I can’t fix you….
To my friend who has threatened suicide more times than I can count. Who has half heartedly attempted it a dozen times. I have driven you to the emergency room. I have sped to the hospital with you in my passenger seat, dragging you by the arm my direction because you were trying to jump out onto the freeway. I have housed you. Fed you. Taken care of your responsibilities when you were incapable. I have sat through counseling sessions and psychiatrist sessions. I’ve pleaded with you to take your meds. You won’t. Yet you don’t improve and have even turned on me.
To my friend who has a selective memory of their abusive behavior, to me and to others. I have paid your bills. I have loaned you money. I made you food countless times and was criticized because the meal wasn’t what you fantasized. I brought you surprises, only to be told that it wasn’t enough. I have endured your false memories where you paint me as a villain, which I never have been except maybe to myself.
I am done.
To my friend who pretended to care, but instead used our friendship as a stage to act out all of life’s past hurts. I prayed with you. I prayed for you. I allowed you space to act out your feelings, discounting the damage your actions did to me. Then spent too much time putting myself back together
I am done.
To my friend who would tell me to call when I hurt, that they would listen to anything. But when I did, you proceeded to shut me down and interrupt. You always turned the conversation back to yourself and your needs. Even at my father‘s funeral, standing by his casket, you talked only about your own hurts and relationship struggles with your partner. You offered some brief sympathy when you remembered. You downplayed me. When I told you I was despondent. Terrified of the depression that seemed to engulf me, you blithely told me to take Vitamin B. It would fix everything. Then you turned the conversation to yourself again. You don’t want my friendship. You want an echo chamber where your own thoughts and desires are magnified.
I am done.
It’s not that I don’t care about your mental issues. I do care. But I can’t fix your issues. I only make them worse when I try.
So here’s the deal.
I can’t fix you.
I can only fix me.
And I can’t fix me if I’m trying to fix you.
I don’t have the energy or the emotional capacity to do it all.
So I choose me. Over you. Over the distractions.
I will pray for you. I will think of you fondly because I learned a lot of lessons in my time with you. But that time is done.
I wish you well on your journey.
And I continue whole heartedly on mine.