"Friends" Part II

My early days on Orange is the New Black as a lost, broke, 30 year-old with low self-worth. The story centers on my dysfunctional relationship with my beloved “friend” Ben and his attempted suicide.

(Please enjoy this audio voiceover, read by me.)

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YOU HAVE YOUR HEAD SO FAR UP YOUR OWN ASS, YOU DON’T EVEN REALIZE WHAT A DICK YOU ARE. FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me, around the time of our breakup, winter 2014

Back to the THEATER. Remember that? It’s been a minute. Back to the message. I read it again.

Just drank 5 beers, a bottle of wine, and ate a bottle Klons and Lunesta. Adios.

I got over my giggles and some sobriety sunk in.

Fuck, I sighed. 

Ugh, Sari said, exasperated.

What should we do?

I guess we have to call 911

Ok fine, I said, resigned.

We got up and left the theater. Called 911, tried to get in touch with the homeowners where Ben lived in Atwater. We stayed on the phone with the 911 operator until we had confirmed that an ambulance was being sent. That somebody was able to get into his home. We got Ben’s best friend Luke involved, he was going over there, he was going to call Ben’s mom, he was taking over. By the time all this business had settled, we’d missed half the movie. We decided to leave the theater, take our candy for the road.

I went back home and finished eating the rest of my candy. I was still amped up, thinking about Ben, whether he was ok. I decided to call Luke and he picked up right away.

Hey, Luke

He had a sad lilt in his voice, exhausted, stressed.

Hey, Julie. Hey. How are you.

Ok, how’s Ben?

Well he’s at the hospital now, his mom’s coming tomorrow morning.

That’s good. Is he ok?

Yeah, he’s stable, pumped his stomach. He’s gonna be fine. You can go see him if you want.

Really?

Yeah, I mean, he’s at the Pasadena hospital, you just go to the emergency room and they’ll let you go in and visit.

Ok. I mean, it’s late.

Yeah, yeah, I get that.

An awkward pause.

Well thanks for handling things, Luke.

Yeah, no problem. Thanks for calling. Oh yeah, and I almost forgot his mom is coming tomorrow, but I have work and can’t get her from the airport. Is there any chance you could pick her up?

Uh, I actually randomly have a meeting with a potential acting manager in the afternoon.

She’s coming in early, like 8am.

Oh, yeah, I can do that. (I don’t know why I agreed to this. The thought of getting his mom made me deeply uncomfortable.)

Great. Thanks, Julie.

We got off the phone and I sat nervously. I tried to lay down in bed and get some rest, but it was useless. I pulled on a loose dress and converse and soon I was in my car again, driving through the empty highways out to Pasadena.

I arrived at the emergency room and spoke to the receptionist. They were accepting visitors for Ben, but I would have to wait for a bit,

I sat in a chair next to a Mexican family, a father and his two young children who looked ages two and five. Santeria played softly over the sound system and he sang along quietly. I wondered about their mom, hoping she was ok.

After about twenty minutes, a nurse came in to retrieve me and walk me to Ben’s room. The nurse didn’t speak to me and had no interest in my presence, just another box to check on the to do list: Walk nervous girlfriend to suicidal guy’s room.

When I entered the room, Ben sat up, elated to see me. His body was covered in wires, metal looking nipple like things on his chest, an IV, and he was hooked to a monitor that was continuously beeping.

JULIE! 

He extended his arms for a hug, enormous smile slugging across his red bloated face. His teeth, lips and tongue were completely black. Eyes puffy, swollen in tiny little slits.

I started to laugh.

Oh my god! You look ridiculous!!!

I couldn’t stop laughing. Ben started laughing too. We were laughing together, giggling like a couple of morons.

What did they do to me? He asked.

Have you seen yourself? Your teeth and mouth are completely black. You look like me on Orange, but worse.

They had me drink that charcoal shit, he laughed.

Do you want me to take a picture? 

No, no, please. Don’t document my depression.

