Silver linings #2 - Friendship

For much of my life I’ve struggled with feeling part of a strong group of friends, and have felt like an outsider for much of it. I have a handful of close friends, dispersed around the world, whose friendship never wanes…but we rarely see each other in person, and as a result we don’t share the day-to-day aspects of life with each other.

Having moved around and lived in different countries a few times has meant making new friends in every new place. For someone who hates small talk and being ‘friends’ for the sake of being friends, this is not without its challenges. I need a real connection, so friendship has felt hard to come by.  There are some special people out there, you just never know when you’re going to find them. It’s become easier the older I’m getting, truth be told, to find “my” people.

Being so seriously ill has helped to unveil to me who my real, steadfast, true friends are. It sounds like a cliché, but it’s true. It's shown me that when people care about someone or something, they are capable of great kindness and compassion.

With this kind of illness, you’re automatically and forcibly exiled from your circle of friends: at its worst, ME means you are unable to deal with sounds, lights, movement, communication. It means being confined to a bed to recover in darkness and silence. It means that all normal modes of socialisation are eliminated from your life. You feel like you’ve dropped from the face of the Earth.

Only those who genuinely care will make the effort to keep contact of some kind, understand your situation without judgement, and don’t resent you for it. They write you letters, send a postcard every week keeping you informed of what’s happening in your normal world that you’re temporarily suspended from, send you texts, keep up the humour, positive at every step of the way, and genuinely want to eliminate your suffering.

Friendship in one if its many guises © 2015  

These people are extraordinary, kind, generous, surprising, supportive and encouraging. They are interested in understanding your illness and how it affects your life, wanting to know how best to assist you, and happy to provide a listening ear on a bad day. Their sense of humour never deserts them, and they make you laugh, preserving your sanity. Most importantly, they speak to the real you, not the invalid, helping you to remain human. Even the smallest gestures make an enormous difference.

Having to ration my energy as a result of the illness has meant I’ve had to learn how to eliminate the aspects of my life (including people) that take energy from me and are thus detrimental to my health and wellbeing. This means I now spend less time expending my very precious energy on wasted causes, including pleasing other people who aren’t invested in my well-being. 

Not only do I know who cares about me, it’s also much clearer who I genuinely care about and am happy to give my time and energy to. I've recognised the meaning behind even those small gestures, and as a result am more mindful to bringing kindness and compassion to my own interaction with others. I know that it is not wasted, and I know that I’m not going to suffer as a result. Rather, I’m more likely to return to my sense of self, and find strength.

I’ve been astounded at those wonderful individuals who have stood by me. I’m moved by the kindnesses that have been shown to me, large and small, and the level to which my friends have my back. You are the greatest gifts of this illness, and I am humbled by this experience.

Thank you all, you know who you are!