Losing My Best Friend

I have avoided this subject for a long time. It's a very difficult and painful topic, filled with so many emotions...I always bawl my head off when I get to thinking about it too much. This is probably gonna run long.

When I had my major episode in April (the one where I went stark raving mad and thought my husband was trying to kill me), I lost my best friend of 35 years in the process. She had been our nanny for the last year while I was working, and it had worked well for both of us. We got to see each other every day. We would gossip and giggle like we did when we were kids while I finished getting ready in the morning and the kids were eating breakfast. She really was like a sister to me--we met in Kindergarten. We started spending the night at each other's houses in the 5th grade. We pretty much alternated weekends at my house and hers after that, until an unplanned pregnancy prompted her to get married at 16. We knew each other inside out, backwards and forwards, including where the bodies were buried. No matter how different our lives became, that never changed. Thelma to my Louise, Ethel to my Lucy, we have have always been inseparable. Nothing and no one came between us. Believe me, there were girls in high school who tried to break our bond. We just laughed at their attempts, and even went so far as to play mean practical jokes on them.

When I went deep into my delusions, "Ethel" was here. Mr. PolarBabe had gone to the store, and I went to her to say that I knew it sounded crazy, but I thought he was trying to kill me. I told her I thought he had replaced my antibiotics (I'd just had a surgical procedure) with methamphetamine. She didn't question me. She helped me search for the prescription leaflet to see if they were supposed to be capsules, and when we couldn't find it, she helped me flee. She took the kids and me to my aunt's house and promised to stay the night with me. I was out of my head, the hallucinations cresting over me like waves. I caught her glancing at me once with worry, but I dismissed it.

I had moments of doubt, where I thought maybe he wasn't trying to kill me, maybe just have me put in the hospital so he could take my kids away. She said this was more likely, but never told me I was out of my mind (although in retrospect it was evident that I was). Mr. PolarBabe came to the house, and he, my Aunt, and she tried to explain that I needed help. I went in and out of my hallucinations, alternately agreeing with them and then saying I was fine. At the end of the day, I decided to go home, even though I was still secretly convinced I was going to die. I knew I couldn't take care of my kids in my state, but if they were going to die (I thought he was going to kill them, too) I was going with them. After making sure that I didn't want her to still stay with me, she went home. She had been there for me.

Sister Ethel came the next day to watch the kids again. By this time I was convinced she was in on it, that she was having an affair with my husband and wanted my kids to be hers. I also thought my Aunt was helping, that she wanted me dead because of a physical altercation we had had a few months prior. I took an opportunity to flee again on my own, calling 911 from a neighbor's house. Ethel came to talk me down, but I told her to "get the fuck away from me." She walked away; told my husband she wasn't coming back. I've never seen or talked to her again.

Once I was stable again, I was furious. How could my best friend desert me when I needed her most? Without making sure I was ok and safe? I'd have been by her side through it all, if roles were reversed. My children were devastated and thought she hated them. They're too young to understand. If nothing else, I would have made sure her kids were comforted emotionally! What hurt me most was when she removed me from her Facebook page about a week later. I felt like I was garbage to her now. It proved to me that she really wanted NOTHING to do with me. It was a message: I don't love you anymore. You really ARE crazy.

It took some time for me to see that she really did try to be there for me. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for her to see me like that. It had to be scary and heart breaking. How would I have felt? I'd have died inside. No, I wouldn't have run away from her, no matter how hard it was, but she and I have always been different that way. I am the bolder one. She has always been sheltered; protected. First by her parents, then by her husband. (They are still together after all these years). The important thing is that she tried.

I can't help what happened to me or what it did to her. I didn't even know this could happen to me, or I would have warned her when I first learned I was Bipolar. Even after I realized all that she did--that she didn't abandon me--I haven't tried to contact her. I know her. She isn't going to stop being afraid. She isn't going to be able to forget what happened. She is never going to be comfortable around me again. She probably isn't comfortable with how she handled it, but then again she may think I'm just a nutjob and I should be locked up. I am sure her family has told her to stay away from me. (I know them well, too. I introduced her to her husband when we were 11.) I'm also scared to death. I'm pretty sure she won't respond. She tends to avoid difficult things. Even on the off chance she did respond, I'm sure she would say that she doesn't want to be friends. Since I can't promise her it will never happen again, there's no hope to ever bridge the expanse that is now between us.

There is another reason I don't contact her. One thing I have learned about being Bipolar, is that although we can't always help the things that happen to us during an episode, we are responsible for the aftermath, whether it's the bills we have after shopping too much, or the pain we inflicted from an angry outburst, or the havoc wrought by destructive behavior. In this situation, I can't help what this episode did to her, or what it cost me. I do have to respect her desire to not want to be my friend. It cost her emotionally too, and it's a price she can't pay again should another major episode occur. I long to write to her, to talk to her, but I don't even know what to say other than I'm sorry. Even if she wanted to remain my friend, the elephant would always be in the room.

Bipolar Disorder hurts a lot of people. I'm sorry it hurt her, too. I just don't know if I'm going to adjust to this loss. 35 years, and now it's gone. Just like that.