By now you know that I've had a number of friends through the years that were or became mentally ill. These people challenged my notions of what friendship should be and how much to tolerate. I, as a person in a culture that has become more sophisticated (and for better and worse, labeling) about mental illness, have tried to both understand them and avoid being too hard on them. I realize I have taken compassion and loyalty too far in some cases.
However, in recent months I was reminded of something my mother advised when similar words came out of the mouth of Nancy Pelosi. Accused of hating President Donald Trump, she said in so many words that she was a Catholic and didn't hate him, she just hated what he did.
It's not always so easy.
//
The long unintended months of Covid-19 plague lock downs have given me more time to think about these subjects, to recall various personalities. Here is the story of someone whose personality disorder sent me into research mode.
Let's call him Willy since there are no Willy's presently in my life.
Not long before we met, Willy had suffered a terrible and sudden unexpected financial blow through no fault of his own which threatened to demolish his livelihood and throw him into the street. He was even ripped off by a liquidator he hired to recoup what he could.
He had a great number of friends he'd known for years longer than me to contact and reach out to, people I didn't know. Most proved to be Fair Weather friends. Therefore he accepted the offer of friends out of state to come live with them in exchange for work that had value around their property. He was in shock and grief for loss and naturally afraid but seemed to be carrying on the best he could. Our last meeting was tearful though not huggy. He said he was afraid to go but also afraid of what might happen to him if he didn't.
I understood.
//
There's something uncanny the way Synchronicity or Coincidence or Fate or Something has informed me through the years. Though it wasn't always an instant understanding. Numerous times I've been in the right place at the right time to witness or hear a bit of information I didn't necessarily want to know but should know.
This was the case with Willy.
We met at a restaurant before he left. He said he'd call before he hit the road. He did not. He had called me briefly from a noisy gathering to wish me a Merry Christmas - I didn't know where from. I thought he had left, just gotten on the road unable to take more goodbyes and drove east.
Weeks later, when he should've been gone, I saw him outside his vehicle near a college campus not far from where I lived. He was talking to a young woman, much younger - no doubt a student. She had a very unique look and long blond hair. I was just passing in another vehicle. So for all I knew she was just passing by him on the sidewalk and said hello. So. He had not left after all. Ahmmm.
Eventually Willy did leave town. He sent a message from the other state. Everything was to his liking. It sounded like he'd made a good decision and had made a mutually beneficial barter.
Then one day I met a friend for coffee. Her sister was there too. This coffee meeting at once had a serious tone to it. My friend said, "We were in a grocery store and we saw your friend with this blond woman and it was obvious they were - you know - canoodling. We should have told you weeks ago but were afraid to upset you."
I had a few Platonic male friends and I first thought they meant a different new friend, a man who had inherited a house and a million and sometimes took me to lunch - not too much going on there. I shrugged. So?
No. They assured me it was Willy. The store was near the college campus. Although Willy and I were not a couple, my friend's concern for me had a strange effect on me. I went to the bathroom, a wave of nausea hit me, and I threw up.
//
My sense that Willy could not be trusted grew. But was I being fair?
For about a year I continued my long distance contact with Willy. I admit I was making a bit more effort than he was. I cared about him and I knew he had no family and had to make a go of it. I was curious to know what it was like to adjust to a different culture after decades in Southern California. I called him.
He seemed to be content, healing, busy, even happy. He sat in their garden and hummingbirds flew around him - a good omen. He said his friends had tried to matchmake him. He never mentioned having left a girlfriend behind. But one day on the phone he made light of a problem that was weighing me down. I felt it was my turn to be cared about. Was he oblivious? High on life? I got frustrated with him. I thought our friendship had run its course. I wished him well. I /we stopped communicating.
//
Several years passed and then one day there he was, back in town, he said for a few months already. He was looking to reconnect with his old friends and looking for work. I was one of the old friends now.
I felt more wary this time around. I wasn't sure how much information he owed me but I wondered if he had a secret life. Ok. Everyone (probably) has a secret internal life but I mean involvements I might not be comfortable with. Such as, I didn't want any psycho (ex?) girlfriends of his having an issue with me. He had mentioned once being stalked by such a person who had even broken his windshield.
What about that blond?
Especially because one day as I was walking in a park, I saw his vehicle parked and I saw the much younger woman with a very unique look and long blond hair. She turned around, looking exasperated. She walked away and I saw it was from him. I thought, "She cares about him. She's trying to help him. He's just rejected some suggestion." I thought that he had probably looked her up too when he got back. Or maybe they'd been in contact all the years gone by. Was she perhaps the mysterious "friend" of his from Santa Clarita he had once mentioned? Would he ever tell me about her? Was it any of my business?
Willy was around.
