As an admitted crazy person*, I tend to gravitate towards fellow crazy people as friends. I have a few whom I have loved since before time. They see the world in a way other people don’t. They make me laugh so hard. It brings me unmatched joy to know I can make them laugh too.
The up side of crazy can be a riot. It’s drug-like. It’s Jim Carrey. It’s the chocolate at the bottom of your drumstick cone. It’s a short line at Disney World.
It’s a roller coaster.
The down side of crazy is that it’s unpredictable. It’s lonely, not just for the crazy person, but for his and her friends. It’s helpless because there’s just not one thing you can do. You can’t make them come out of the fog. You can’t make them answer the phone. You can’t make them commit. You can’t make them feel better. It’s a process. Part of it is choice. Each crazy person must walk his or her own lonesome valley. Each day is different.
Some fellow crazy people don’t like to talk about it. I don’t mind discussing the topic, but I very rarely like to admit that I am going through a difficult time. People who don’t struggle tend to shy away. One dearly beloved friend of mine will change the subject quickly or even not acknowledge when I say I am struggling. It’s hard not to take that personally. It makes it harder to be honest.
But I understand she doesn’t know what to do because I am also on the other side with the “before time” friends. I think I will be a better kind of friend because I can understand what they are going through, but I still get my feelings hurt. I still take it personally.
If I were a better friend . . .
If I had said something differently . . .
If I could think of something truly fun . . .
If I could make it easier . . .
we would be laughing together right now.
* If you’re not a faithful reader, you may not realize I am talking about chronic depression. I like the term crazy. It sounds more fun.