Don't Fucking Judge Me, People

Tonight I attended the birthday party of a girl I've known since middle school. She looks fabulous and apparently has a full and happy life. I'm super glad for her and was thankful for the invite to her party.

The whole 8th grade crew was there and we all hugged and smiled and shared our lives with each other. Two of my closest friends from that awful time in my life, when my mother's mental illness really kicked in and I started my bipolar episodes. All those friends said they felt at the time that something was wrong with me. Neat.

Those women are now mothers, like me. Those women suffered postpartum depression and have an inkling what it means to suffer mental illness.

Yet I was told by one friend that the other friends didn't want to talk to me, were concerned about seeing me. I never did any harm to those people, and they had no idea what I'd been through, but they came to a decision in their narrow brains that I was no longer someone worth being friends with.

Gossip is always bullshit. If you want to know about goings on in a particular person's life, it's always best to ask them personally. And if you hear that a person is going through a hard time and/or had bad things happen to them, it behooves you to decide if it's none of your damn business or what can you do to help your friend.

Sniping behind a person's back and casting damning judgments upon them is the work of weak minds and bad "friends".

You know what? If you don't like me for who I am, mental illness and all, then fuck you very much.

I cried the whole way home from this party, after a drunk individual clued me in to the others' gossip. Why do I care? I was so happy to see my old friends after all these years and they sure made a big deal out of seeing me and wanting to get together and such. One of them in particular knows me better than almost anyone. Her family took me in, to some degree, when my own home was incredibly dangerous. Now it's all sweetness to my face and get-me-away-from-her behind my back.

I was not drinking or acting foolish. I was unnaturally quiet and still. I guess I disappointed everyone by not chugging tequila and dancing on the bar. It took me awhile to figure out I was a pariah.

I left and cried the whole way home. I cry so rarely that I'm not sure my eyes knew what to do.

This sucks.