Fair Weather Friends
Friday, December 1st, 2000 (continued).
— peter gabriel, “Mercy Street”
Anne also said, “When I reach out to what are called my friends, it seems that everyone vanishes when I need them the most.”
Any person living through withdrawal knows that nobody has to say anything; there are no right or wrong words. Hearing a friendly voice makes all the difference, a voice that is listening. That’s all it takes. A few people I thought I could count for that simply disappeared in the midst of all this. It’s like I don’t exist to them anymore. It’s amazing. It seems that some of these so-called friends of mine can only handle reality on a superficial level. They’re my friends, but only when it’s easy.
This is the one revelation I’ve been reluctant to accept. I look at the people I used to hang out with, and honest to god, most of them are living in Disneyland; real nice people, but only when the sun is shining and the weather is calm. When I’m happy, they’re happy. When I’m not happy, they take off; they disappear without a word, wrapped up in what Albert Camus once referred to as “the childish chasing after forgetfulness.” And they probably think I’m the one whose nuts.
Even if I survive this experience relatively intact, there are some things that will never be the same for me. There’s no way.
And although I’m not smiling at the moment, I mean this in a positive way.
P.S. (Sept. 2006): I may have been a bit too critical of my friendships at the time.