Being mad is, above all other things, boring.
Same cycling moods. Same paranoia. Same neurosis. Same self-harm. Same rambling, irrational verbalisations of the experience.
The whole “just ask for help”, the “if you want to talk, I’ll always be here” thing. It’s all…difficult in the face of that.
“Help! I’m in crisis! Admittedly…it is the same crisis I was in 3 months ago. And I’ll say the same things I did then. And so will you. And it’ll pass, like it did last time but…”
How can I pierce through my friend’s Saturday nights – good, bad, indifferent as they may be – to ask them to keep me company through this most familiar, most urgent but also most recurrent mood?
Yes, I’ll self harm. But in the scheme of things, does that really matter? Is my non-permanent self-damage really more significant than their comfortable night in, or night out, or early night? Of course it isn’t. And why at 30-mumble-mumble years old am I still incapable of actually taking responsibility for myself on that front?
Why can’t I heal myself? Why can’t I care for myself in a manner which doesn’t shape my clothing choices for the next 3-4 weeks? Why am I so incapable of managing my own moods that I have the option of being “the crazy, exhausting, always something wrong” friend or the “distant, so fun, really hard to pin down” friend who definitely never reveals any of this?
Why can’t I be a whole person?