Reply to thread

Message

<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 766332" data-attributes="member: 18958">Yes, Beta. I know what you feel.My several close friends, almost all I've known 60, 50, 45 years NEVER ask about my son, with one exception. I specifically told one of them, she always talks about herself, and her kids and never asks about us. Now maybe once in every dozen times I talk to her does she in a perfunctory way ask about my J. Why even bother? She is a psychologist. When she does ask she and another friend want to diagnose or treat us. (That is, talk down to me, and make me feel she thinks she is an expert on my life. And I don't know a thing.)I am angry about it. I really am. And I get tired of hearing about the wonderfulness of other people's lives and their kids wonderfulness. My friends chidlren are in their 50's. They have fabulous careers, families, children, homes in fabulous cities, second homes in Portugal, England.&nbsp; This is a level of affluence and privilege that my life has seen none of.&nbsp; But to the point: my son, now 36, is Schizophrenic and homeless if I don't house him. There is NO empathy at all for me. There is NO understanding at all of what I face and deal with and NO wanting to know. No wanting to share. None.at.all. What is it about me that can't engender friendship and caring? Rather than loneliness I feel rage. They would never guess it. I wonder what that says about me?I do have a few people to talk to. My wonderful psychologist who is retiring in 2 weeks. My rabbi. M. But friends largely act as if I am childless.Or if I speak, they talk down to me. Beneath the anger there is a great loneliness and sorrow. I have poured that into these posts here. I am so grateful to you all.</blockquote>

[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 766332, member: 18958"] Yes, Beta. I know what you feel. My several close friends, almost all I've known 60, 50, 45 years NEVER ask about my son, with one exception. I specifically told one of them, she always talks about herself, and her kids and never asks about us. Now maybe once in every dozen times I talk to her does she in a perfunctory way ask about my J. Why even bother? She is a psychologist. When she does ask she and another friend want to diagnose or treat us. (That is, talk down to me, and make me feel she thinks she is an expert on my life. And I don't know a thing.) I am angry about it. I really am. And I get tired of hearing about the wonderfulness of other people's lives and their kids wonderfulness. My friends chidlren are in their 50's. They have fabulous careers, families, children, homes in fabulous cities, second homes in Portugal, England. This is a level of affluence and privilege that my life has seen none of. But to the point: my son, now 36, is Schizophrenic and homeless if I don't house him. There is NO empathy at all for me. There is NO understanding at all of what I face and deal with and NO wanting to know. No wanting to share. None.at.all. What is it about me that can't engender friendship and caring? Rather than loneliness I feel rage. They would never guess it. I wonder what that says about me? I do have a few people to talk to. My wonderful psychologist who is retiring in 2 weeks. My rabbi. M. But friends largely act as if I am childless. Or if I speak, they talk down to me. Beneath the anger there is a great loneliness and sorrow. I have poured that into these posts here. I am so grateful to you all. [/QUOTE]

Verification