I Wish I Could Do More.

Sunday night, I went to bed freezing cold. Ten minutes later, I was covered in sweat, and crying. Migraine City, population: me.

That’s not what this post is about though, I’m just explaining why I didn’t write anything yesterday.

Oh yeah, when I woke up, my best friend George was calling. I answered the phone with no idea what was going on. He said he was “in a bad place.” I had heard that tone of voice before. In myself. I had spoken those very words before. After I had hurt myself. I told him to come over, and then rushed through a shower.

When he got to my house, he gave me the biggest hug I’ve ever gotten. I knew he needed it, and I was glad I could be there to give it back. We’ve talked in the past about depression. We’ve talked about the things that help, and the things that trigger him. We discussed a lot of that, and he painted a slightly more clear image of his current situation. It’s not my place to say more than that here. Just know that he is in a hard place, and he came to me for help.

We spent the whole day going over options, seeking professional help, etc. We went to his work to talk to his boss about why he hadn’t been in. We made some appointments, got on some waiting lists with various professionals, stuff like that. When we got back to my place, we discussed options for the next few days, and stuff like that.

After he mentioned that socializing with us was helping, Jenny organized a game night. Our very small cluster of friends got together over dinner and board games, and we had a good time.

We talked some more about what the next couple of days would bring, and planned to meet up today.

For those of you who don’t know, I write these posts ahead of time, so I wrote this at 10:00 last night, on my phone. That being said:

Tonight, I’m worried about my friend, and I don’t know what to do. Calling him every half an hour wouldn’t help, because he needs his sleep. But the worry. The God damn worry. I will have to cuddle up with Jenny, and pray for good things, because it isn’t my place to do more. I just wish I could. It’s tearing me up inside that he’s hurting. On the other hand, I’m so honored that he came to me.

And when you read this, George, know this: You are not a burden. I am so glad you came to me. And the worry and pain I’m talking about here are not a burden either. They are part of us being friends. You’ve been there for me, and seen my stitches. You’ve visited me in the hospital, and volunteered to babysit me if I’m suicidal. You mean the world to me, and I love you so much (no homo).