The Return (again) of Nervous William, pt 2

(this is pt 2 of a 2-part blog. if you're at all interested, start one entry down, please.)

OK. So, where were we.

When our story ended yesterday, my friend Nervous William had flipped out, proposed to me, and been sent away for confinement in a psychiatric facility. As anyone who proposes to me should be, I suppose. This was in March of 2001.

And so I didn't hear from William for a long time. I kept tabs on him, through his aunt, but let it be known that no matter how much I cared about him, I was going to be caring from a distance from now on. The spring passed, as did the summer, I think he was "back with us" in the fall, which was when I moved into the Poderosa.

And then Christmas rolled around, and I made my fatal mistake. Thinking about Nervous William out there on the holidays, I broke down and sent the man a Christmas card. Yep, I made that decision all by my lonesome. My buddies told me I was a fool. My family told me I should watch out. But you know, Mamaw Grasso, what did I inherit from her but a tender heart, and I was thinking of Wills and thought a little note of Christmas cheer might do him some good.

And all was well. Till January. Then the phone calls started again. And it was at that exact point I knew I'd been wrong and everyone around me had been right. Now, to the boy's defense, he'd developed a new strategy; he would not call me at home. Only at work, a plan that he adheres to to this day. But the calls started, short and sporadic at first, and then sporadic but longer. And rambling.

And that's how it's been since, really. A spate of rambling phone calls to the office, the occasional visit to the office (as he's also confined the visiting to there). Then a period of silence during which I'll find out there's some sort of "hospitalization." And a call from his mom telling me what a bad way he's in, and would I please call him, cause it's his birthday, or send him a card, because he always asks for me.

And like the total bigass fool I am, I do it.

The confinement before last came shortly after he called me and asked if I'd come to his house and watch movies with him. And I said very plainly "no." No reason, no raincheck, just "no." Then there was another, more serious, confinement not long after that one. During which I called once, at behest of the mother.

And yes, I ask myself that question too, folks, the one you're all asking yourself. Why the fuck can't you just tell these people to leave you the hell alone? God knows I'd like to. I mean, seriously, whatever bonds of friendship I ever felt for William are more than long gone, trampled to death by his behavior, his demons, his whatever.

But there's something that nags at me. What is it? No idea. Is it trying too hard to get inside William's head? And thinking, no matter what hell he's making of our lives out here, what's in there? He's probably thinking his friends have forsaken him and he doesn't know why. And then I think, you idiot! Of course he knows why, he's the most manipulative charming bastard I've ever known in my life!

And then I think, well, he's sick. He's got a disease, just like someone with cancer, or MS. And yeah, that's true. But I know in my heart that he needs help with his disease, and it's help I can't give him, no more than I could cure cancer. No matter how many rambling phone calls I listen to or hours I sit at my desk at work and let him waltz in and out regaling me with wherever his life (or head) is at the moment, it's not going to make him - or me - better.

And finally, I think, there but for the grace of God go I. I get depressed too. I have moments of helplessness, I feel sometimes like it's all too much. What if that were me; what if I couldn't reign myself in and get myself back on track? What if I turned into Nervous William?

The last confinement, the "serious" one (that coincided with some very bad behavior I can't really tell you about publicly) was quite lengthy. And he was home for several weeks before he started calling me, of course at work. But it's getting worse. And the visits to the office are starting. And they're starting to upset me. Worry me and piss me off.

When NW gets more manic, he has a certain habit - he lies. He'll tell me something going on his life, some injustice done to him, that without even investigating, I simply know is a lie. I know it's a lie. Time before last he was in the office he closed both doors to my office space and started telling me about a local minister. And how he went to this minister for some spiritual guidance and how he was mistreated. I knew it was a lie. I sat there and listened and let him get it out, but it was just another of his big fish stories.

Later that same day, as I was trying to get the office deposit done so the girls and I could get the hell outta work, he called. Sandy fended him off for a while, but eventually he got to me. And he started telling me about he was going to go back to school to get another degree in art. And I listened, and said fine, and started suggesting schools where he'd have to leave town to attend. (Even though this will never materialize. These things never materialize.)

He mentioned that he was probably too old to do all this, and I said in passing how, no he's not, Mr M was going back to school as we speak. Then Nervous William said something that sent a chill up my spine. He said, "I met Mr M." (using his name instead of "Mr M")

I sat there silent a moment. "You met Mr M." I repeated. "Oh, yes, I saw him at Kroger in B'field. He had taken your car and he was picking up breakfast items for the two of you one weekend morning. I was going to go up and introduce myself but I didn't want to be presumptuous."

This is not true. It can't be, because none of this has ever happened that it could be. I found myself being the object once again of some of the lying fantasy that fills his brain.

And it's at this exact point that I've had enough.

And I hope I still feel this way the next time he pops in, because I have to tell him that he needs a hobby and I'm not it. I know this. And I know that I need to not listen to my tender heart, or my pity, or his mother, or anything else. And I need to not worry that he'll end up in a hospital. I need to not worry about anything here. Except my own peace of mind.

Of course, I'm safe at home right now. All this is easy to say.