This is the second post I have made since I found out you had yourself a little heart attack.
Thank you for being my friend.
We met in the most unconventional way, and yet you became a real friend, and I will miss talking with you.
I hope your walk on the red road was a good one.
I’ve not been writing, not really reading others, working as usual, actually missing less time now that things have “settled down” and I’m back on a schedule, have no bugs, and no common cold, nor pneumonia.
So how am I doing, nine months after my friend had herself a merry little Strokemas? (Jesus, did I just type that and sing it in my head while doing so? I did.)
I am pretty crippled.
The last nine months have been the hardest nine months of my life. I feel abandoned by practically everyone. I can’t interact with people I have been really close to, without feeling abandoned by them. Isn’t THAT fucked up?
My friends, the people that love me, want to be able to say the magic words. I want someone to say the magic words. I want to know what the fucking magic words are!
The sad truth of the matter is that there is no magic anything anyone can say. I know this. They know this. And yet I am just terrified of losing other people. With some, I can feel the awkwardness of not knowing what to say to me, or how to deal with how I am so different. Yes, I am VERY different.
Melissa, was not my first best friend. I was 24 the first time I met her, She was 18. We became best friends when she married. I bar-tended her reception. We both got pregnant that year. I was 28 when I had my daughter. She was barely 22 when she had her son 6 weeks later. From the last trimester on, we were inseparable. Like I said though, she wasn’t my first BFF ever, but she was my soul mate and the loss of her, has really fucked me up.
I remember sitting by her bed, and realizing what was going on (the bigger picture) as I spent more time with her. I knew I was going to lose her. The bullet had already left the gun. It was then I realized that she was my soul mate. I’ll always remember the look on her face when I just started thinking my thoughts out loud to her. “You know what?” Her eyes got so big. I knew she was asking me “What?” so I continued. ” I’ve always hated the word soul mate. Women use it in a serial manner with men. The word has been cheapened. Serial soul mates. I just realized that all this time, my soul mate has been right here with me.” Her brow furrowed. She closed her eyes and a tear fell out of her left eye, rolling down her cheek towards her ear. I wiped it, told her I loved her…the 11 days melt together. The traumas become fuzzier, but I get flashes of the weirdest things, that just drag me away with them. There remain things, I can not say. Not on the internet, and not with most people. But these things need out. They are eating me up. I can’t keep them and they won’t let go, so I am in desperate need of some help.
I know what I WANT to do, but it is not conventional, nor would my insurance cover, nor sanction it. It is not something I want to do on my own. I would need a guide to get me through what comes up and out.
Not a day goes by that I don’t think of her. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her. It doesn’t get better. It gets amplified. Sure I feel less RAW, but there is a hole, and there is nothing that fills it.
I can’t hear this and not think of her. I change the lyric appropriately. She was and is my hero, regardless of her faults and flaws. I loved her like no other. She wasn’t ordinary though, not to me.
I started writing, because I kept having a thought over and over and I really just wanted to type it out, so I’ll leave you with what I was craving to say:
I lost my best friend and cried for the rest of my life.
In two days, your memorial happens.
I sat at your bedside for eleven days. I said so many things, told you how loved you were, took a list in with me the last night I saw you to say every last thing I could think of saying and I still feel like I haven’t said goodbye.
At the time I remember saying I’d never say goodbye because you’ll always be with me. I feel like I’ll be going to watch other people say goodbye, but my heart knows in some way, I’ve got to say a kind of letting go goodbye. You will still always be with me, but I’m going to have to cut a cord or something. I don’t feel like I’ll ever have closure or peace, but I’m desperately craving and seeking both.
I haven’t been writing, because I fell in a hole again.
In five days, I “bury” you at your memorial. I definitely feel like I am going to watch other people say good-bye to you, because I don’t think I’ll ever say good-bye, even though you need to let me go.
I dreamed of you all last night, woke up with a few tears falling and heard myself saying good-bye, but don’t go yet. I am scared this is going to be an emotional and hard week.
You told me (?) that was you and that you did come to me that night to show me how you were seeing things and what your reality would be on life support. I wish it wouldn’t have freaked me out when I realized you were with me. I wish I hadn’t gasped and said “MEL!”, and then woke up.
I miss you.
Please let go of me a little. I know that sounds weird coming from someone who will never let you go all the way, but you can’t keep hanging onto the part that makes me ache. I need to remember our friendship and love and not the last two weeks of your life and death.
There is so much love.
The birthday card you gave me the second year we were friends, you signed it Sick n Sin and told me you loved me. The day I finally stopped lying to you about my bruises, stitches, and marks. Unconditional was your support and love. When The Girl went away. Not once did you tell me to get over it, move beyond it or, put it away. You didn’t care that ten years went by and I was still hurt, angry, self-destructive and not done grieving. You never asked me to hurry it up. You never asked me not to be angry at Jack, or hurt by the same. When The Girl came back, you were as happy for me, as I was. When I talked to you about my fears, what DO I talk to her about, and what do I NOT talk to her about. You understood and supported me in NOT bringing up that Superbowl Sunday, till she seemed ready to remember or talk about it.
