Year in the Life of PTSD

  6. Pingback: As I said before, I am a bad friend … | A Year in the Life of PTSD

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