By: Jessica Lane
Updated: Dec. 13, 2023
Originally Published: Jan. 28, 2018
Let me begin by saying I owe you an apology, not for who I am or my actions, but for the silence that has lingered between us. I’ve spent too long shutting myself off and retreating inward. It’s taken me considerable courage to put these thoughts into words, largely because I fear your response — and even more, I dread the possibility that you won’t respond at all. But I must express this: I miss you.
Even though you chose to ghost me when things became challenging, I still miss you.
I have a few important things to share, and I hope you will take the time to hear me out. Wherever you are, I hope you can understand.
I recognize that I wasn’t always the easiest friend to be around. I had my share of moody moments and times when I was overly needy, drifting in and out of emotional highs and lows. There were periods when I was a real buzzkill. I can acknowledge that.
The reality is, I live with a complex mental illness known as bipolar II disorder. On my good days, I am vibrant, spontaneous, and full of life; but on the bad days, I can be erratic, impulsive, and utterly broken. There are days when simply getting out of bed feels like an insurmountable challenge. Unfortunately, I have canceled plans and broken promises more times than I’d like to admit.
I can only imagine how frustrating it must have been for you to see me transform from the lively friend you knew into a shadow of myself, struggling to cope. I wish you hadn’t vanished when I needed you the most. On those dark days, I truly needed your support. Instead of standing by my side, you distanced yourself.
While you never explicitly told me that my mental health struggles were too much for you, your absence spoke volumes. You gradually drifted away, just like air escaping a balloon.
First, there were excuses, followed by canceled plans. The invitations to your home or outings dwindled to nothing, and soon silence enveloped our friendship. My calls were left unanswered, and my texts went unread. That silence was painful.
I want you to understand that it hurt deeply, not to make you feel guilty, but to provide some insight into the challenge of admitting mental illness. It’s a daunting and vulnerable experience, laden with shame and stigma. The fear of losing friends and family for being open about my struggles is a heavy burden that nobody should have to bear.
They say there are three types of friends in life: those who come for a reason, those who come for a season, and those who last a lifetime. I suppose you were one of the former. Our friendship had its time and place, and that season has come to a close. Yet, that doesn’t lessen the pain of loss. I miss you every single day.
Despite our friendship not enduring, it’s likely you will encounter someone else in need of support—someone who, like me, may be navigating their own mental health challenges. With nearly 42.5% of the American population experiencing mental illness at some point in their lives, they will require your understanding, compassion, and listening ear.
So, I encourage you to be that friend. You are not responsible for someone else’s mental health, but you can serve as a guiding light in their life. That simple act can make a world of difference for someone struggling.
I believe you have that capability. If not for me, then for the next friend who is in pain.
For more information on how to support friends facing tough times, check out this insightful article on Modern Family Blog.
Summary:
In this heartfelt message, the author reflects on the pain of losing friends during difficult times due to mental illness. She expresses her longing for connection despite the challenges her condition presents and emphasizes the importance of compassion and support in friendships.