The Skunk
Posted 5th December 2011 at 05:48 AM by Caerie
The skunk can't help the fact that he smells. He can't help his claws and instincts to dig and scratch. He can't be anything other than what he is. However, there comes a point when even though it isn't his fault, you just can't have that skunk in your house anymore.
My dad was a paranoid schizophrenic. I've had a number of friends over the years who suffer from mental illness. It's a road I'm far more familiar with than I'd like to be. Sometimes, no matter how good and decent that person is when well, their illness makes them impossible to stay around for your own well-being. My father was like that, and so my mother left him when I was three. He killed himself about ten years later, having never spent a day of his life on medication for his illness, having refused all help.
When I have a friend who is struggling, but is still seeking help, who still understands that "I'm sick" isn't an excuse to be an asshole, I stay by them. I support them through the hard times and revel in the easy ones.
But then there's the other kind of friend. The one who, like my father, doesn't seek help. Any effort to make things better is just shrugged off. Taking a B vitamin to compensate for a shitty diet is too much trouble for that kind of friend. All I can do is watch and wince. It's as if one day somebody woke up unable to walk and rather than wanting to go to the doctor just said, "Eh. I guess this is just how it is now." After a while, watching someone destroy himself with no effort to stop and having all of my energy sucked into this drama while he tells me "oh, don't worry about me, I'll just go without sleeping for ten days" makes it hard to remember why we're friends in the first place. I can't remember the last time we had fun, or the last time I was in any role other than "mood manager."
At that point, I have a skunk. I know he didn't start stinking to be spiteful. It's just how he's wired. I know he doesn't claw and dig at my furniture because he hates me. These things just happen when you're a skunk. But my house can't take any more damage, so I think my skunk might have to leave now.
My dad was a paranoid schizophrenic. I've had a number of friends over the years who suffer from mental illness. It's a road I'm far more familiar with than I'd like to be. Sometimes, no matter how good and decent that person is when well, their illness makes them impossible to stay around for your own well-being. My father was like that, and so my mother left him when I was three. He killed himself about ten years later, having never spent a day of his life on medication for his illness, having refused all help.
When I have a friend who is struggling, but is still seeking help, who still understands that "I'm sick" isn't an excuse to be an asshole, I stay by them. I support them through the hard times and revel in the easy ones.
But then there's the other kind of friend. The one who, like my father, doesn't seek help. Any effort to make things better is just shrugged off. Taking a B vitamin to compensate for a shitty diet is too much trouble for that kind of friend. All I can do is watch and wince. It's as if one day somebody woke up unable to walk and rather than wanting to go to the doctor just said, "Eh. I guess this is just how it is now." After a while, watching someone destroy himself with no effort to stop and having all of my energy sucked into this drama while he tells me "oh, don't worry about me, I'll just go without sleeping for ten days" makes it hard to remember why we're friends in the first place. I can't remember the last time we had fun, or the last time I was in any role other than "mood manager."
At that point, I have a skunk. I know he didn't start stinking to be spiteful. It's just how he's wired. I know he doesn't claw and dig at my furniture because he hates me. These things just happen when you're a skunk. But my house can't take any more damage, so I think my skunk might have to leave now.
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Posted 7th December 2011 at 06:25 PM by Dragonlady