Further Trials

It is so much easier to grieve and move on when there is a clear enemy. Evil ex-boyfriend? Done and gone. Husband? The insurmountable pile of our incompatibilities, remembered hurts, and continued frustrations and lack of communication is a huge and concrete target.

But with my friend, there is only continuing and still irreconcilable confusion. How could this have happened? How could it all have changed so completely and definitively so as to leave me gasping? And now there is more tragedy, and I am a helpless observer once again, with no legitimate place, no role. Hoping feebly that my tentative, careful electronic missives help, even just for a moment.

It’s no one’s fault, there is no cause and no solution, just more grief-stricken people flailing around for meaning and solace. The pace and reach of the trials being visited upon my friend are reminiscent of those of Job. Everything was good, everything was complacent, the table was set and the family seated for the meal. And now? Test upon test, horror upon horror. How will he survive this? I’m not sure I could.

And all I can do is sit in fear and grief, peering through the curtains, waiting for the locusts.

A Bit of Peace

The snake has released its grip on me, temporarily, perhaps, but I can breathe without choking, and the pall of blackness is not on my back – down the hall, watching and waiting, but for now, at bay.

Why? I’m not sure. I’ve gotten some intense exercise in the last week, maybe that kicked me over into the light again. My situation remains the same – stuck, money-less, I am still grieving my friend, but for today, at least, I have been granted leave.

I know the steps to stay out of that hole: exercise and lots of it, no alcohol, no caffeine (ha!), a reasonable bedtime, and good food. But then I will have too much time to think, to ponder the miseries, so I try to strike a delicate balance: enough alcohol to sometimes forget, but not too much so that it drags me down. Enough sleep so I am not staggering confusedly through my days, but making sure I don’t use it to escape – the peace of my naps gradually segueing into miserable lethargy.

I am gun-shy yet concerned about the friend who turned on me, she is equally desperate at the moment, but I’m not sure I can withstand any more lashings. It’s always been a fragile friendship – why is it that some connections feel so tenuous? I reached out this week to another, older friend, who was there for me wholly and instantly. Regardless, she is my sister and will be in my life. But the friend who turned, this is not the first time she’s hurt me. I create and maintain distance there. When do you forgive? How much do you forgive?

Pre-Separation Hell

My friends are completely, thoroughly sick of hearing me moan about my friend. Oh, things are bad, oh, now they are slightly better, oh, now they are just awful! I am not a barrel of laughs at the moment. But he is the only, the single part of my life at the moment over which I feel I have any tiny modicum of control. The rest of my life is so huge and scary and hopeless-feeling that I shy away in horror and despair when I get a glimpse. I can only do one small thing at a time there, lift a fear-leadened foot up and shuffle it forward one more inch this week, before collapsing back on the couch in gut-tearing paralysis.

So, in and around the despair, I engage in endless hand-wringing about my friend. I am well aware I am using up all my collected and secretly hoarded chits of goodwill over these months. I suck as a friend. Casseroles? Hah! I can barely microwave chicken for my own kids. My greatest skill as a friend is being the fun friend – I have pots of energy and enthusiasm and I liven up gatherings with my scintillating (and titillating!) conversation – but right now, I am frankly just a drag.

Added to all this a bit of bad luck – my laptop was stolen so I am the cliche – “blogged from my iPhone” – and I am stymied. No idea what desperately screaming part of my life I should turn to and bandage up first.

I had one friend turn on me last week – after a brief email exchange where I opened up a bit to tell her how sad I am, and in which I specifically asked, “please be kind, I am heartbroken”, she lit into me: she doesn’t want to hear about him anymore, I need to get over it, she has way bigger problems than my juvenile agonizing (well, maybe she didn’t actually SAY that part, but I got the message loud and clear). So I’ve backed away from her. Way away. And now I have one fewer outlet. And I gotta say, blogging with my thumbs, not so much. There will be no proof-reading, no substituting of limp cliches, hell, not even an accent on that e!

What the hell? Does this get better? Because I am pretty much in hell right now. When will it improve?