He asked me how I got there, and I told him that he’d texted me and I’d called 911. He was surprised by this, he’d assumed it was Luke who had called. I told him his mom was coming tomorrow to be with him, and again he was overjoyed. 

She’s the nicest person in the entire world. Just tell her that I love you, and that will clear everything up.

Oh? This was the first time I was hearing these words from him.

Oh my god I need to PISS. I need to piss so bad, he started to cry out. Where do I piss???

I found a little plastic container by his bed.

In this?

I can’t piss in this shit. Get the nurse!

I stuck my head out to ask for help and the nurse confirmed that he did indeed need to piss in the plastic container.

Fuck, I can’t do this. Ben whined.

Do you need help? 

No, no. Just, just turn away, go outside of the curtain.

I stepped outside the curtain.

Oh my god, I can’t do this. Wait, wait, I’m pissing. I’m pissing. Whoa, I’m pissing so much. I just keep going. Holy shit. Oh my god, I’m going to fill this entire thing, it’s spilling oh my god it’s going to spill over.

I shouted back. Ben stop pissing, don’t spill the container!

I can’t stop, oh my god. Wait wait I’m done. I’m done.

I came out from behind the curtain and looked at the container. Imagine like a large plastic brita filter filled entirely to the brim with bright yellow lemonade, not a centimeter of space at the top.

Ben’s hands started to wobble and he screamed that it was going to tip. I called frantically for the nurse who thankfully swooped in and took it from him.

Ben smiled lovingly at me, extended his arms again.

Come here, come hold me. He patted his chest, enticing me to lie down.

I tentatively walked forward to him. Gave him a hug.

Lie down, please.

I squished next to him in his hospital bed, uncomfortable, nervous but obliging.

Can I tell you something? He said.

Yeah.

I love you.

Ok. I said, half smiling, half embarrassed. The words I’d wanted to hear in the wrong context. 

Aren’t you supposed to say I love you too?

Ben, can you tell me this tomorrow?

I’ll tell you this every day of my fucking life because I am so desperately and entirely in love with you.

Right.

Everything  I do, I think, what would Julie think of this? What will she say? I want to share everything with you. You’re the most beautiful, smartest, talented, brilliant person I’ve ever met.

I felt a barrier around my body, pushing back his words.

Why is this the first I’m hearing of this?

Because of you! Because you don’t want this. You want something better, you deserve better. But if you say you want a bipolar, depressed, broke, balding, alcoholic loser, you’ll be my girl for the rest of my life.

I couldn’t process this. These words I’d so desperately wanted from him. From someone. They felt good to hear. But not entirely. What did I want? I didn’t know. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.

Come here, lie down. You’re my angel. I love you, Julie. I love you.

He leaned up and tried to kiss me on my mouth and I turned away.

Your mouth, I’m sorry, it’s disgusting. I said.

Oh, sorry. He said, still smiling sweetly, open, as loving as a child, a saint, a guru, pure presence. He patted his chest again inviting me to cuddle. I rested my head on him. Held him.

I left the hospital around 2am. Drove home, took a Clonazepam and passed out.

My alarm went off at 7am and I was up again to get Ben’s mom from the airport. I stopped on the way for a large starbucks. My fatigue and benzo now combated by extra caffeinated anxiety, cup of terror.

I waited at LAX arrivals for about 45 min when Ben’s mom, a small, cute brunette emerged with a rolling suitcase in tow. I opened the trunk and helped with her bag.

She got in the car and seemed displeased to be there.

I’m sorry it took so long to get my bag. She said.

No problem, I said in a high pitched, overly cheerful voice.

You know, she frowned, I’m a flight attendant and I get a free rental with my points. I just assumed I would rent a car. I didn’t expect anyone to pick me up. 

Oh, I said, anxiously. Luke said you needed a ride. I’m so sorry, do you want to rent a car?

No, that’s ok. This is fine, thank you.

I had google maps up on my phone in one of those little car holder clips on the dashboard. The maps started spouting directions repeatedly, loudly. I was distracted. I pulled out onto the road not looking in my mirror and someone honked at me.

