Being open

I have a lot of issues surrounding friendship and relationships and social norms. I know I do. I have discussed some of that in previous blog entries.

I have always struggled to understand why it is that I don't have more close friends. This week I figured out a piece of the problem.

In therapy earlier this week, I was talking about the fact that I have always been "a listener", but have never felt like I should be listened to. I wanted to comfort others, but was hesitant to seek comfort for myself.

This blog is the most open I have ever been about my life. The things I share are often deeply personal, and sometimes difficult to share. I have been pushing myself to be more open, and to share my experiences with others. Of course, there are things too personal to share in this format. They need to be shared in a different way.

Too often, the only way I have shared my personal struggles is by going to a therapist. My therapy appointments allow me to discuss my darkest, deepest thoughts and the difficulties I have, and the depths of despair I feel. Mostly, these things are related to my illness, but there are other things, too. I usually begin sobbing, and go through a mountain of tissues. I end up feeling vulnerable and scared.

That vulnerability is uncomfortable. I don't do that with anyone outside my therapist. And, as I am now realizing, that is terrible.

The type of relationships and friendships I have always felt like I couldn't have - those relationships require openness and honesty. They require at least some vulnerability. You can't expect a deeply personal friendship from someone when you never tell them about your thoughts and feelings.

So my therapist challenged me. I was supposed to find a friend and discuss with that person the things I don't usually share. I wanted to choose someone that I felt would respond in a way I could be comfortable with. Not too much huggy-feely stuff, but not judging either. I needed someone who I had shared at least some things with, but didn't want to go with someone who I knew shared my diagnosis - that would make it TOO easy.

So I picked someone, and said things that were not easy for me to say, even through text. I shared things about my life and my illness that were deeply personal and private. It was difficult. I was uncomfortable. But it was good.

I felt like a weight lifted. It felt good to finally share with a friend the things I went through that were so hard to talk about.

It's dumb, because I see all the time, when I am listening and offering support to others, that allowing someone to share their struggles allows them to come to peace with those struggles. I just wasn't willing to share my own personal demons.

I don't know what I expected. Did I think my friends would judge me and be cruel? Run away and never look back? Abandon me? I had so much fear and anxiety when I thought about sharing some of the worst of my symptoms, and asking to be able to reach out for help.

When I occasionally have reached out in the past in dealing with my struggles, I have always been selective and ONLY discussed things with people who I am 100% sure have experienced the same things themselves. I have been unwilling to share them with my other friends and my family, for various reasons.

I justify my unwillingness to share by convincing myself that there isn't anything anyone can do, so I should just struggle alone. Or I say that I will just worry them, and so I shouldn't tell them. I think that my issues are mine alone.

The problem with this is that it only adds to the loneliness that suffering and struggling bring. Especially the struggles brought on by my disorder.

I always tell my friends to reach out to me whenever they need help. Now I just need to follow my own advice.