The long and the short answer to this was that I loved him. The problem was that I did not know how to love him. I did not listen to him when he expressed through every action that he engaged that he wanted to die. I was punished for asking; demanding; even begging for him to live. It took me a long time and enormous amounts of wasted energy to realize that he had cut me out of his most intimate moments, which I longed to share. I was so naive. I listened to what he said and turned a blind eye to what he did (or didn't do), never understanding that that too was a language. He lived out his suicide script and he's been dead now for a little over 4 years. In that time, I believe I've gone def.
Over the past few weeks, I have taken on an inappropriate parental style role for my friend's son. This kid is turning out to be quite the little shit in a passive/aggressive fashion. I've watched this child grow up to the young adult he is today, and I've been tracking his progress. There was a time when I looked into his eyes and knew beyond a doubt that someday, he would get in touch with his anger and abandonment experiences. Like clockwork, he has arrived, and it will not be difficult to detect the fallout. Some time ago, foolishly, I attempted to intercede with he and his family system. As a result, I am now, in his eyes, part of that system, and now subject to the covert and overt vengeful behavior that he is using to cope with the pressures associated with post-adolescence.
This evening, though it was communicated in a playful manner, Sonny stares me straight in the eyes with a mocking glare as he pulls a pocket knife out of his right front pants pocket, and opens it up with a flick of his wrist. As he is holding this, never taking my eyes from his eyes, I popped him in the gut causing him to lurch and laugh. I did not laugh, did not smile, and with the straightest face I could muster, did not remove my gaze. He said "Ow! I wasn't ready for that. That hurt!". My reply was, in a calm and matter-of-fact demeanor , "Don't ever do that to me again. Ever!" He walked out of the kitchen, and I resumed interactions as best as I could not drawing any more attention to the matter. It at a time like this where I will sit back, re-examine my roles in this friendship, and step away.
This child has informed me that he is not going to constructively work through his anger, and out of compassion for him and for myself, I am going to remove myself from involvement in his family pathology. I am not equipped to help him, and he is not looking for help, and to force it upon him would be most ill on my part. Despite the probability that his continuation of this behavior will lead to death (of himself and/or of others around him), I must remind myself that he has choices, and he is exercising those choices, and those around them are also making choices. I am not God, and I am not able to rescue someone who is not going to live.
A part of me is still angry that I couldn't save him. The "him" here is now arbitrary, because there have been many "hims" that have fit this kind of description. There was a time when I would have chased this child to the ends of the world to try and save him. This is my problem to work through, and no one else's. There is much that I am capable of when it comes to helping; however; I cannot save him from himself.
1 comment:
we attach as correlated with what we perceive to be the recognition of healthy boundaries and limits, or not. Until dysfunctional boundaries are recognized, we will continue to re-present and replicate a variety of pathos originating from within our own inner Psyche. and that of the family system or tribe. therein lies psychological maturation: the ability to recognize healthy boundaries and limits, and unfortunately, or not, that usually leaves us separated from the herd. Then again, "I would rather be a pig sitting in shit and knowing that it's shit than one sitting in shit and exclaiming it's a banquet!"
Post a Comment