The past few months of my life, I’ve truly been through the ringer. I’ve been to hell. I’ve been there, and I’ve stayed there. I’ve started escape the flames, only to crawl into the frying pan. And from the pan I’ve gone straight back to the flames.
I lost one of my best friends in this world, who I am now terrified of. I can’t quite put a finger on why, but I cannot even bring myself to think of hearing from him. I’ve blocked all forms of communication, with the exception of a written letter. It scares me, to think he could crumble all progress I’ve made, no matter how little it seems. But in retrospect, I did make progress. I no longer awake with my heart aching from loss, from sorrow, from grief. I no longer dream of his hand on my face, his ice-blue eyes, and his smile. I don’t dream of those things anymore, no.
I dream of a terror, I have nightmares, I awake in a cold sweat.
But that’s beside of the point.
I am afraid of him, but he’s done me no wrong. He wrote me, once, in a book that we both loved, that “you’ll have me as long as you want me.” And that’s the problem, I never stopped wanting him. I never stopped needing him as my friend, as my confidant, as a shoulder to turn to when I was scared. I reached out to him Monday night, after the bombings in Boston, because I was scared. I was shaken, I was terrified, I was four miles away but at the same time I was four miles too close. So I reached out, and he lent me a few comforting words.
I did not know where else to turn, my best friend of over a decade walked out nearly a month ago. For reasons I cannot fathom nor pretend to understand. Her explanations left me hurt and reeling, and in the end they left me feeling proud. I lost two of my closest friends in this world in two shorts months.
I am truly excelling at friends these days, it seems.
Through everything, I have not pushed anyone away. I brought everyone closer, and perhaps that was my mistake. Holding onto to everyone as though they were a life raft, a light at the end of the tunnel that I was pretending to see.
I never stopped needing him, her, or my friends.
And I know those feelings go away, and I know that heartbreak I feel when I see a picture, think of a memory, or dream of him, but right now it still feels so raw. Who am I to have not recovered in two months time? I never struggled like this before, and I think it’s because I need support and words more than ever. But the problem remains that I don’t know what words I want to hear, only that I need the right ones, even if it results as a product of multiple sources– I need the words, the secret, the utterance of something to uplift myself from these flames.
I keep my face to the sky, but the problem with that is I see everything I love dearly because I’m stuck so far down. The only way up and out is to build a ladder of words, love, and hope.
