I don’t so much feel like I have a “problem,” per se, as much as I don’t know how to think about the situation. I made a friend. It’s with the, former, coworker I’ve spoken about before who right after we met almost immediately launched into a discussion about her unhealthy and controlling relationship with a married coworker in another department. The conversation kept going, she ended things with the guy, we’ve pretty consistently texted and hung out a few times. She struggles with boundaries, allowing herself time to sit with and process her emotions, and flirts with self-destructive behavior. She’s in recovery for alcohol. We use the term “red flags” a lot, and the kinds she has recognized about her former relationships that she’s committed to no longer ignoring.
We’re both flirts. We’re both funny. You know, it’s a pretty natural like recognizing like kind of connection. Me, though, very cognizant of my ability to attract people with a certain kind of damage, doesn’t want to threaten what could be a long-term friendship with whatever you want to call how my more intimate patterns play out. The ongoing “joke” of our dynamic is that I’m her “not-therapist,” and I’m perfectly willing to maintain a kind of boundary that keeps things at a distance, friendly, and conversational. She’s conveyed her enthusiasm for making out and cuddling. We’ve done neither, but don’t you know, kissing isn’t technically making out. And if I happen to stay too late and feel drowsy, she’s offered I can crash on the couch.
I tend to lean into things that make me happy. I like to share my enthusiasm and tell people if they make me laugh or smile. I have a pretty strong sense of where I am “emotionally,” meaning, when she said, “You can’t fall in love with me,” I struggle not to laugh. Anyone who’s willing to dive into my history knows the thousand hours I’ve abstracted out my concept of “love,” and it’s not going to be some quick and easy elevation or running away of my emotions in movie or novel fashion. I do feel comfortable being “in like” though. I can be bubbly and want to talk and spend as much time just in the presence of those I enjoy as I can get. I’ll never forget Judd Apatow talking about just going to people’s houses he liked, interviewing them, and just staying there well past whatever his subject might have believed about common decorum in how long people hang out.
I could take a “realist” or “pessimistic” or “matter-of-fact” analysis of the situation. What are you doing fucking around with another addict? Why bother developing any kind of relationship, fun-enough or preoccupying as it may be, with someone you know fairly intimately has not had a history of healthy relationships? You’re not even trying to say something bad about her, you’re just relaying what she’s explicitly told you. If you do like her and care about her well-being, are you willing to deal with how you might feel if she hurts herself? You’ve slapped an ex for doing as much. You’ve experienced the slow degradation of your previous relationship where coping with feelings or effectively communicating boundaries never found solid ground. Why do anything but pursue a kind of here-and-there play and mild distraction?
First, writing that just makes me feel very cold, dishonest, and empty. Not dishonest in that any of it isn’t true or is missing something vital, but dishonest for how I wish to view people, myself, or my relationships. I don’t think people are whatever they struggle with anymore than I’m just the shittiest things about me. I want more and new friends. I want their histories and perspectives and I want to broaden my ability to incorporate different dynamics so I’m not so overtly concerned with the minutia of any given one. It’s so easy for me to get in my head and overcomplicate things. I can either desperately search for more people willing to ignore that about me, or I can practice not overthinking and making that their problem.
I struggle with shutting up. I want to know. I want to talk. I want to express. I could allow myself the peace of mind, but it’s gonna start with shutting up. I need to embody that as an active practice more than me feeling like I’m not doing “something” from that vague compulsive place to “do.”
Okay, simple enough. What about my role as “not-therapist” or “friend” with good “boundaries?” Would I not enjoy the simplicity of that distance and being of a certain utility? Sure. Would I like to have an eventual make-out or cuddle buddy? Duh. I’m pretty touchy and affectionate. I enjoy companionship or fooling around. It’s not the driving force. But I think I need to pick a primary hat, and just kinda be happy if anything else accompanies it. My persistent stated goal and desire has been to be a friend. That’s easier to define and feel confident in being when someone is reaching out or sharing with you. In the meantime, little enthusiastic flirt over here just needs to slow down.
I can freely share if she comes to mind for some reason. I can say hi or ask about her day. I can decide I’ve been thinking too much about whether or not to text and just not text. Like I tell my guys, I know that’s probably the best course of action because it’s hard to do. I’m only feeding my anxiety about connection or friendship maintenance otherwise.
It's like, automatically, my body experiences a kind of loss or mourning with that “professional distance” and designated behavior. I’m thinking about how many former friends I just don’t talk to or who stopped responding. It’s pretty clear why I would maintain a strong desire to talk or share my appreciation for their existence and how it makes me feel. Hell, in that it makes me feel *anything* at all is a feat, and always has been. What’s a rephrasing of the same idea? In that I allow myself any emotion beyond guarded skepticism or default mild-dissatisfaction, to me, says something about you at least as much as it does about me.
That’s not to say most people aren’t “good” or “acceptable” or “decent” etc. But it does mean while there are plenty of agreeable, likeable, funny, hard-working, or otherwise friendly people I’ve encountered through work or counseling, there’s almost never an inclination to make that interaction any deeper than the obscene jokes or cordial sharing of stories or moods. I’ve never felt a genuine desire to threaten my job by reaching out to a client outside of work. I’m rarely anticipating my weekend plans well enough to invite or incorporate what is often someone at a considerably different place or stage in their life. Bowling together can be fun, or grabbing wings can prompt some enjoyable conversation, but it only goes so far.
I tell my guys to prepare for what happens when whatever they’re earnestly feeling doesn’t work out or get respected nor reciprocated. A lot of them have done considerably worse things to people over many years than turn those people into blogs or invite discussions on difficult topics. Ironically, I bet those people still want to believe in their addicted loved one in a way that I’m lucky my life isn’t completely devoid of, but has not been the rule. I think I’ve built a physical environment suggesting strongly my preparedness for many proverbial notions of isolation, but I did always envision whatever space I occupied to be kind of like my party house with people in and out all the time. I’m clearly still missing something.
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