Fuck! I’m sorry. Shit.

Ben’s mom gripped the side of the car.

As we drove ahead, we chatted about nonsense, nothing important, trying to make pleasant conversation. Not about Ben’s suicide attempt. She seemed as rattled as I was, barely able to keep her composure. At one point I mentioned that Ben and I were dating and she seemed surprised. 

You and Benjamin are dating?

Yeah, I mean, yeah.

I was confused by her surprise, because well, I’d slept at her house in her son’s bed over Thanksgiving.

Well he’s in no position to be dating right now.

She was right, but I didn’t know what to say. I continued driving, google maps talking over us, interrupting us, distracting me. I’m normally an insanely safe and amazing driver, but I couldn’t get it together. I kept missing exits, swerving into lanes. Ben’s mom, my lack of sleep, the suicide attempt, the declarations of love, had all put me into a state of panic. 

When we parked at the hospital, Ben’s mom exhaled deeply.

I need a muffin, she said.

Me too.

We sat together in the waiting room, eating our muffins, not speaking much. Finally the nurse came out and ushered Ben’s mom inside. I sat, staring at the tv, not actually watching, too tired to think, to process. About ten minutes later Ben’s mom returned and said I go in and visit him.

How is he?

He’s actually doing pretty well. Great spirits.

Oh, that’s so good to hear! I said, excitedly. He was in great spirits last night, too!

She looked at me side-eyed, confused. He was? 

I got up nervously, swatting muffin crumbs off my shirt and beelined for the nurse, eager to avoid more awkward chatter.

When I entered Ben’s hospital room, an old woman sat in a chair by the door. She looked up to me and nodded. I smiled.

Ben was laying on his bed. He acknowledged me with dead eyes. His mouth was no longer black, someone had cleaned him, brushed his teeth. He didn’t try to sit up. His mother’s report was apparently completely inaccurate.

Hey. he said, not smiling.

Hi. How are you feeling? I replied, hopeful, too cheerful.

He sighed. Paused.

Like absolute fucking dog shit.

Ugh, sorry. I sobered my tone a bit.

He pointed to the lady at the door. 

This is Gracie, by the way.

I waved. Gracie nodded again.

Is Gracie your babysitter?

Ben rolled his eyes.

Yup.

In case you try to kill yourself again?

I guess. 

I looked to the tray next to Ben’s bed, a plastic cup of jello. A half eaten turkey sandwich.

How was lunch?

Disgusting, and it probably cost me five hundred dollars.

Oh shit, yeah, I was worried you would be mad at me about that.

About what?

Me calling the ambulance. Because you don’t have health insurance.

Did you call 911? He asked, incredulous.

Yeah, you don’t remember? 

No, sorry. I just assumed Luke called.

No, I called. 

Thanks. He seemed pissed off. Not thankful. 

There was an awkward silence. I wasn’t sure what to say.

When did Gracie get here?

She’s been here this whole time. She was here when I woke up.

She wasn’t here last night.

Ben cocked his head, confused.

How do you know? Were you here last night?

My throat tightened, strangling me.

Oh my god. I croaked

What? He replied anxiously.

I was here until 2AM.

Ben let this sink in. His mind spinning, trying to remember. Trying to make sense of things. He noticed my irritation.

Sorry. He said flatly.

Do you remember anything? Maybe he was lying, embarrassed about the declarations of love.

I remember everything up until I downed the bottle of Klonopin.

Really? You seemed so with it last night.

I did?

I mean, not entirely, but you didn’t seem blacked out. You were being really funny. We talked for like three hours.

What did we talk about?

You said a lot of shit.

Like what?

It doesn’t matter. I wanted to leave. I didn’t want to talk anymore.

What? Tell me. Ben pleaded.

Well... I mean... You told me you loved me... Like a thousand times.

Ben took this in. A moment passed in silence.

Yeah... I was blasted. He shrugged his shoulders.

The tightening in my throat got worse.

I need to get out of here. Ben said, a disgusted look on his face. I’m bored out of my fucking mind. No offense.

