A long talk on the phone with Buttercup usually means tears. Almost always, actually.

This time I beat him to the punch, and was already crying when I dialed him. I wanted to set up a formalized accountability partnership with him, to give me a bit more support in my attempts to stop drinking.

Buttercup is an unusually wise man, and prone to babbling platitudes with a twist. We spoke of my last blog, how baffled I was that four people had shared on Facebook. I laughed through the tears, but he went on. “People are connecting with it because they’ve found someone eloquent enough to put words to what’s on their heart. There’s value in knowing that they aren’t alone in a struggle. That’s what they’re seeing, that at least one other person can relate, that they aren’t alone. You’re influencing people. You’re benefitting them, changing them”

I was quick to backpedal. “Yeah, but that post was basically just me admitting that I’ve been drinking. How would that change someone’s life?”

“Just because the subject matter is dark doesn’t mean the impact is dark.”

That sentence may prove to be one of those that stick with me, like “You don’t get a soul until you’re 26” or “Learning is like boiling a lobster. Ideally they never know it’s happening.” Before this moment, I had never realized how similar that Buttercup is to Mr. Shaw, my beloved high school physics teacher. They are both whip smart, funny, and quotable. They even have that same nerdy white boy look, and I highly suspect that buttercup might also throw an electrified pickle at someone.

See, this is what blogging is good for. Putting words down can change your relationship to those words, and you can discover things that you wouldn’t have otherwise. I can’t say that the realization that Mr. Shaw and Buttercup are similar is particularly world shaking, but it’s something.

Just because the subject matter is dark, doesn’t mean the impact is dark.

I don’t know what it’s like to not be depressed. I live in darkness. I roll around in it. I wear it like a scratchy, asbestos laden blanket, and I know it’s not good for me but I don’t know how to go through the world without the bit of protection and solace it gives me. But just because I’m dark doesn’t mean my impact has to be.

That thought tasted a bit like hope. It felt like it the moment he said it, too. Which is why I scrabbled for a notebook and told him. “I’m gonna write that down.”

Buttercup preened a bit at hearing that, then went to his dejection cycle. There was proud of himself, flaunting how OF COURSE he’s worth writing down, a claim of getting written down all the time, and finally an aww, just kidding, nobody writes me down or ever takes me seriously. It was immediately back to me after that. This man has the quickest pity parties I’ve ever seen.

He ruminated on my support structure, I suspect because I had recently commented on how it seems like I never use it or reach out. “See, you’ve got this amazing support structure where you crack the door a little bit so people can see in, but you don’t let them in to interact. You rail on about how alone you are, but it’s a self fulfilling prophecy. As long as you’re holding everyone at bay, you’re alone. ”

I guess I’m opening the door a crack for him. I told him that and he said “I’ll wait for you to let me in, until then, I just need an eye hole. Hehe, eyehole.”

He went on. “Another thing you find as you spend more time with people and engage with your support structure is that we all wear masks. You know the masks.” It’s true, I can identify several of his very well. Other people too. I can’t say whether or not I’m any good at identifying someone’s real face, but then again, I don’t have any practice with that. I don’t think anyone does. “You have to realize, it’s not an unhealthy thing to put on the mask of a happy person. It’s like, laughter is the quickest way to… how does that go? A smile is the quickest way to become happy? Something like that. It’s only phony for a while and then you become it. Fake it til you make it.”

“Number one platitude, right there.”

“Well, you know, it’s what I’m good at.” He has a bit of a sore spot regarding platitude accusation, and I’m more than willing to take a poke at it here and there. “Anyways, play the role of happy. Surround yourself with things that make you happy. Do things that make you happy. You’ll become happier. I struggle a lot with the concept that I wouldn’t be able to describe myself as classically happy. But I really think that classically happy is an illusion.”

At this point, I see a car pulled over by the side of the house. “Oh, the dead people are here.” It must have sounded a tad strange. “I mean, they’re visiting the cross. Where the man got killed last year.”

“So the dead people are the people associated with the dead man, gotcha.”

I noticed the buoyantly affectionate Golden Retriever, Rusty, had crossed the line for the electric fence and was greeting the visitors.

“Go get your dog from the grievers.” Buttercup chastised.

“Not my dog. Gabe is coming. Besides, for all we know he’s helping them.”

“Holy crap, did you se how well you just reframed that? That was brilliant! Did you see yourself doing that? Wow. Learn from that, I bet you could get really good at-”

I was impatient enough hearing his praise that I interrupted and spat out the wisest thing I’ve said all day. “Of COURSE I thought of that. You act like I can’t see these things, I see all kinds of things, I just usually choose the bad.”

We both are actually a little stunned by how profoundly honest I was in that moment.

All he was willing to say to that was “Yeah. HOW-dee.”

We move on to talking about other random stuff.

When the call ended, I was laughing.

There were no more tears.