Get A Hold Of Yourself

"I've never gotten used to it, I've just learned to turn it off."—Dylan


My friend J has become a pseudo older brother figure to me, recently. He’s always saying I’ve got to go easier on myself, not fret so much, not invest so much in other people. He’s right. Certainly my friends who aren’t so sensitive to the actions and emotions of others seem happier, well adjusted, and basically calm. How did they get this way? And why aren’t I like them?

Sometimes it helps to know I’m not the only one. My best friend D and I are basically the same person—I think we must’ve come from the same pod. D is the only other person I know whose emotional structure resembles mine. Just the other night, we were talking on the phone about how people seem to tread so carefully in friendships—only meeting once or twice a month for coffee, divulging as little as possible about their personal struggles. Maybe all the emotional stuff is just too dirty for some people to get into—or maybe they’re simply too self-involved to endear themselves to someone else on such an intimate level. D and I’s friendship began in the eighth grade and we’re still going strong. I think we’ve remained close because neither of us is afraid to be vulnerable in front of the other. We’re not afraid to say, “things are really bad and I feel like they may never get better.”


Don’t get me wrong, I’m not Conor Oberst, thrashing my emotions around like a zombie in search of blood. I have Oberstian moments, but most of the time I’m more of Joni Mitchell—who once said she was a “bundle of exposed nerves, totally transparently vulnerable.” She said there was a moment in her life when she would just cry if someone showed her any affection: love, friendship, anything. She just broke down. And that’s when she wrote Blue, which is one of the most beautiful albums ever recorded. This brings me to my next question, which is, to be a successful artist doesn’t one have to be a bit exposed, a bit manic . . . a bit insane? I think so.

I thought I was in love once. Maybe I was. I was so desperate to get that level of intimacy into my life, with someone I could trust and be vulnerable with. I suppose it’s all about the struggle for “real” experiences—my real self is someone who’s incredibly sensitive and emotional. I wanted a friend and a lover, people who could accept that. I suppose I’m lucky to have found one of the two. Still, I don’t understand when and how everyone got so drained, so isolated, and so uncomfortable. Are we afraid we might actually let someone get under our skin? I have, and I survived (just barely).

Would it be so terrible?

It's the End of the World, as I know it--- or is it?

Sylvia Plath to Richard Sassoon (her ex) on March 6th, 1956:

This part of the woman in me, the concrete, present, immediate part, which needs the warmth of her man in bed and her man eating with her and her man thinking and communing with her soul: this part still cries to you: why, why will you not only see me and be with me while there is still this small time before those terrible and infinite years; this woman, whom I have not recognized for 23 years, whom I have scorned and denied, comes to taunt me now, when I am weakest in my terrible discovery.

For, I am committed to you, out of my own choice (although I could not know when I let myself first grow toward you that it would hurt, hurt, hurt me so eternally) and I perhaps now know, in a way I never should have known, if you made life easy and told me I could live with you (on any terms in this world, only so it would be with you)--I know now how deeply, fearfully, and totally I love you, beyond all compromise, beyond all the mental reservations I've had about you, even to this day.

.................

Four months later, she married Ted Hughes.

On Friendship

As I get older, I find it harder to make friends and even more difficult to keep friends.

Why is that?

I suppose by the age of 25 or so, one is supposed to have carved out a life for oneself. At 25, you're either still in school, or working, possibly married, maybe even a parent. Life starts settling down. People take sides, move to the suburbs (or get rich and stay in the city) and start living.

But now people get married later, stay in school longer, move more- all of my friends from high school are still in school- my friends from college still in college. I have several friends here in New York, luckily, but what is the chance that everyone will return to the same place?

Maybe I've been spoiled by those four ladies on Sex and the City, or the close friendships I had in high school- always having a best friend to turn to, either in person or a phone call away. But people change. Their priorities change. Relationships take a first seat, sensibly. But I keep calling and trying because I want it to work. Friends are invaluable. They are essential.

At the end of the day, all you need to survive (if you're me) is someone who knows you, understands you, and accepts you for who you are. Sounds simple, but these people are extraordinarily hard to find. These friendships require time, effort, and commitment.

Because when everything goes to shit, knowing someone's there, behind you, proping you up even though you feel like you don't have two legs to stand on-- that support is the best connection between two people: greater than passion, or love--it's understanding.