In high school I was a conflicted person. I found myself torn apart by a desire to do good and be a well-behaved kid, one who pleased his parents and teachers. At the same time I was angry and irritable. I grew frustrated with others often. Amongst the students at my school and my church I was a black sheep. I was into punk rock and the lifestyle it led, minus the drinking and drugs. But I dressed the part. I acted tough and indifferent.

I found myself not in any huge trouble, but got kicked out of my fair share of classes due to speaking back to the teachers. At first I felt guilty for my actions but suppressed those feelings because I was so angry at everyone and everything.
 
I didn’t realize at the time that my anger and frustration was in part a result of being a teenager. It was also in part from my depression and irritability. I didn’t know how to express myself and everything I felt. I didn’t feel as though there was anyone I could speak with about what I was going through.
 
In my college years I stuck out like a sore thumb. I went to a conservative, Christian college. Although I identified myself as a Christian at that time, my sense of humor, style of dress, and attitude aligned with punk values caused me to stick out.
 
The story of everything that occurred between then and now is long. And I can’t point to only one or two experiences which changed my way of being. I now dress like a lot of other people, although I eschew trends and high fashion. I’m as comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt as anything else.
 
What I’ve discovered is the best way to stick out and set yourself apart as a radical is to show kindness and empathy. So many people are drowning in hate, frustration, and anger. Loving others who frustrate you is a radical notion.
 
Especially in the age in which we live, taking time to listen to others will set you apart. It will cause you to draw attention more than someone with a pink mohawk that is a foot tall or if you have piercings all over your face. It takes physical strength to endure a tattoo or piercing. But putting one’s self out there for sustained periods of emotional challenges is fierce and not easy.
 
So why do I go this route? Because the payoff is remarkable. And because I’ve learned that being rude and talking back to people feeds on itself. It solves nothing and leads to no progress. It strikes with the fist and crushes others. But showing dedication and love to others can make lives better and cause others to smile, hope, and live to their fullest.

Some aim to live in power, lording themselves over others. My goal is to show humility. It’s a wonderful path to take to be this kind of black sheep, and something far better than any type of outcast I may have been in high school.

I write a lot about connections, loneliness, and belonging. It’s important to have community in our lives. It makes us healthier, physically, mentally, and emotionally. And even though I’m not yet forty, I’ve been fortunate to have some friendships for over twenty or even thirty years. I find those friendships rewarding. We do our best to keep in touch via email and social media. I also try and visit these friends once or twice a year. Our brief times together provide me with much encouragement.
 
But there’s a flipside to this: how do you know when it’s time to end a friendship? As an article on friendship pointed out: “When getting together feels like an obligation, you dread seeing someone or you walk away from dinner feeling angry, frustrated or dissatisfied, it may signal that the friendship is faltering and the end is near.”
 
It’s possible we have a toxic friendship. There are people that abuse our time and sympathy (I call them emotional vampires because they suck our emotions and give nothing back). It’s often the case that we wish to do what we can to save the friendship—especially if it’s one we’ve maintained for many years. Yet, for the sake of our own mental health it can sometimes be best to end that relationship.
 
When I have found a friendship to be overwhelming me emotionally, what I often do is first try and confront the friend in an honest manner. I let them know what they’re doing and that while I still care for them, they way in which they’re approaching our friendship is difficult for me.
 
If that gentle reminder doesn’t help, it is good to speak again with them. But if repeated discussions don’t change the person’s behavior, it can be best to extract one’s self from the relationship.
 
In doing so there might be feelings of remorse and sadness from letting go of something that you may have once held dear. But keep in mind that your mental health is what is most important in this situation. It can be key to look after yourself, especially if the relationship is causing mental or emotional distress for you.
 
When it comes to the actual extraction, lessening the frequency of communication is the best means to do so. It doesn’t mean to stop speaking with them cold turkey, but it can mean instead of your monthly call or email, make it every other month. If you’re in their city or town for another reason, don’t reach out to let them know you’re there. If they find out later you were around, assure them you were busy the entire time you were there and didn’t have a moment to spare.
 
If the friend confronts you on your behavior, be honest with them. Explain that you spoke with them about changing their behavior to make the friendship more equal and that s/he didn’t adjust. Tell them that you have to watch out for relationships that are difficult for your mental health. There is no reason to feel shame—your mental health is more important than any of your friendships.
 
The relationship may find a rekindling. That is the ideal situation. Your friend sees how their actions caused problems with your relationship and then changes their behavior. Barring that, though, you may have to make a clean break with that friend. It can be difficult and there will likely be feelings of remorse and as though part of you has died. And it’s okay to feel that way, because when we lose something important in our lives, it’s natural to grieve.

At moments such as that, turn to other friends and family. Give yourself time to feel your feelings. And then continue to build new relationships. Leave the past in the past knowing that you did your best to save the friendship and had to look after yourself. And when dealing with the precious area of mental health, you can never be too safe. 

My brain has gotten me to the hospital emergency room more than the rest of my body. I’ve been twice, both in 2011. I read an article about people who had bad experiences in the ER with their mental health so I thought it might be good to share what’s happened to me. I wrote about my first experience in the ER in the last blog entry. You can find that here.
 
The content below is an excerpt from my memoir, Fiercely Lonely, which will be released at some future date.
​
The second time I was in the emergency room it was as though I was another person. This time was for an actual suicide attempt, as opposed to the first experience, which was for suicidal thoughts. After my attempt to take my life I became dead inside, but somehow still functioning. It was as though my mind kicked into a role it knew how to perform, but one which I was unaware of until that moment.

I went to a different ER than the first occasion, one closer to my apartment. In fact, I walked through Harvard’s Arboretum on a sunny, warm June morning. I listened to the birds chirp and saw the squirrels play and then proceeded to stroll into the hospital. I carried with me my gym bag packed with clothing and items I knew I would need for a week at a psychiatric facility.

At the hospital nurses and doctors asked me questions and with no shame I answered them in a blunt manner. I told them exactly what I did and spared no detail. The staff acted cool and calm and casual. Sometimes they were friendly. At other moments alienating, their conversations mechanical and detached. A suicide experience heightened their senses, though. I understood they took it seriously by the questions they asked and the way they approached me. The questions were the same as the first time I’d been in the hospital: “What did you try to do?” “Why did you try to do it?” And down the line it went.

I didn’t have to spend the night at the hospital the second time. Once again, through this new survival role that my brain possessed, I advocated for myself. I made sure to speak up for what I believed to be the best option for me.

The first time I was in the psych ward, people who could talk and were coherent shared everything related to their mental health experiences. They rated meds and doctors and other hospitals. They told me the best hospitals to go to, and while in the hospital the second time around I still remembered their words. “Can you see if there is room at Lochstead for me?” I asked the ER doctor. “I want to go to Lochstead.” Time stopped and I exited. Lochstead it was.