On misery and company

Earlier this week, people mentioned that I'd been avoiding them recently, and this is a true statement. When I'm under any kind of duress, I tend to avoid some people and turn to others, and I'm not going to apologize for this behavior.

This time around, however, I wasn't able to specify why some were avoided and some were not. Clearly, I'm not the only person in the world who has issues; it shouldn't be that difficult to find someone who can empathize with being part of a dysfunctional family. I put my finger on it earlier tonight, though - I'm the only person in my set of friends who has issues of this particular nature. That automatically narrows the list of people who understand down to none.

Another reason - some people are more comfortable about asking me if I'm doing okay than others. I think the reason why my roommates and the #sdcolleges crowd never ask how I'm doing is because they think I don't want to talk about it, and to a certain degree, they're right. It's a painful issue, and aside from two friends of mine, no one really knows how painful.

But there's a reason why those two friends, Fadiya and KLo, know - it's because they're comfortable with asking me how I'm doing, and receiving a negative answer in response. If anyone else asks that question, I automatically say, "I'm fine" - and they think nothing of it. Of course they don't - how are they to know if I actually am fine or not?

Well, Fadiya and KLo know. They can hear it in the tone of my voice and they can read it on my face, even when I'm trying my damnedest to hide it. They know, and they ask the question again, and they continue asking until they get the real answer.

And they won't freak out if I happen to be feeling like crap. I remember when a friend of mine asked if I needed therapy, because I showed a little anger over a bad memory I have of family and snow. After she asked that, she basically told me that I needed to cheer up because "no one likes a grumpy Hanna."

KLo and Fadiya's response? "Fuck. That. Shit." They like a grumpy Hanna about as much as everyone else does (i.e. not even a little), but unlike the afore-quoted friend of mine, they actually try to help me through my grumpiness. They know that I'm not flying off the handle just because it amuses me. No, they dislike Grumpy Hanna because that means that something is wrong, that something is bothering me, and they're going to try to help me through it so I can be happy again.

My friends - they know I'm strong, they know that I keep things like fear and anger bottled up inside. The difference between those two and everyone else, however, is that they aren't afraid when I'm anything less than perfectly happy. If I need to cry, if I need to scream, if I need to be pissed the fuck off - fine. They won't bat an eyelash. They'll be sad with me, they'll be mad with me - and they'll let me ride out my emotions without once freaking out over the fact that I'm showing any.

So that's the reason why I turn to them when I'm depressed - because they'll help me through it, without giving me any stupid "Cheer up!" advice. Because I'm not afraid to be depressed around them.

Hope that clears things up. I'm trying to socialize with the #sdcolleges crew more often, but if I need to avoid you every now and then, I hope you understand.