What Friendship Looks Like When You Have A Mental Illness
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What does friendship as an adult look like, or more specifically, what does friendship as an adult look like when you have a mental illness?
Answer: not like the movies, not like you learnt in high-school, and it isn’t easy for either party.
I’m not gonna lie, I am not a good friend. Not because I am a bad person, or because I have bad intentions, but because my anxiety fundamentally stunts my ability to interact within what is considered the ‘normal’ range for friendships.
I find myself trapped in a cycle:
1) I want to catch up
2) I make plans to catch up
3) I worry about those plans until the time comes
4) I bail on the plans because my mental health has deteriorated
5) I want to catch up
The knowledge of this cycle does little to stop it from occurring, indeed knowing that it will happen can trigger it to happen.
What’s more, arranging to catch up with someone involves phone calls and other communication which is in itself anxiety inducing. There is also the issue of self-worth; to make those plans, I have to believe myself both worthy of company and interesting enough for them to want my company. The problem is that every time I bail, I ‘prove’ to myself how not good at friends I am. Thus it gets perpetually harder to ever catch up with someone.
But let’s just say that I do somehow manage to get past all of that and meet up with them. My mental illnesses are not done with me yet. I then must manage the issues of real time communication, complete with the ambiguities of tone, context, sarcasm, social distance, listening versus talking, topic choice, and being mindful of feelings. The challenge of processing all of that at once causes further losses in self-confidence, which is once again a downward cycle into (what feels on my end at least) awkwardness.
Compounding all of that are my issues with attachment and trust. I have the tendency to take things negatively or as an attack. I don’t choose to do this but due to a traumatic childhood I have then learnt defence mechanism to always be on guard. Great to keep me safe, terrible as an adult just trying to chat. I have taught myself to recognise these kinds of negative assumptions and the other lies my brain is screaming at me, but that process takes the time and effort that is needed to continue the conversation.
The less I socialise, the less I practice socialising. For some people it comes naturally, but for me not so much. Thus, with extended breaks from catch ups caused by mental health declines, or more recently lockdowns, I lack the learnt experiences I once had. True, it quickly comes back, but that rusty period exacerbates my anxiety.
The eventual result of my withdrawal is that my friends end up not inviting me anywhere anymore. They get used to me declining or get disappointed with me bailing on events. I get it. Who wouldn’t get annoyed?
Besides, they lose less than I do when I don’t turn up:
If there is a group of ten people, and one doesn’t show. The remaining nine people still get 90% of the connection. The person that doesn’t show up loses 100%. Eventually that one person (me) is no longer invited and thus the group adds another person or accepts its reduced numbers and continues to do things together.
At this stage I don’t know if I want to be invited or not. I get anxious regardless. How will I reject them again? What do I say? Maybe I will be okay this time?
It’s a mess.
Still, it isn’t all bad. I have learnt different ways to connect. Ways that work within the limitations imposed by my mental illnesses.
1) Be open and honest:
I have learnt to share what I struggle with and how it impacts my life. Now if I am invited or make a friend, I will let them know that I struggle with social anxiety, triggers, and other issues. I take the time to explain to them what it means, as well as what it may cause me to do. Being forewarned, they are less likely to be as offended or put out when I bail or seem awkward socially.
2) Choose appropriate options:
When arranging to catch up I will lean into activities that are more suited to my mental state and disposition. A walk in the forest is far more inviting than a nightclub. A casual game of sport is more fun than shopping. Eating outside is better than inside. I could go on, but the point is that I now choose what works best for me, or I consider how their suggestions would make me feel based on what I know about myself.
3) Don’t commit:
Whenever I am invited somewhere I take some time to process the request before I commit or reject it. That way I am not running from fear, or accepting out of obligating, but instead making choices based on what I want, need, and are capable of in the moment.
My current go to response is,
‘I am not sure right now, let me get back to you.’
4) Socialize online:
Talking over text or with voice messages takes a lot of the stress out of real time conversations. It gives me the time to think about what I want to say and how I want to say it.
5) Choose activities that are not dependant on my attendance:
I practice martial arts and there are a lot of nice people where I train. I can choose to go or not depending on my mental state that day and the class still runs. The good part is that if I bail, no one is let down. We are all going there to train first and socialise second. If I come or not, they still have the same experience.
6) Reframing what friendship is and means:
What I used to consider a friend and an enjoyable social experience has and will continue to change. What worked for me as a teen and young adult are not applicable anymore. I am now a father of two and responsible for providing the financial support for the family. My interests have changed along with my goals and mental health. All those changes need to be reflected in my social life; of course, it is hard to make friends if I view friendship through the lens of my past self.
To be clear, I am not always this bad. Some days, weeks or even months look completely different, and I feel and act ‘normal’. Unfortunately, nothing lasts, and when I come back down again the fall is all the more painful. So now, even when I am in a good place, I make sure to remind myself that in the future I may not be feeling so good.
I don’t let that knowledge stop me, but I do let it remind me of the importance of continued open and honest communication. A few deep and significant relationships have been formed whilst I was up, only to be destroyed because I didn’t effectively communicate how bad I can get before it happened. To them I withdrew and changed my personality entirely; but in reality I was suffering a (at the time untreated) mental break down.
I hold no ill will towards these people. It was and is on me to communicate effectively. I am just saddened by the loss of potential friends and now vow to not let it happen again. These conversations are always embarrassing and awkward for me, but compared to pain of loneliness, they are nothing.
If you can relate to this piece and want to connect, please do so @zacpphillips. I welcome all discussions and questions. Together we can learn, grow, and accept ourselves.
And if you want more information on how I manage my mental illnesses, check out ‘How To Get Your Sh!t Together’. It’s out now, online, for free.
