Up up up and then so far down down down

I over think things, I question every action I take far too much, and then there are moments where I don’t question it at all and I feel like I should. I feel like right now, that may be one of those times where I should be questioning my shit a little bit more than I am. But, if everything feels so right, how could I dare let logic interfere? How should I tell myself that all of this is lies and slander; how can I explain to myself that I’m just going to end up in the same boat that I was before as far as pain and suffering goes?

I guess these are the risks that hopeless romantics take. These are the things that happen to us on a regular basis, this is the reason why most of our lives we’re just picking up the pieces of some part of us that use to be whole. We let people in, we let down our walls, we hope that maybe they’ll understand us, and then we get burned harder than we were ever burnt before. Or, even worse, we get silence.

I met a boy on the internet a couple of weeks ago. I think that I like him more than I should. He sends me songs that I’ve never heard before, he’s read the same books as me, he says all of the right things. He can go from being the sweetest thing ever, to being the cruelest thing ever, but the cruelty is more just an odd term of endearment. No worries, it’s not actual cruelty. There’s this odd amount of balance about him that strikes a small flame in my heart, that makes me feel like there are butterflies floating about, that makes me wonder if I can have feelings. There’s something about him that makes me feel reckless, that makes me feel like I should make rash decisions, that makes me feel like I could be in love. Yes. Love. So fast, so sudden, there it is. Or, maybe I’m lying to myself. Maybe I’m poisoning myself, slowly but surely. The problem is, if that’s the case, so is he. He’s poisoning himself with me. Maybe we’re about to kill each other, maybe it’ll be beautiful.

I feel like I’m at a point in my life where I’m trying to defy something that’s as natural as gravity. I feel like I’m telling my brain to get fucked and jumping on the rollercoaster that is my heart, once again. I feel like I’m holding on and I don’t see and end in sight, and that nothing else in the world matters. I feel like everything is so right and so wrong all wrapped up into one big, giant burrito.

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Then, on the other hand, I feel broken. I feel lost. I feel like I’m hurting. I feel like I’ve lost something important in my life. I feel like I’m lacking. I feel like I’m trying to fill up the empty spaces as quickly as I can, in an attempt to not hurt so much anymore. I feel like I don’t have the right words to say, that the only people who I want to be around right now are too far away. I feel like I want to set money aside in an attempt to at least try to make it to Steph’s dad’s memorial. I feel like a 4hr drive is a lot more plausible than a 6hr drive, but I feel like I should be able to do the 6hr drive too. It’s bad enough that I missed what was held for Brad. I shouldn’t miss this at all. I should be there, I should see my friend, I should say my goodbyes.

There won’t be any more epic stories, no more talking about music for hours on end. There won’t be any more words of “you don’t know how to drink, little girl” or any more shots poured for me. There won’t be any more family gatherings, birthday celebrations, or moments of heroics with him there. All I can ¬†think about is how much it hurts to me, and how much more it must hurt for my best friend to lose his dad. I can’t imagine losing my own dad. I’d be so broken right now.

If I lost my dad today, I don’t know that I’d be able to function tomorrow. I feel like, at times, I’ve lost my dad years ago and he’s yet to come back. There are small little glimpses of him here and there, but I think that now that I’m an adult he just doesn’t know how to talk to me. He doesn’t know how to be a dad anymore. He calls my bluffs all the time, he asks me if the things that I’m doing are for good purpose or for some broken brain issues that I’m having when it comes to over-analyzing my situation. He reminds me that I’m a failure as far as being a parent goes. He makes a big scene whenever he can. He’s stressed out, he’s lost inside of his computer, I feel like I don’t even know him half the time. I miss the mornings I’d get up in the morning and get a ride from him to school. I miss stopping for coffee along the way, I miss our talks, I miss just having him near me. I use to think that when my dad was with me, that I was safe. Now, when my dad is near me, I just get mad because he’s so far fucking gone into his laptop.

Sometimes, I wonder if my dad even gives a shit or if he just pretends that he does because it’s his duty as a dad. It’s one of those “do you love me because you love me, or do you love me because society tells you that you have to love me” things. I just feel like 99% of the time, my parents loathe me. They hate the choices that I’ve made, the situation that I’ve managed to get myself into, they don’t like any aspect of my life. I feel like every time I’m around them, I get some look of disapproval. I get lectured about something, most things, and I feel like nothing I do is right. I keep trying and trying to please them, but there’s no pleasing people who¬†choose to be so miserable.

