What Are We Going To Do With You? You Don't Make It Easy On Me, What Am I Supposed To Do, If You Won't Let Me Help You, Why Won't You?

--"Godspeed (live)", Jenny Lewis

Around 2002 I found out my friend Jennifer was having to deal with a slightly obsessive boyfriend, Steve. But, before then, I didn't even know word one about what was going on. I don't how long it went on before she felt strong enough to tell me and she rarely talked about how truly bad it got. It was just one of those situations where once it's resolved, people rarely talk about it again. Jennifer certainly would never bring it up again to me and I doubt there was anyone else in her life that she would discuss it with. As she told me repeatedly when I asked about Steve, "Steve's gone. Steve's history. Steve won't be coming back." And that was that.

I mean--it's understandable. No one wants to relive those horrible chapters of their lives because no one wants to face the reality that, to a certain extent, they are responsible for getting themselves into the situation. The pattern of our lives may not be entirely of our doing, but every decision we make impacts what happens to us to a greater or lesser degree. And when bad things happen, as bad things often do, it's hard to reconcile the fact that somehow, in some way, we got ourselves there. The same rationale floats through my head when I read headfirst into a harsh reality; the same rationale I'm sure must have been floating through Jennifer's head when that night came. Thoughts like "how did it come to this?" and "how do I get out of this?" must have been running through her mind for at least a few days before she ever approached me because that's not the type of assistance you ask for lightly. That's the type of help that takes careful consideration. People don't like to ask for help, and some people especially don't like to ask for help. Jennifer always was one of the latter. She never wanted to admit that she wasn't capable enough of doing something on her own. Never.

Yet, in the same way I still shake my head at her not offering up the news that she was dying, I kind of fault her a little for not clueing me or someone else in on the stalker ex-boyfriend situation sooner. I don't know if anything could have been done sooner. I don't know if anything would have needed to be done sooner, but I do know that my help would have been there to be given to her freely without her having to ask me if I knew some of the particulars a few weeks earlier. I'm sure I wouldn't have been the only one to offer. There were a lot of people that could have handled him in a dozen ways that might have been somewhat less traumatic or dramatic.

I've never been a rather private person. I possess my secrets, sure, but there are a lot of places where people can pick through my life in a comprehensive manner if they opt to do so. Moreover, there are very few questions I hesitate to answer if there is an answer I can succinctly give. It's just part of my policy not to hold back when it comes to me and my history. Other people, though, found solace in being withholding when it comes to the events that shaped them or continue to shape them. Whether it's due to not wanting to burden someone else with their baggage or a sense of entitlement that dictates to them that what they go through is theirs and theirs alone to own, people can become guarded with some of the stories they lived or are living through. To some extent these experiences are their valuables to hold in reserve or give as freely as they wish, but to another extent sometimes these experiences are like so much deadweight tying them down. And sometimes the only way to get rid of them is to loosen them from your person by sharing the experience with someone else, anyone else who you trust enough to listen.

I'll just say it. I don't quite understand why people hold the various factors, causes, or originators of pain in their lives to themselves. Especially people. I don't understand why, when most individuals are surrounded with a least a handful of people who love and care for them, these individuals can't unburden themselves by saying what or who what is hurting them, by recounting what or who may have hurt them in the past, by broadcasting what or who may be threatening to hurt them in the future. It doesn't make sense to me. It took Tara almost eight months after I met her to tell me of that night she was almost sexually assaulted at her high school dance. It took Brandy almost two months to even let me in that her fiance Joshua died before they could ever get married. And it was almost longer than those put together before DeAnn told me some of the awfulness of her experience growing up. I mean--even while I was hearing these stories and others, one of the first things that comes to my mind is the question of why I wasn't told sooner. Maybe it's insensitive, but I tend to trust people with my secrets and shames rather early on and if anything close to what happened to them had happened to me, that's the story I would have led with. Those are the kinds of tales that I want other people to know, to better explain why I hurt or why I react in certain circumstances in the way I do. Those are the kinds of secrets that I wish people could trust me sooner with.

With Jennifer, I guess the problem was that for some time before she actually told me I knew she was having a rough time. I don't know what was eating at her, thus, I didn't know what to say or do to assist her. I somehow guessed she was in trouble, but waiting to see how best to help her or even if she needed help was, at the time, kind of worse than after finding out. After all, I knew how to deal with obsessive behavior after being on both sides of the mirror regarding that issue. I heard and lived through a few of the results of that kind of behavior coming to its inevitable conclusion--none of which are pretty, but some are relatively safer than others. What I didn't have much experience with was the lack of communication. My other friends I couldn't have helped while what was happening to them happened. I couldn't have been in the car with Tara, I couldn't have stopped Joshua dying even if I knew when and where it had happened beforehand, I couldn't have been with DeAnn every second of those dark days. It's hard to be of help when all the worst things a person has gone through were months or years in the past. But Jennifer was different. Her situation had been happening in the present tense. Hers was a problem I could have been giving advice or even helping firsthand with long before it came to its terrifying conclusion. I often wonder how everything would have turned out had I known about Steve sooner.

Yet, even as I sit here, I'm sure Jennifer had her reasons to keep this affair private. I'm sure she thought she was doing the right thing by handling it on her own. I mean--no one makes a choice to intentionally muck up their lives, right? I could be accused of making more than my fair amount of decisions on my own that ended either in blood, tears, and regret. Any time you ask for help you run the risk of making it a habit, of molding yourself into a person who needs other people's efforts just to get by in the world. The trick I think is finding that point where handling all the world throws at you on your own just isn't up to snuff any more and it's time to call in for some eager reinforcements.

Some pain, some hurt, some people you really do have to go through on your own. But not all of them.

There are some difficult journeys that you can travel along with other people, where it's okay to help each other out, where it's okay to admit you can't make it on your own. No one should have to be alone and suffering if they don't need to be or even if they don't want to be. Sometimes asking for help isn't really admitting you're weak or incapable of coping, sometimes the strongest choice you can make is the choice to allow others into your life to help carry you through the dangerous waters.

Life isn't about being strong, good enough, or perfect enough all the time. There are going to be times, choices, and even people that are going to be stronger, better than, or too much for you to handle. Life isn't about how you get through them all by your lonesome. Life should be about how we all get by those times together, together with the people who are sometimes just as weak, tired, and imperfect as we are.

As Lucy puts it, "life isn't about having all the answers yourself. It's about knowing which person to go to find the answers you need."

All you need to do is ask.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers