I had never seriously considered starting a blog until my friend, Lou, insisted that I do so.  He believes that I should have become a writer and that, even though I chose not to pursue that career, I should find other ways to share my writing.  I finally agreed to consider it, but, until today, I took no action to accomplish it.

Lou and I usually email each other about politics, and I had assumed that any blog I might compose would focus on that topic.  I probably will write about politics in many future posts, but, at this moment, I am more concerned about something more personal.

I find myself in the uncomfortable position of worrying about a friend who might be in desperate need of help and being unable to do anything to aid him. My friend managed to reach the age of forty before being diagnosed as bipolar.  He found various means of self-medicating over those years, all of which are self-destructive.  He also learned to avoid detection and to escape the worst consequences of his condition and his choices until everything eventually came crashing down on him.

During the year that preceded his finally getting the appropriate treatment, we, his friends, became increasingly concerned as he disappeared for long stretches of time, sold his belongings, borrowed money from us, and looked increasingly worn and even strung out.  I sometimes only heard from him because he wanted to borrow money.  He also was unemployed for part of that period of time, so he could and did tell me that he just needed a small sum of money to cover some basic expenses.  Of course, I lent him the money.  I didn’t learn until later that he was borrowing money from me and other friends to buy street drugs.

Eventually, he ended in the psychiatric ward of a local hospital after trying to kill himself.  The psychiatrist prescribed Abilify; and we all hoped that, with the help of the appropriate drugs for his condition and ongoing treatment, he would improve.  Instead, he seemed to get worse.  He told me that Abilify made him feel as if he were suffocating, but he didn’t tell his psychiatrist.  And he continued to borrow money, disappear, steal money, and to get increasingly desperate.

Finally, two other friends found him and persuaded him to go to the hospital; and they took him to a different hospital, where a different psychiatrist immediately determined that Abilify was not the correct drug for his particular manifestation of bipolar disease.  After several days in the hospital, his head cleared; and he left for a residential treatment program.  For several months, he improved and was able to control his condition.  During this time, he was, as far as I could determine, completely honest with me, sharing details of his condition and his struggles, and seeking my opinion of the matters that were most consequential to him.  A couple of months ago, his depressions worsened; and he began to have more difficulty managing his condition.  He still told me all about it, but he stopped making it to our scheduled “coffee breaks.”

Then, a few weeks ago, he dropped out of sight.  No matter how many times I texted him or what I said, he wouldn’t reply.  I learned from mutual friends that he has begun to try to borrow money again.  The way they broached the subject was by stating that he’s on drugs again.  And they told me that he had tried to check into the hospital where he had gotten the appropriate help previously; and the hospital refused to admit him.  Apparently, because they have so few beds, they don’t admit a psychiatric patient until he’s truly, desperately in a crisis. When I learned that he was home again, I texted him again; and this time he replied.  But he wouldn’t tell me how he was.  He brushed my inquiries off by just saying that he was better and telling me no more.

I know from experience, though, that when he stops communicating with me, he’s not better.  Precisely the opposite is true.  Today, he canceled our appointment for a “coffee break” by sending me a one line email with no explanation and wouldn’t respond to my reply or to my text asking if everything is okay.

My friend is a kind, thoughtful, intelligent, engaging man who just wants the pain to stop.  So far, the mental health system has failed to help him.  I know that he, in the past, probably didn’t do everything he could have to help himself, such as being completely honest with his psychiatrist and psychologist and being assertive regarding his needs.  But he is reaching out and seeking help, and they are failing to do what they can to help him.

I’m just a friend.  I can’t do anything more than to offer help, offer to listen, offer to do whatever I can.

I believe that he will find a way to end his pain, one way or the other.  And I can do nothing about it.

All I can do is worry – and express my fear and concern in this post.