Setting boundaries.

I wrote a post last week that seems to have gotten eaten in the Resist! outage which happened simultaneous to my trying to publish – but no worries, there wasn’t much in there except a short account of falling on the sidewalk and skinning my knee because I wasn’t paying attention to the step in front of my house, so blinded by the sunrise was I that morning, and another little story about going ice-skating after work on Thursday. Both of these were interesting points in a week that started out rather crappy and got better bit-by-bit, mostly owing (I think) to the fact I got back to the gym and working out in the general and the endorphins are flowing again.

This past weekend was busy and a bit chaotic with visitors and other stuff going on in my head, but in general I’m feeling okay about it all and thinking a lot this morning about my need to set boundaries with certain people and in certain situations of my life. This hasn’t come out of nowhere of course. Part of my rationale for selling my Gibsons house was about setting a boundary with someone who wasn’t really keeping up his end of the bargain (and still isn’t). In my union gig at work as a shop steward I’m getting a lot better at saying no to people having immediate access to me (a surprising number of people think their union rep should be available as soon as they want to see them no matter that I have a regular job to attend to). But as of this past weekend I’m finally clear on what boundaries I need to set with one other particularly damaged person in my life, and have realized that if I don’t set those boundaries our friendship (if I can even call it that at the moment) will be subsumed by my frustration and anger at the situation and not worth anything to either of us.

I’m struggling with this, mainly because the friend has mental health issues and I know her past has been rocky and she is without much in the way of support. But on the other hand the hard drug habit and the behaviour that goes with it is making me feel pretty callous about her situation. Not that there is any intentional hurt, but junkie-behaviour has a tendency to drag everyone down alongside them, put everyone into the role of shifty enabler as the door or phone gets answered repeatedly to sell drugs, and the only topic of conversation (even among strangers) revolves around illicit drug use. I’m just not there in my life anymore – and quite honestly am at a point where I find the addiction repulsive to be around. (Not to mention the fact I realize that any advice or support I might give is for naught until this person decides to give up on the romantic-outlaw-druguser image for good, not to mention the drugs themselves).

Earlier this fall I identified that I was feeling burned out by two or three people in my life, which is now down to two, soon down to one (once I sell my house) and then what to do with this final person who so needs support? A confined friendship is what it becomes. A friend who I only see in the context of one-on-one until she gets clean again. Which seems heartless, to wall someone off from the rest of my life, but necessary in order to preserve it. I don’t want my step-daughter exposed to drug-dealing. I don’t want every social function I hold to be a meditation on her terrible life and possible death. And, as shallow as this sounds, I don’t want to be judged for the company I keep by the professional (work/union/community) contacts in my life. I don’t know what else to do because I can’t stop this drawn-out suicide and it seems that it’s only when she makes that decision we can actually be “friends” again as opposed to whatever this relationship has become.