Do you ever feel like no one even sees you, unless they are TOLD to?
Ya know, like a cashier or a doctor?
That’s how I have felt for ten months.
Everyone who has ever mattered is just gone and I am standing here desperate for a hug and some attention.
It grows tiring and I am pretty close to done here.
Only you could hear this, and understand my true meaning and how this relates to our friendship, my loss, coming to after the wreckage of the stroke.
Mr. Y and I had a talk a while ago. It wasn’t pretty. I don’t know if he meant to use his words to hurt me, but he did. The worst part, was him saying I was made the CHOICE to go to you in Texas, put myself in debt, etc. and that it was different from the choices he would have made. I mean I felt bad about the fact that I ran to you. I felt like it was wrong, but on the same hand, only I know I have been silently wishing I hadn’t gone, and given myself those last memories of you. No the worst part was him spitting at me that I have made him feel like a storage unit, a toaster and that he has given me everything and I want more.
I realize though, that I knew you were dying. As soon as D said the words, “My mom had a stroke and is in surgery now having a clot removed from her brain”. I knew.
And yet I don’t regret you dying and knowing, I was there for you and loved you and I had your back. It’s just that now, I hear the line, “If you walk out on me, I’m walking after you…I’m on your back” I lived this and it didn’t have a happy ending.
You can’t be everything. If you were, then I made a mistake of not eating a bullet and living another day to say I am alive. You just can’t be everything. My life was happening without you being here. You left a long time ago to Texas and I thought I would die then, but I learned to adjust. I learned to live again. I learned to be happy again. Granted I was on the phone with you damn near every day, I had learned to live without you in many ways. I began taking chances, I reached out for happiness and pretty much had it till the day you had a merry strokemas.
As much as I love you, I remain SO disappointed in you. You were too smart to be that stupid. So selfish. You left your fucking kids. You put something really other than them in first place. At first it was a person. Then it became the self medication. I have moments where I am still really fucking pissed off at you. It leaves me sitting here thinking, “Fuck you and your anguish. Thanks for destroying so many other lives (mine) on your fucking way out you bitch.”
I miss you and love you.
And always fucking will.
I remember saying to your kids, the day/night before the memorial…”You know, I know your mom never really was a Foo Fighter fan, but there’s this one song…I hear it and it drops me to my knees.” #1 replies that there is a song for him as well. We both said, “My Hero”.
This morning, I realized I am doing with the Foo Fighters, what I have done after every other life altering event. I listened to 1GiantLeap for two or three years, almost exclusively. Same with Eminem:Recovery, after The Boy.
Apparently, for you my Dear non loving Grunge Head…It’s not about you, it’s about me, so you get the Foo Fighters. I hear each song I have known for years in a new way that relates to you.
This is the crime against your life…I know.
I know, you gave your best to one person and you were used up till, well, the next one came along.
I know that sadly, someone will grow up not knowing that: Someone got the best of you.
I also know what song I will dedicate to you if I reach the end of my long living road of grief.
It’s not always bad when I go quiet. Sometimes, I am off having the time of my life.
That is not the case as of late. It’s been a pretty bad couple of months. After the memorial, I just went dark and deep. I have been, and remain very depressed and slightly suicidal. Being slightly suicidal is like being a little pregnant.
I’ve had some pretty dark moments. I now know what cold metal tastes like. I couldn’t do that to Mr. Y. He would hate me forever if he walked into his house and found me like that.
I know. I’m pretty fucked up.
I wonder where did I go? That woman who was so tied to the Universe and creation? Where is she and how do I connect with her again?
I want to talk to my emotional twin. I miss her. I miss feeling her. I miss laughing with her. I miss looking beyond our differences.
This is all for now.
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.