He's Just Not That Into You

Sharing information is better than dying alone

When I was in my mid-20s I got broken up with. This was one in the series of breakups that that ex and I went through – it was all so toxic and the highs of getting back together were a part of that cycle too. But I took that one particularly hard maybe because the ex quickly found himself a new girl friend so it seemed more serious. He was really ostentatious about the new relationship and being in the same industry and circle of friends there was no way for me to avoid knowing about it. I retreated into drinking and dating in order to distract my broken heart, which were the only two “coping” mechanisms I had at that age.

I couldn’t afford therapy, I didn’t know where to go and I didn’t know who to talk to – at that time, it seemed most of my peers were either in happy babyrelationships or weren’t even bothering to date, still trying to enjoy our youth. My relationship was different because it was with a grown adult man and there were many dark aspects to it which I knew no one would be able to relate to (drugs, fame, real estate). And because all of that was happening before social media became a place where you could get & find some support – the jury is out whether this is a good practice but it’s better than nothing – I felt inexplicably alone.

Besides drinking and dating, for the first time in my life, I also crossed the floor of a large chain bookstore to the section next to the candles and blankets, where there was a shelf called Self Help. This was not a shelf I’d want to be caught with but there I was, trying to help myself because I didn’t know what to do and whatever I was doing was not helping, I kept feeling worse and worse and kept pining for the toxic spin.

I got myself a book that was very popular at the time called, He’s just not that into you, whose premise was simple – letting women know the man who mistreated them was just not that into them. That’s it, that’s the whole premise. It was a slim book, with many pages for doing homework – reflecting on chapters, answering quizzes, etc. – and chapters that presented various cases that always ended with the same conclusion. I thought it was both beyond stupid and beyond clever to create a whole book based on just one mantra, selling millions and millions of copies, and a movie adaptation starring Scarlett Johansson.

I’ve always been dismissive of self help and this particular one didn’t help me either, but there was no other information out there. So I bought more books about breakups. And I drank more and met more people that I myself was just not that into. Eventually, I went on a date with someone who was in recovery and this, by far, has been the best date I’ve ever had because it indirectly saved my life. My new friend noticed I was blacking out half-way through our dates and confronted me on it, and I asked my new friend to take me to a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. And that was the first place where I understood and saw the power of not just connection, but also of exchanging information about things that hurt. People were open not strictly about their drinking but they talked about things like breakups and every other little thing they struggled with. They called themselves out on their bullshit and they called each other out. My heart started to mend but not because I was over my toxic entanglement, but because for the first time I could talk about it honestly and because people were able to share with me what worked and what didn’t work with them. For the twenty-something me the meetings were a life-saving source of information.

Ever since that time, I’ve been a firm believer in exchanging information about things that hurt and whether I do it publicly – here or in my books – or privately, it is something that I know we all need to do more. It is way, way better than a crappy book with a good title. And the coolest thing about being helped is that you might know how to help others; this is another principle of AA that I’ve retained, which was to pass on the knowledge of hurt.

Recently, I had a conversation with a very good friend. They had a unique experience of going through a mental health crisis that is still quite a taboo and that you rarely see discussed. Not even rarely—never, I never see it discussed. To date, I know of four people in my life who had gone through it and I grew up with two family members who had it. Both people were repeatedly hospitalized and in both cases we were not even allowed to name this thing because it was so shameful. Officially, grandma was just a little “melancholy” and uncle was “eccentric.”

I don’t mean to be cryptic but it is not my place to tell my friend’s story but what I found really encouraging and inspiring was that they were able to get out of that hole on their own. What was not encouraging was that the friend felt so alone that they could only count on themselves.

I always found it so absolutely brutal that the people who need help the most when it comes to mental-health events are the same people who are most vulnerable are the same people who are also left in charge of their own rescue. Because of stigma and secrecy (and shame) and all that fun stuff, they are often completely on their own to find solutions. How the hell are you supposed to be both the victim and the rescuer? How are you supposed to call for help when your brain is telling you that will get you hurt, locked up, killed? I had a friend who once approached the police while she was in distress and they threw her in jail. This happens a lot. During a domestic incident, where I was the one asking for help I too had a cop tell me that they knew about my “mental health history” – we all have Google – and this was said after I burst into tears. So I cried harder. Then with whatever strength I had left, I stopped and shut the fuck up. I was lucky that day.

The reality is many of us are alone with our difficult shit. And the reality is also that many of us – the lucky ones – have also gotten ourselves out of it. That’s because we have no choice. We should have a choice but we don’t because it’s all shrouded in secrecy and judgement. My very good friend has done things that are quite heroic to get out of the hole and they shared some of those things with me – I hope to never experience what they have experienced but at least I know now it is possible to do what they’ve done. I too share whatever information I have about my experiences and I always will when I see a friend in distress or when I’m asked about it. I think if we learn to do this more and make it as much of a conversation topic as we do real estate or vacations, we all stand a chance of surviving this crazy world.

He’s Just Not That Into You was never going to save me — though it did briefly convince me I was doing homework for my own heart like a diligent idiot — because what actually helped wasn’t a mantra, but a person saying, Hey, you’re blacking out, do you want help? What helped was sitting in a room full of drunks admitting their catastrophes out loud. What helps now is a friend telling me the truth about their private hell, and me listening. Real self-help is showing up for each other, unedited, unashamed, willing to say the hard thing first so someone else doesn’t have to be alone in the dark. If there’s a shortcut to salvation, it’s that.