Eventually we exchanged phone numbers. One day he asked me if I could stow a couple of beautiful chairs at my place "for a couple weeks" until he sold them. He was downsizing. He needed an expensive repair on that vehicle.
I agreed.
Unfortunately, I came to feel that this was a manipulative move on his part. Until he brought the chairs over, he didn't know where I had moved. He wanted to hang out at my place. He came over to share a meal and watch a film on Sunday night.
This became a routine. I had the money to buy food while he went without work. He seemed to be wasting away on a plant based diet but ate chicken when I cooked it. I served heaping portions of food. I send him home with leftovers. I liked to cook.
I enjoy working alone and without interruption for hours but am not a true loner. On Sunday evenings I just wanted to relax before the week began again. I was open to company.
But came the day when I asked him if he would help me clean up. I did shopping and cooking and clean up. He brought groceries once in a while but had never offered to cook or clean. His response, "I couldn't possibly clean a kitchen that's not immaculate," was just the beginning of his increasingly notable resistance to show appreciation by doing a little something to help me when I needed help. He wasn't offering so I started to ask. He claimed a bad back when I needed to get an old television and sofa out to the street for pick up. I'd never heard of this bad back before. Did he not swim laps at the gym most days? But OK. Maybe he'd recently had back pain.
When I asked him to help me rearrange some things in the spare room where his chairs sat, he managed to break a large casserole dish that should have been almost indestructible in a room with a thick padded carpet! I didn't see it happen but this casserole was precious to me and there it was in half.
Another time he came over sick. He was pale white. I wondered if I might have to call an ambulance. Was he going to die on my sofa? Whatever it was, I didn't catch it. I thought an infection was raging in him.
When he felt better he got snarky. I watched him break the thermometer I'd brought out so he could check his temperature. It was quick and deliberate. I thought, "So he breaks things."
He started claiming he would rather "just talk" instead of watching the DVDs I'd brought home but over time I realized he didn't mean to learn more about me. He talked about himself. He dismissed any talk about the past, saying "the past is over and doesn't matter any more." This blocked conversations we probably should've had. At the time I didn't realize that blocking conversation can sometimes be a form of verbal abuse. And he did select stories about his past to tell me. A youthful marriage. A father who stole a girlfriend. A stepmother his own age who wouldn't let him in the house. His mother dying alone thousands of miles away. He'd had a lot of woman. He was catching up with them, one by one. He found them on social media. They were mostly divorced. They mostly got the houses.
The past he dismissed was our past relationship. We'd pretend to be Existential.
//
He ridiculed my dog simply because she liked to circle three times before she sat. He had to know, as someone who had dogs, this was a natural dog behavior and is what dogs do in the wild to tamper down grass to create a bed. I shrugged and said. "She's a dog." (If I had to choose I'd select that dog over him.) Why did we spend no time at his place? Because he had a cat my dog wanted to eat. He switched to disliking her grooming. He knew I groomed her.
Pick. Pick. Pick.
//
One day he mentioned that my complexion "used to be pink." It was a put down, a commentary.
Dig. Dig. Dig.
//
One Sunday night after listening to him talk about how years before he had ridden his motorcycle miles every night to see a girlfriend, I said the obvious. "It's always all about you!"
He blurted "No. It's all about you!"
His voice echoed. I thought my neighbors had gone silent. I had.
I knew this was false. I couldn't recall when he'd asked me about me. I contemplated how reflexive his retort.
The next time he called to see about dinner, I asserted myself. "I picked up a film I really want to see, so as long as you want to see it, you can come over."
He agreed, came over, and then vetoed the film, saying he had already seen it.
//
"I know what I do," he snapped one time when I casually mentioned a habit he had that cost him money. He wasn't going to apologize or change.
//
An outside salesman, a man of good character who worked aside another salesman with a bad character (but who knew how to turn on the charm for clients) once explained people to me.
"People don't change much unless they want to. Once they get into their forties - fifties I find all that's left to do is love them as they are."
//
Had Willy been so contradictory and obnoxious before he'd left town years before?
//
My complexion had never been pink. I tan. I'm yellow.
//
What the hell was wrong with Willy?
I suspected Willy did want to be loved, if not personally by me, then in general. He might have thought that if he showed Warts and All and was still welcome to share Sunday night dinner, then I loved him.
But I think Unconditional Love is for innocent babies.
Forget it.
There had been years before a moment in time where I thought that if he were not leaving town maybe "more" could happen between us and that I could love him as a man but now he wasn't likeable as a human. And we were not companionable.
He wished to dominate our hours together. I wasn't waiting on him hand and foot but he clearly wanted to be served as a guest rather than show he could be a partner.
//
I have a philosophy.
