Thursday, February 14, 2013

It's Been 36 Years Since My last Confession

Thank you for being a friend
Traveled down the road and back again
Your heart is true you're a pal and a confidant. 

-The Golden Girls theme song

I have never believed the embroidered decree that "you can't love someone else until you love yourself". Nor have I ever subscribed to the paradox that pride is something to be ashamed of. The reason for my cocky assurance: My well of warmth and admiration for my pals runs far below the surface of any love I might have for my own self. I'm not terribly high-minded of any of my accomplishments save my friendships.
If it's true that one should be lucky to count their "real" friends on one hand, than I am the most fortunate woman alive. Indeed I am. Beyond the fact that my friends are generous, patient, open-minded, sympathetic and sensitive- they are also well rounded and accomplished. Some of my readers know that a few of my friends have public personas and that's not what I'm referring to in the least. That said, I loves me some famous-people-hangouts, secrets of the entertainment trade and free designer bags. I'm not an animal for godsakes. Yes some of my friends are stars, but some of my friends are professors, strippers, doctors and waiters. They all happen to be fucking excellent at their respective jobs. I get the gift of insight from so many walks of life. If like attracts like, birds of a feather flock together or any other cliché you can apply- how did I come to surround myself with such gifted companions? I realize my capability and this isn't a cry for flattery. I know that much of my demise is caused by my illness but at some point I have to take responsibility for decisions I've made that go beyond my manic depression. I've been terrible to many of my friends- physically and emotionally manipulative. I've let secrets out of the bank. I've slept with pals knowing it would torment them. I've set fires and broken down front doors in drunken blackouts. I've borrowed cash never to be heard of or seen again. I've thrown a phone in an assault to a girlfriend's HEAD. I've publicly made fun of them in my act. In their respected times of distress I've been absent. Still they love me. They love me hard and they won't stop. Through my gratitude I've felt sorry for them for doing so. I've wondered how people so intellectually and emotionally capable could be so obtuse. I've felt sorry for myself thinking I don't deserve them, knowing that one day I would drive them away. I've resented them when I'm sick because they won't leave me alone to die. I've wondered if I'm simply a weird kind of specimen they like to examine or pity.
The answer is this. Despite my acting like a petulant brat I'm a good friend. If I trust you and I love you I will hide a body in the trunk of my car for you. If I still had a car. Fine. I'd dig a creepy grave for that body. Or at least I'd ask a muscular friend of mine to dig while I entertained you both with dick and vag jokes. I wouldn't ask why you needed me to do it and if you told me I'd not judge you. I'll help you in any way I can if I'm well. I'll genuinely apologize if I acted like a dick to you when I was sick. I would rip my heart out of my chest if I thought it would make you feel better. I would.
To my best friends in LA, NYC, Montreal, Toronto, the UK and beyond- I blow you a kiss and many squeezes from this locked room in this locked ward in this hospital. I love you so much, and I'm very proud of that.


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