This Friend Thing

I am so bad at this friend thing.

When I make a friend, a real friend, it's for life. I will fight for them. I will give everything I am able to give to them. I will do whatever I can for them, whenever I can. I will be there to listen at 3 in the morning when they are hurt and I will cheer with them when they are happy. I will rejoice for them when things are going their way and I will mourn with them when they don't.

But I'm so bad at the friend thing.

I'm socially awkward, flitting around the outskirts, never feeling like I was truly fitting in. Always have been, even in high school. It takes a long time for me to connect with people, and I'm always wondering if I am being judged for all my flaws. If people are just being kind to me, or if they actually like me. I have some wonderful friends who I know love me, but they already know all my flaws. They know that I will sometimes cancel on things that I have agreed to attend (especially something in the evening, especially if it's a big group thing). They know that I will probably leave events early. They know that my introverted self has to work hard to attend big group things. They know I can be frank, often not thinking before the words spill out of my mouth. They know I can be a little too passionate of things I believe in. They know I don't handle change well. They know I have a history of depression and attempted suicide. My self confidence clearly needs some work. But I don't have to pretend with them. They've seen me at my worst. They've seen me at my best. They've seen me at my lowest. They've seen me at my strongest. Some have even seen me give birth.

I honour and love these friends that are from several different stages in my life. From childhood to now, these friends have supported me and raised me up whenever I have needed it. I would do anything for them.

But I'm still so bad at the friend thing.

Mental illness is a bitch. It grips onto you and doesn't let go. It whispers sweet nothings into your ear that are anything but sweet. "You're not good enough," "people just pretend they like you," "your kids would be better off if you weren't here," "your body is ugly and nobody wants to see it," "nobody would miss you." All lies, of course, but once whispered, they reverberate in your brain like an errant pinball. Just when you think you've escaped from its clutches, it pulls you back in again, laughing with the maniacal laughter that only evil characters in cartoons can manage.

I didn't think this post was going this way. It wasn't my intention to talk about depression. I didn't think I was fighting it this time. But here I am, suddenly writing about it. Looking back, I do see it. Hiding behind the trees, ready to jump out and grab me. Staying out of the shadows just enough that I don't suspect it. Slowly filling my bath with boiling hot water, just enough that I don't notice, until suddenly I look down and my skin is burning. Yes, there it is. It was there all along.

I guess that means it is time to fight. Depression will not win. I am worth it. My family is worth it. My friends are worth it. Depression is wrong. I am not unworthy. I am loved. I am not bad at this friend thing. I may have a hard time making new friends, but I am a good friend. My body is a good body. I would be missed. I am needed. I am me. Important and loved. Flaws and all.