When I wound up with The Knuckle Dragging Face Breaker and he broke my face, you didn’t judge me. You didn’t ask if I didn’t see the red flags or tell me how fucking stupid I was for moving in with another abuser. You told me he was an asshole, that you would like to put your concealed weapons permit to use, and that you loved me. When I told you, the night you had the god-damned-mother-fucking-fucking-fucking-fucking stroke, that I regretted not making a police report, you reminded me that I could still do it, and you would support me through it, because…you loved me.
When I wound up talking to Mr. Yummy again, you were happy for me, and you because you got to have a sex life, vicariously through me. When I was on my way to his house, that first time again after fifteen years, and I took the wrong turn and was freaking out, you were reminding me to breathe, and that you loved me. When I told you the next day about the previous night and how nice it was, and then about him still having my hemp shampoo after 15 years, you laughed and told me you KNEW that it meant he still had feelings for me and you KNEW there was still a seed there for the love we once had. I didn’t think twice about you saying that till I was in Texas after the fucking, fucking, fucking stroke and I found the hemp hand lotion I had given you 15 years ago was still in your drawer. I knew instantly that you saved the bottle because I gave it to you, and you loved me.
There’s so much love.
I think of you every day. I try to think of the good times, the fun, the laughs, then special quiet times we had, the wake n bakes, the trashed dancing. Honestly though…the shit is still flinging itself off the fan blades 7 months later.
I think of the many examples I saw in Texas that just brought such absolute pain to me. When your medication was withheld, and you were in fucking pain because someone ELSE had an issue with you having morphine too often. I mean heaven forbid you might get addicted as you lay there dying in pain. I asked the staff when you were last given pain management and was told 5 hours. I didn’t know if I should choke “HER”, or the staff, but you can damn well make sure I told them to give it to you, and they did. Knowing you were photographed in NICU really pissed me off and I wonder all the time, if you were aware when it was done, because if you were, you were fucking hurt and pissed off by that. You would have never violated anyone like that when they were hooked up to life support. You’d have bitched at the person and insist it was deleted. I saw so much and learned so much, and I realize now why you never mixed certain people.
I more than ever understand your pain, why we were the best of friends and family, why you did some of the things you did. I am so sorry I couldn’t fix your pain any more than you were able to fix mine.
But it was you and it was me. We were so close in spite of our wounds. I know that I’ll never have a friend like you again, and I am OK with that because you were my kindred, sacred, soul-mate. I was so lucky to have found you, and to be part of each others world for 25 years of our lives.
I am having such a hard time without you girl. I got blocked from Facebook, because of that illegal name I had. I never used my real name when signing up and regardless of the fact some people have REASONS for anonymity when a social media service makes it easy for someone who broke your face to find you. I refuse to give them my real name, so I guess no more Facebook for me. It’s been almost a week. I don’t really miss it and find it really fucking funny that no one has noticed me gone. Today though, I just realized that this will only make it easier for me to isolate myself, not pick up my phone, not reach out.
I’m pretty sick too. I think I might have pneumonia. I know I should go to the doctor, and should have a week ago when I coughed up a mouthful of bright, fresh blood after a coughing fit that pushed my parting gift rib injury from my ex-husband, back out of whack. Mr. Yummy said he thought I hemorrhaged something in my throat while hacking. Since my throat immediately hurt afterwards, I believe him. But still, I haven’t gone to the doctor.
I am not in crisis, but I’m not here. Part of me is just dead. I don’t know how to “be” without you, because you were such a part of me. I was closer with you, than any romantic relationship I have ever been in. You were just, part of me. You still are, I just don’t “feel” you anymore because I am dead or in pain. Is this ever going to end?
I love you and I miss you.
Fuck if things aren’t hard. I take eight steps forward and fall back seven. I cried on the way home today for the first time in a long time. My life is so shattered. How can it be that this is sidelining me so fucking hard?
I’m up to my what’s it with Mr. Yummy. I feel a fool. I’ve been in love with him for 15 years and here I am living with him and I feel so cast aside. I told him I feel like he doesn’t even like me. He says he does, but the thing is…I have become a friend. I’m an old friend that he happens to fuck. I don’t ask him for much, and as more time goes by, I ask for less. I feel…negated.
How much of this is because I lost you, and how much is because we will never be what we were before?
I can’t do this Mel. I hear myself say, “I don’t stay where I am not wanted.” I feel the ramping up of the “bolt” but I am so aware that I ran before so I refuse to run, and I stay somewhere that I have become sad, miserable and worst of all, lonely.
I want to give up. This is the first time I have said this to another living soul. I don’t feel good.
That’s all for now.
I fucking miss the world out of you and I am hating on life right now.