If You Want to Be My Friend

Being my friend is not easy.  Autism, as much as I wish it didn't, does affect almost every part of my life.  One of those areas is friendship. 

I'm a terrible friend sometimes.

Most of the time, it feels like I am That Friend.  You know, the one who's name comes up on your caller ID and you kind of cringe and then brace yourself before you answer or read the text.  I never seem to have good news.  I always seem to have something not-great to tell you.  I kind of kill your happy buzz,  I know.  I'm sorry.

But if you're willing to be my friend, I promise I come through in a clutch.  I can plan a pretty awesome birthday party. I'm funny.  I can be charming.  I can reach things off of tall shelves for you . . . .

Here are some things you should probably know if you want to be my friend.

1. Understand when I don't call/text/email/visit/forget your birthday/forget Christmas/forget your name. It's not on purpose, I swear!

Studies are now beginning show that autism moms have symptoms consist with PTSD.  Why?  Um, I think the key word is STRESS.  I do know that being tired all the time definitely affects my brain.  A couple of weeks ago someone asked me how old I was and, I'm not kidding, it took me a full minute to answer.  That's how long it took to process the question and think about the answer.

My memory has seen better days too.  If I don't answer a text or message the minute I get it, it's gone.  I'll never remember. Making lists is a great idea!  If I could just remember where I put the list I made . . . . I used to remember everything.  I used to show up early for things.  I turned in every college essay I wrote early.  I was responsible.  Now, I'm kind of flaky.  

To my current (and future) friends, I would like to wish you happy birthday from now until forever.  I'd also like to say, "I'm thankful for your friendship," and Happy Thanksgiving for many, many years. Furthermore, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.  I'd also like to throw in best wishes on your wedding, your children's weddings, and the birth of your (grand)child(ren).

2. Laugh with me

My life is hard and it's serious a lot.  I need laughter and fun in my life.   If I didn't laugh, I'd cry All. The. Time. I need people that can help me see the funny in things when I can't see it.  I need people that can laugh along with me.

For instance, when my sensory-seeking six year old decides that yes, he will use his fine motor skills (his occupational therapist was so proud) to spray shaving cream EVERYWHERE, you need to be able to make that funny for me.  Because 1) I'm not kidding when I say there was shaving cream everywhere, 2) I had to clean that shaving cream up and it was not fun, and 3) he ruined his new-ish Kindle in the process.

I want you to help to look upon this event with laughter:
You: Hey, remember when Gideon sprayed shaving cream all over your bathroom?
Me:  Yes.  That was yesterday.
You:  That was hilarious, right?
(Then we dissolve into giggles and finish drinking our bottle of wine.)

Laughter.  Best medicine ever.

3. Wallow in the mud with me

When something awful happens or it's just been a really rough day or week or life, people tend to say the same things to make me feel better.  "Just remember that God is in control."  "God has a plan."  Look, I know these things.  More than that, I believe them. But when I am really struggling, it's not what I want to hear.  You know what I'd like you do for me?  I'd like you to wallow in the mud with me.

There's a story of a man in the Bible named Job.  Job had it all--wives, children, riches, sheep, goats--and he was a good man.  Then one day, through no fault of his own, Job lost everything.  Every child, every piece of gold, every lamb.  All gone. As you might imagine, Job didn't take this well.

^"Now when Job's three friends heard of all this evil that had come upon him, they came each from his own place, Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite. They made an appointment together to come to show him sympathy and comfort him.  And when they saw him from a distance, they did not recognize him. And they raised their voices and wept, and they tore their robes and sprinkled dust on their heads toward heaven.  And they sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great." (Job 2:11-13, ESV)

Job's friends sat in the dirt with him, didn't say a single word, and that's how they comforted him.  Sometimes, even most of the time, it's not the words you say, it's that you were there.  It's that you give me a hug or a squeeze of the hand or sit next to me to show your support.  Sometimes, wallowing in the mud is what helps me the most.
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Being my friend isn't easy because I bring my motley crew along with me.  We are a messy (sometimes scary) bunch and that means I am messy (and sometimes scary).  But your friendships mean the world to me.  I can't even begin to tell you with words.  Maybe right now, our friendship is sort of lop-sided but some days I hope I make you laugh and, once in a while, surprise you with a birthday card (on your actual birthday).  Maybe there will be one day when I sit next to you in the dirt and not say a single word.   

Then again, maybe not.  But I hope we can still be friends.