The Broken Friend

I’m in this suffocating bubble known as depression and anxiety. The bubble increases with room to live. During that time, I throw myself into conversations, interactions, and fellowship. I’m eager to get up and go. Then the bubble shrivels up, taking the life force out of me. When I can’t function or breathe, I forget the people standing by on the outside. I desire life but can’t fully grasp it. My home becomes a prison masked as a haven.

It isn’t intentional. I hate that I didn’t return the phone calls or text. I’m sorry that I bailed on our plans, even though I was looking forward to it and truthfully, needed it. I stay awake at night, upset at my actions and tell myself that in the morning I will apologize and do better. But, tomorrow comes, and I’m in a cocoon of the warmth ignited by my depression. Nothing is appealing outside of this heat. I’m falsely embracing the security of my depression. It is easier to give in and be alone. It takes mental stamina to fight for the willpower and energy to invest and socialize. I’m losing this battle because I’m too tired to fight.
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That lost battle is the edge of dying friendship. A bystander who is tired of being neglected and rejected. It’s easy for that person to raise their hands in defeat. They’re sick of the games and broken promises. It isn’t worth it. They can walk away. And, I know it will happen. I can sense when I’ve reached the point of too many broken promises.  Their distance is a stab in my heart full of remorse and shamefulness. It’s not their job to stick around. There is no obligation in our friendship to make you stay. My depression is not an excuse. It is a part of who I am, and you are allowed not to accept it.

When a friend walks away, proclaiming hurt by my actions, it creates a breath of air that inflates empathy into the bubble. It is not my goal to hurt the people that choice to be apart of my life. But, depression makes me a selfish person. This brutal moment of honesty awakens the nerve endings on my body. I am being reminded to look and truly appreciate the ones that love me. My depression can make me a jerk. But, it doesn’t give me a pass to jerk others around.

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