Now pretend my shrink is talking to hers

I realized earlier this week that, during our long phone conversation, my oldest friend was parroting phrases from her shrink. Example: "I trust there is good in the universe." Really? That's something I've never heard her say in almost six decades of friendship. I did often hear her say, "People are no damn good." But not, "I trust there is good in the universe." Yes, it was annoying to hear her speak in such an inauthentic way. But she suffers from bipolar disorder, so it was also comforting that she's seeing a therapist and taking the advice to heart.

I see a shrink, too, and I channeled mine this week when I dealt with a conflict my friend and I had. A couple weeks ago, I volunteered for the local library book sale. I picked up a pair of DVDs for my friend. Films starring two of her longest-standing crushes: Tom Selleck and William Shatner. Not a big deal, but I knew they would make her smile. I packed them up, took them to the post office, and sent them off to her in Hesperia, California. 

My friend reported that the package had been received by another tenant of the property they share. Days later I texted, asking her if she got the package and she responded she had, no further comment.

On the phone, I asked her if she opened the package yet. "No," she said blithely. "I can see it from here but I haven't opened it. You know me and mail."

Well, actually, no I don't. Does she now routinely let her mail stack up? I know she's had money problems and in the past put off paying her bills, but she couldn't possibly have confused my little giftie with an invoice. 

The whole, "You know me and mail" thing really hurt my feelings. I'd be doing other things and it would pop into my head. 

I know I would never treat a gift as cavalierly as she treated mine. I am very careful of her feelings, too, because of her condition. I don't think she gives me as much care or thought, and it hurts.

On the other hand, allowances must be made. She is broken. She didn't choose to be bipolar.

This morning, four full days since our call, I texted her about the package again. Again she told me she hadn't gotten to it. "You know me and mail!"

I know what my shrink would say to me. She'd remind me that I am in this relationship, too. That even though it's uncomfortable I should let my friend know how I feel. "But she's broken!" I would say to my shrink if she were here. "She deserves compassion!"

"You can do both: You can stand up for yourself and still forgive her." That's what I imagine my shrink would say. 

And so I did it: I texted my oldest friend that my feelings were hurt. That here I happily collected, packaged and mailed those DVDs to her and she treats merely opening the envelope like a chore. I said I felt silly.

She told me not to feel that way. She explained that what she hadn't said was that she was saving the package for when she feels "blue" and needs a lift. Then she will settle down with a cup of tea and open it. 

Oh, well then! 

Does this make sense to me? No. But then I don't I live with the specter of crippling depression around every corner, either.

Maybe in the future, we should save time by just having our shrinks talk to each other. I imagine mine as the one on the right. 

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash