Tele-Therapist, Cell-Counselor

I almost went out on Thursday night for one reason and for one reason only: it was April 29.

I haven't written about it in quite some time, but it used to be a very big deal to me. And I guess it still is. It is, after all, my lucky day. (Not that I believe in luck... but I do have a special affinity for that date.)

I guess, if nothing else, I give myself more permission to follow my impulses on April 29 than I do on most days. I trust more in the universe.

Maybe that's silly.

...

Okay, fine, it's silly. But I don't care. It's more of a tradition at this point than a superstition.

(Although if as many fortuitous events had happened to you on the same date in different years as have happened to me on April 29, you might start to pay special attention to it as well.)

And I wanted to go out. (I won't lie to you... I wanted to use the date as an excuse to drink and make bad choices. Perhaps involving a person in whom I wish I were not interested.)

And right after I sent out a mass text that I would be going out, and that people were welcome to join me, I got a phone call from Brian.

I didn't end up going out. And I am completely and totally okay with that. Talking to him was more important.

I love that he came to me when he had a problem. I love that.

I still love Brian, but my love for him has taken a different shape than it had before. I love him as a human being.

I'm different now. I'm stronger. I'm wiser. I'm less dependent. I'm more determined. He's different, too. It's hard for me to articulate how, but I can feel it. Every word I try to put with it isn't quite right. He's hardier? He's broader? He's older? They're all wrong. They're all circling something. Maybe I don't fully understand what it is. But he's a different Brian. And I'm a different Angela.

It's probably ridiculous to admit this... but I guess the part of me that is still Angela from 2007 still misses the Brian from 2007. I suppose that part of me will always exist.

But I like how my friendship with Brian has evolved. Present Day Me is incredibly grateful to have Present Day Brian in my life in exactly the capacity I have him. And I think he feels the same way.

The strange thing is... I'm so distant with most people in my life these days that, though I rarely speak with him, I might still call Brian my best friend. He's certainly high on the list.

Anyway. I was glad that he called. And I was happy to put aside my April 29 fantasies for him. I didn't miss them at all.

Honestly, I don't know if I helped him. Realistically, I doubt I did. But if nothing else, it was nice to be able to be there for him. He's been there for me at many times when I desperately needed someone. I was glad to have a chance to return the favor.

...

And then came April 30.

...

On April 30, I got a call from a different person in my life. A person who always seems to be in a dire situation, and is in need of immediate help. And Mr. Dire needed me again.

I have talked Mr. Dire down on several occasions, over a span of six months. Considering that I have only known him for about 15 months, and have seen in him person maybe 15 times (and haven't seen him in 10 months), I'm not sure how I got the role of "savior" in his ongoing drama, but I did. I am the person he calls when he's having a panic attack. I am the person he calls when his social anxiety acts up at a party and he needs an excuse to get out. I am the person he calls when his self-esteem plummets. I am the person he calls when the suicide hot-lines aren't helpful enough.

He only calls me when things get pretty bad. And I care about his well-being, so I pick up the phone, even though I know that by doing so I am accepting several hours worth of him calling me, begging me for validation, hanging up on me, and then calling back.

Maybe this is one of the remnants of the Savior Complex that I've been trying to eliminate.

It's difficult. It's painful. And it's frustrating. It takes so much energy for me to try tactic after tactic of trying to help a person whom I can't help. I know that I can't do anything until he chooses to help himself.

Last night, Mr. Dire kept calling back. He had left the bar where he'd had a panic attack, and was wandering the city he was visiting in the dark, with no idea where he was, upset and presumably intoxicated. And couldn't take it anymore. I ditched him. I told him I had to go to bed.

It felt selfish. And mean. And I'm not particularly proud of it.

But I had to get off the phone with him. I was tired. And stressed out from my own life. And making no progress whatsoever in improving his self-esteem, or calming him down from his episode.

I feel like I barely even know this guy. I don't know how to help him. Although apparently, he thinks I'll know how to help him, as he keeps calling me.

Which he did.

After I got off the phone with him, Mr. Dire called me back. And again I told him I had to go to sleep, and we got off the phone. And again he called me back. And again I said goodnight. And then I fell asleep briefly, and was woken up by him calling me back (at which point I saw that during the brief time that I had dozed off, I had actually missed more calls from him). And I got off the phone with him one last time. And I felt like a terrible person for doing so.

It's hard to abandon someone who is so clearly in need of help, and who has reached out in your direction. And in the moment, it feels like the wrong decision (at least to me). But sometimes, I think it's the healthier choice to make. Part of me feels selfish, and the other part feels brave.

Mr. Dire is not dead. He's fine. He texted me today. First with an apology for last night. And then with more of his usual "I hate myself" sentiments.

I'm leaving the country. For two months. I hope he finds someone else to need, because I won't be here. And to be honest, I don't want the job back upon my return.

How is it that I so love the job of counseling through the phone when it's Brian, yet loathe and resent it so when it's Mr. Dire?

See, this is why I didn't follow through on being a psych major. I'd rather pick and choose my roles.

May you never feel guilty for saving yourself.

~A~

P.S. I drank on New Years' Eve. And I didn't drink again until April 24th. I also drank on April 26th. And again on April 27th. So perhaps not drinking on April 29 broke some sort of streak I was starting. Which I guess could be a good thing.