So, What Are You Not Writing?

Well, hmm, an interesting question that was posed to me last night. What are you not writing? Not surprisingly, this came from a therapist friend. What are you not writing? When he asked, I couldn't really think of anything. I said, well, I still have a lot of ideas for posts that I plan to write, but I don't think there's anything I'm not writing, as in avoiding, as in scared to write. Just to make sure though I pulled out my list of blog post ideas, and came to the one that I was calling, "People Just Don't Get It."

Oh, yeah, there's that one.

What I explained to my friend is that I had set this one aside because it involves people very close to me and their less-than-optimal responses when I told them I had to leave my job. Therapists like to call it "empathic failure." And, it's integral to the point of the story to indicate who these people are in relation to me, but I haven't been able to find a way to do this without "outing" them. That just strikes me as unfair to them. Then I stopped and thought, oh wait, maybe that isn't really the problem. Well it is a problem, but really, the main reason that I haven't gone back to that post, is that it feels way too hard. (One point for the therapist friend.) Because these are people, who of all people, should just get it. So, in order to protect their identity, yet still be truthful, I'm going to mush them together into one person, and we'll just call him Fred.

While I really wasn't looking forward to telling anyone that I had to leave my job, there were a few people in particular that I dreaded telling; the composite of those people being Fred. Therapist friend again (he's been busy these days), suggested that if these folks did react in the way I anticipated they might, to remind myself that it came from a place of worry and concern for me. Yeah, well good advice in theory. The reactions I did in fact receive, were overall about what I had expected, some a little, some a lot worse. These were some of Fred's comments:

• You did what?
  
• In this economy?
  
• Why didn't you try to work something out with your employer?
  
• What are you going to do about health care?
  
• I can't help you out.
  
• I don't think that writing is a good plan; what's your Plan B?
  
• I don't feel good all of the time either, but I manage to get to work every day. You just have to force yourself to do it.
  
• I just don't understand you.
  
• I don't understand the choices you make.
  
• Why are you living in New York? It's expensive, why don't you think about moving?
  
• Have you thought about what you're going to do in a few years? Because you really need to have a plan.
  

Why was I concerned that this would be the kind of responses I would get from Fred? Mainly because I'd been getting these kinds of comments for awhile.

• Don't fall apart on me.
  
• You just need to force yourself to ….
  
• Let's just set aside the fact that you have PD and focus on your psychology.
  
• When you make these excuses about why you can't…. I just choose to ignore them.
  

See, the thing is, I can tell myself that this comes from a place of worry and concern, and that Fred just can't let himself think about my situation because it's too hard for him. But what that means is that it leaves me in the position of having to either not share anything with Fred, or share things which I will then be forced to justify and rationalize. When, HELLO, in my opinion, perhaps Fred should be coming to me on occasion to ask me how it's going. What hurts me more than anything, is that Fred never said the two things that I really needed to hear: I am so sorry that this is happening to you, and is there anything I can do to help? I think that Fred believes that his method of "strategizing," which consists of barraging me with suggestions, orders, questions, criticisms, et al is being helpful. Well Fred, it isn't. And underlying all of this cross examination, I feel the subtext which isn't being spoken out loud is that Fred doesn't believe me. Here is my response to Fred:

Fred, spend just a few minutes in my shoes; then we'll talk.

Right now, I have to resist the urge to address the comments listed above one by one, because, you know, I just shouldn't have to. But, I feel the need to make the following points:

• Do you honestly think that I want to be in this position, do you think that I am happy about it?
  
• Let's look at PD and working capacity. One study showed that seven years after diagnosis, only 16% of the study participants were still working, 12% full-time and 4% part-time. I made to ten, can you maybe give me a little bit of credit for that?
  

So Fred, here is what I would like from you; could you perhaps on occasion say something to me along the lines of, good job? Seriously, that's all I want from you.

And Fred, I'm not willing to protect you anymore. This is my reality, this is what I deal with every day, and I am no longer willing to hide it in order to help you avoid the truth.