We sometimes take more from someone than we can give - without intending to never pay back. Sometimes it's our turn to give without expectation of pay back. Sometimes it's not me or you keeping accounts, it's God. Who else sees every side to a situation? There are times when I give senselessly and it's not just about helping a particular person. It's because there's someone else I owe who has senselessly given to me. You can't always pay back the exact person you owe but you can Play It Forward, moving the favors, spreading them around, making the world a better place.
//
Just when I thought it was enough time already to put into a friendship that wasn't feeling friendly, Willy surprised me. He said he thought it was time that he came over twice a week.
I said I did not want to commit to being home.
I had just gone through several weeks of Willy breaking a promise to me. He had said that, because of all those dinners I'd made, he was going to take me to any restaurant I wanted - all I had to do was choose. I chose a restaurant and, just like with the DVDs, he managed to veto one restaurant idea after another. Was I supposed to guess his preference and choose it?
I began to think back to other things he'd said he'd do or we would do - the list is longer than what I've mentioned here. Did he like to disappoint? Was he always waiting for someone else or a better offer to come along? Was he leading me on? Why? Was it inability or insincerity to follow through?
Did he not realize his own behavior?
Was he really just too screwed up?
You read the title of this post.
More than once we had gone somewhere and seemed to have a good time but at the end of our time together he'd shifted mood, was grumpy or inappropriate, said something to end on a sour note. So I'd stopped making plans to go places with him.
One time he got upset when I ran into a public bathroom and took too long. He accused me of "abandoning" him.
Perhaps it was his insinuating that I shouldn't trust my writing partner (for no good reason) or that he heard I was into Black guys (with all the stereotypical implications), or that he "wondered" where I went every day (Was he showing up during the day without calling ahead?) or made some other comment that wasn't a question but provocation, that made me feel increasingly uncomfortable.
Bait. Bait. Bait.
//
I hit the books, so to speak, trying to figure him out. Sure he was self centered and domineering. Was this his version of "masculinity?" Or was it Narcissistic?
But that was not all. He was on automatic to go against just about anything. If I said a Yes, he had No. If he said a Yes, he himself changed to a No. We were going to go. We didn't go. We had a good time. No we didn't. I want to spend less time. We should spend more.
I settled on OPPOSITIONAL DEFIANT PERSONALITY DISORDER, ODD, described as usually a phase of some adolescents, usually boys. It could be not macho but a defense of ego. Whatever, he had been stuck in early adolescence for decades. His parents were long gone.
//
One weekend I was especially tired. He called me on a Saturday night when I'd gone to bed early. I'm sure he could hear it in the sound of my voice. When I was hanging up without a mention of Sunday night dinner, he demanded, "You're not having me over for dinner tomorrow?" I said no. I said I thought I might spend all Sunday in my pj's. He wasn't cool about it.
Months after the two weeks the chairs were still there. I needed to make room. I had to ask him to find another place for them. He came to get them and cursed and raged at me. He had never before. It was the beginning of the final end of any friendship between us.
Now I actually began to feel afraid of him. Thoughts started going through my head like, "How do I end this friendship and not make him mad?" Not good.
He did find another friend to take the chairs to. A psychiatrist who told him he needed to see someone but it couldn't be him!
//
I came out of a store to see him playing with my dog who I'd tied up outside so I could dash in. He used the moment to tell me old friends of his were coming into town for Thanksgiving dinner and I was not invited.
He never called me again.
//
A friend of mine suggested that Willy was actually quite physically ill, that he might be going without medical treatment for prostate cancer. She said "Cranky Old Man Syndrome" was part of that. He did seem to be loosing weight and muscle tone. He was about half the size he'd been a few years earlier. He had some other symptoms of that disease as well. He'd warned me not to bring it up so I knew he'd considered it. I knew he had become Vegan and an anti-vaxer. He didn't go to the doctor. He had wondered aloud about who might bury him. Perhaps in contacting women from his past what he was doing was saying goodbyes.
He'd been desperate.
I understood.
//
One day months after our Sunday dinners had ceased, I stepped up to the check out desk at the library when suddenly there were two men next to me. Willy, rather than perhaps wait until I was done with my transaction with the clerk and follow me out and say a few words, had run over and lunged towards me on the right, interrupting. On the left side of me stood a security guard, an off duty police officer making extra to guard the library, glaring at Willy. Seeing me surprised, Willy immediately asked me if I was going back to my house, letting the officer know he was quite familiar with me. So the man backed off. That was street smart. I felt upset when I realized this officer had been watching and thought I was in danger. That day I finished with the clerk and left, leaving Willy behind.
Come What May.
C 2021
July 2021 I learned, as I seem to, that he died about this time in July 2018. Unfortunately as a victim of violence.
