It’s an old story for me, so painfully familiar, so difficult to face, so painful to experience. But I am learning, slowly and carefully, day by day, how to be a whole and better human.
The most important words I have learned in my recent journeys through mental illness, lost and broken friendships, panic and anxiety, fear and resentment, co-dependence and loss of perspective, are these:
“It’s my fault.” For me, these are the most important words in the English language, second only to “I love you.”
Some years ago, I adopted this rule when listening to people: Everyone has it harder than I do, everyone has battles to fight. Never hate anyone because they think differently than I do. Also, whatever anyone says about me is true, I am obliged to consider criticism from the eyes of the people making it.
And then, perhaps the most important of all. It is my fault.
These, for me, are the cornerstone ideas of responsibility, to learning how to live a meaningful life. Empathy is the most noble trait in the human character for me. Whenever I can, I stand in the shoes of others.
In these difficult episodes I have faced with friendships, if they can be called that, I have learned to paint a portrait of myself that is sometimes difficult to bear, but it absolutely necessary for health and peace and survival.
Because of my own life, I am always open to helping people in need. Sometimes, as with the Mansion refugees or residents, that is bounded and rewarding and healthy.
Sometimes it is something else, a ballet of co-dependent relationships, a world without boundaries, and the inevitable ruin, anger and loss. Change and growth does not come quickly, like in those Hollywood films, it is a slow and painful and slogging process. You really have to want to be better and face up to yourself.
You have to work on it every day and never quit.
What I know now in all these bloodied and busted and lost relationships is that it is my fault. Period. It is always my fault. I’m not a bad person, I’m not yet a good person, I am healthier than ever, but not yet whole.
Blaming others is just another form of cowardice, a place to hide.
The script is familiar to me now. I encounter a needy person, or a needy person finds me. I offer myself to them, and focus much of my life on helping them. I know where this comes from, it is right out of my own childhood and that of my sister. I feel strongly that the needy and the vulnerable should be helped.
Sometimes I give too much. Sometimes I take too much. It can sound noble, but it can also be a disease.
I have learned over time the sometimes confusing difference between supporting and encouraging people and rescuing them. I know the dangers of delving too deeply into the lives of other people, or permitting them to delve too deeply into mine.
I understand that because I am eager to help people when I can – it is sometimes a near obsession – people sense this and get too involved with me, even obsessed with me, and too deeply involved in my life.
In my public life as a writer and blogger, and soon, a podcaster, I have experienced people who become obsessed with me, or with my blog or my life, or something I have written. In the context of the people who communicate with me, these are a tiny few, a fraction of the people who follow my work.
They are rarely, if ever, dangerous, yet because of my history of invasion, in the most literal sense, they are disturbing, even frightening to me. This is my fault also, I know better than to let some people get too close to me.
Given my own history of incestuous sexual abuse, obsession and inappropriate interest can be a deeply disturbing thing for me, a trigger.
This is another part that is my fault. I’m not whipping or berating myself, I believe I am a good human being, but if I can’t see the truth of it, then I can’t protect myself or other people from it. I have to know the truth about myself if I am to know any truth at at all.
I have learned that boundaries – the kind I apply to the Mansion and the refugee work – are the best and healthiest defense. I’ve learned to speak my truth. When somebody makes me uncomfortable, I say so. I cannot have a healthy relationship with an unhealthy person. It’s their choice, just as it is mine – they can get healthy or go out of my life.
When I need to tell people to step away from me and my life, I tell them. When I stop giving them what they need, they vanish. When I need to step away from someone or their lives, I recognize the alarms inside of me and respond to them. As the shrinks taught me over many years, when I feel something is unhealthy, back away and run away, if necessary.
And when I need to acknowledge my own fault, I do, especially lately. This issue has caused me the greatest pain in my life, and the most damage.
My power and salvation come from speaking my truth, something I try to do in my writing and in my life. Authenticity frightens and disturbs many people. I know now that most people have no idea what I am talking about, and that these broken relationships can rarely be repaired.
Once in awhile, there is another person on the other side who can also say “this is my fault” and they will work as hard as I have to fix it. Those friendships survive. Most people do not want to change, I know that too.
This means letting go. It means pain and fear and healing, which is always about standing in truth and authenticity. That is what has healed me.
It is cleansing to say “it my fault,” as long as I am gentle and kind to myself. Nobody consciously sets out to harm others or oneself. All I can do is understand myself and where I came from and accept who I am, and live accordingly.
New people are coming into my life, I notice they are strong, independent, and they listen to me, and I listen to the. We support one another we do not rescue each other.
I can’t tell other people how to heal or what to do. They have to do that for themselves. Or not.
I find that in my newly bounded world, I am able to help people as I have always wanted to do, and keep that work healthy and successful and in perspective. I am still learning how to choose friends and companions that are healthy and nourishing, and are not looking for something I can’t give, and that is disturbing to me.
I wish they knew what I was talking about when I speak of my own needs and feelings, but I can’t save them, only me.
And I will do that, up to and including my last breath.
