It is not quite 4:30 am and I am waiting for my clothes to finish their wash cycle before I throw them in the dryer. Meanwhile, I am sipping decaf coffee here in front of my desk, while nursing a mild but persistent and annoying toothache. I have had to close the window because there is a man in the neighbouring building with his window wide open and he is talking quite loudly. I think he is alone, and likely talking to himself, as the rhythm of his voice doesn't indicate a phone conversation. I cannot tell what he is saying, and with the window closed I can no longer hear him. It isn't anything personal, but there are sounds I would rather not have to listen to first thing in the morning, especially when I have not had adequate sleep. I do feel a certain compassion for this person, because he is likely alone, isolated and suffering from mental illness. See the order, Gentle Reader? Alone. Isolated. Mental illness.
I myself am considered vulnerable. I have no family. I live alone. I am older and live on a low income. And my gender on my birth certificate says I am male, whatever that's supposed to mean. I have successfully overturned one bogus mental health diagnosis. Even if I actually ever did have PTSD, I am recovered now, and I will not let a diagnosis, nor the resulting stigma, define me or the way that I live. But I am still isolated. Somewhat. I have friends, even if some of them could, and I think, ought to, be a little more available, but we live in a narcissistic age dominated by the ethos of Me, and I think we have all been really corrupted by this.
I am attending a church, Anglican, that is full of selfish Anglicans who would like to be Christians (or to be thought of as Christians), and some even bust their asses doing things for and around the church. But to be really accessible as friends, well, I have had to tailor and cut back on my needs and expectations. I seem to be the only one there who doesn't have any family and this makes me particularly vulnerable. I live in a state of perpetual imbalance with these people, because they always have the ballast, responsibility, blessing and frustration of their own spouses, parents, kids and siblings to keep them busy and distracted. When your life has none of that filler you can find yourself confronting quite the bottomless abyss. And no one even knows this, nor seems interested in knowing it, since everyone is going to assume, often erroneously, that everyone else is just like them, with all the supports and advantages and privilege in place that they have always taken for granted.
People like me, are in a certain way, doomed. We are always going to be at a disadvantage. We are always going to be vulnerable to social rejection, isolation, self-harm and suicide. When we try to assert ourselves we are seen as a nuisance, except by the rare person who is so enlightened by the love of God that it isn't a problem for them to reach across the abyss to people like me. People who are not going to tell you to go to hospital emergency if you are feeling lonely. Someone who is not going to expect you to look into getting assisted medical suicide, now that they are broadening the category of those who can apply.
I do continue to reach out to others, people with and without privilege and social and family support, because as one who wants to reflect Christ in my life, that is what I am going to do. I do not want to end up like my neighbour who can be as annoying as a barking dog, who like a barking dog, behaves this way because he is lonely and unwanted. This isn't going to be easy, but I am going to keep trying, and to keep addressing, accepting, and sometimes rejecting trade offs. I only wish that people at church would pay attention to what I am trying to tell them.
Or maybe I need to pay attention to what they are trying to tell me: they don't care and please could I stop bothering them.
In order to grow we have to become less selfish. There is no alternative.
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