I felt a bitter stinging sensation in my jaw. My wound scab picked off clean. I held my breath to hold in tears.

Wait. Ben looked at me, realizing I was upset. He softened. Smiled for a second.

Will you give me a hug?

I hugged him. My mind elsewhere. In my nobodyness. In my pain. I smiled, clenching my teeth, trying to hold it together. I said a warm goodbye and left.

Thanks for coming. He trailed off.

I had to race home to get ready for my meeting with a potential new manager. A meeting I’d gotten through an executive contact who liked me on Orange is the New Black. The manager worked at a large agency in Santa Monica, a fancy building with glass windows and leather furniture, dozens of employees. 

We sat in a conference room behind glass doors. The assistant handed me a bottle of water. I tried to smile. I tried to appear normal. Confident. But my hands were shaking. I was so tired, so drained, my anxiety spiking. 

This was one of my usual anxiety triggers, having to meet with people in authority, people with power over me, who could help me in some way, or judge and reject me. I never did well in these meetings.

The manager was a short white dude in his thirties wearing a full suit. He asked me a few questions, and I stumbled through answers, unable to offer anything profoundly compelling, unable to charm. He asked me if I’d had other meetings, I said yes, I had, this was true, four or five of them. He asked me with whom. But I couldn’t remember. I drew a total blank. I couldn’t remember their names, their companies, I could remember a single one. It appeared as if I was lying, even though I wasn’t, I never lied. I couldn’t lie. He shook my hand and I left. 

That was a fucking disaster, I thought. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck Ben. Fuck me.

I drove home, crying the whole way. 

Next I heard from Luke that Ben was going to the psych ward for 72 hours. It was mandatory after a suicide attempt.

I hoped to rid myself of Ben, a part of me wanted to be done with him, but I thought about him constantly over the next three days. I wondered how he was doing. I wanted to know if he was ok.

As soon as he got out, he texted me immediately. He wanted to see me. I felt a bit of a thrill receiving his text. Maybe he did care about me afterall. Maybe he remembered the love profession, maybe he would confess to it. I was so eager to see him again.

His mom was still in town taking care of him, supporting him. We all went out to dinner together at our usual burger joint. Ben was in a much better mood. The psych ward had scared the shit out of him, and he was so happy to be out, to be free, to be alive. He thanked me genuinely for calling the ambulance. His mom was in better spirits too. We all were. Lighthearted. He was alive. He was home.

Ben invited me to sleep over in his Atwater guest house that night, with his mom. The only way I can explain this, after this life or death experience, was that we wanted to be together, to celebrate Ben’s life. I lay on his bed with him, holding his hand, his friend. A true friend. His mother slept to the right of us on a cot. This was all so weird, and yet it felt normal, it felt ok. We were there for Ben.

I drove away from his house the next morning with a sense of ease, peace. Maybe it was ok to just be friends. Maybe that was all I wanted from him anyway. 

After this, Ben moved to Culver City to live in a house with one of his best friends, and I weirdly decided to move into Ben’s place in Atwater Village. We were on completely opposite sides of LA, the distance making us less eager to see each other. I was also busy working full time and rehearsing most evenings with my sketch group. The relationship was on its last legs.

Some more shit went down with Ben. I wrote him a horrible email about how awful he was. I can’t remember what triggered this, probably his depressed behavior, his lack of enthusiasm about our “friendship”. He told me it was the meanest letter he’d ever received. This was probably true. I was in a fog. A haze. Things I see so clearly now, I couldn’t see then, I had so many blind spots. Our relationship ended finally. A messy demise.

But as they say, time heals all. Now, a decade later, Ben is still my friend. He reads my substack and texts me his thoughts. We talk about collaborating on projects together. Making music again, movies. I sometimes ask him for computer help. He’s married, so am I. I admire him, respect him, and I'm grateful to have him in my life, finally, purely, as my friend.

Ben and me playing music together, unrehearsed, this song perfectly incapsulates our relationship.