And to think, my dad use to be the most important person in my life. My dad was the one that I ran to when I began to realize that I had a drug issue. My dad was the one that I felt I could talk to without too much fear of judgement. My dad use to be the light of my life, where has he gone? Why can’t I have those things anymore?

Letting go

I’m not sure where to start this, so I suppose that I’ll start from the very beginning.

Several years ago, when I was around 14-15 years old, I met what soon became one of my dearest friends. I remember him, like it was yesterday, sitting in a dark room in a trailer that had no heat, wrapped in a blanket in a recliner chair, playing games on the ps2. I had his brother with me, who at the time was my closest friend in high school, and I had two other friends with me as well. We all smoked a bowl, and we laid on the bed and giggled our asses off while Andrew sat there in his chair shaking his head at us “noobs”.

Over the course of the following years, I became closer with him. I tried dating him off and on a few times, but I always chased after something that I thought would be better for me; I was wrong. I took the relationship that I had with him for granted. I could talk to him about literally anything in the world, and I know that he’d never judge me. He told me regularly how much he was in love with me, the love he had for me was unconditional. There were a few times where we’d go without speaking because I was too afraid of hurting him, but it never would last more than a couple months at a time. He was always there for me each time my heart was broken, he was there with the biggest hugs that would pick me up off of the ground, his shoulder absorbed a lot of snot and tears from, I loved him more than words can say. He was there for me, no matter what.

When I was 16, he tried to run away with my friend (his brother) and I hated him for taking Zack from me. I hated him so much for taking my best friend… and I hated him for leaving. I missed him, more than anything, I missed how he just didn’t give a fuck. I looked up to him, I looked up to his courage, I admired how fearless he was. how he didn’t care about just sticking a thumb out and going wherever the road would take him. He did so many things that I had always wanted to do. He was always into some kind of trouble, into fights left and right, he had a skateboard and a mohawk, he was all punk-rock.. He gave me my first mohawk, which he screwed up beyond all reason.. He called me up on the phone whenever he was able to while him and Zack were on the road. The two of them eventually had some kind of a falling out and wound up going separate ways while they were gone, Zack wound up settling down in California and Andrew wound up hitch-hiking home… He came back with stories about how he’d walked 20-40 miles and I was all he could think of to keep him going. It was super romantic, and super stupid all packed into the same thing. I loved him for it, I adored him to pieces. He made me feel like I was special, like I was on top of the world, like I was valuable.

The last time that I saw him, it was his birthday. I took him out to dinner at Kit Carson, bought him a burger, and then we went out drinking in Rochester at a party. I was worried the entire time that he’d get into some kind of trouble like he usually did when he was drinking, but he was fine. He didn’t get into a single fight, I was so proud of him. I took him home, and on the way drunkenly started crying. I looked over at him and he told me “You know I love you, right? I’ve always loved you, and I always will.” My heart sank, I was in a long-drawn-out relationship that was highly toxic, but I had a daughter with the guy I was with. I sat in silence. I hugged him goodbye, kissed his cheek, and told him I’d pick him up the next afternoon for hempfest.

I took him to hempfest with three other people, they hot-boxed my car on the way up, we tried as best we could to walk through the park where it was in Seattle but it was so full of people that it felt near impossible. I didn’t smoke the entire time, by my own choice. I got some lemonade with Andrew and we sat on the rocks by the water and just talked about life, random things, things we always talked about. It was then that I decided that it would be bad to continue to string him along, I cared too much about him.. I decided to distance myself. I loved him too much to see him hurt while I was with some guy who I was completely aware was terrible for me. I stopped talking to Andrew for a few months before I finally gave in and called him.

Every single day we would talk on the phone, before I went to work, while I was at work on my lunch break, after work on my way home, while I was at home on my days off and bored.. We talked so much on the phone that I’m fairly certain that’s why I hate talking on the phone today; it reminds me of him.

The last time I talked to him, he had said that his friend David was coming up to visit. That they had plans to go out drinking together, I told him not to do anything stupid (as I always did) and I told him to have fun. I didn’t think that this would be the last conversation we had, but I still remember it like it was yesterday. I still remember sitting in the “smoke-shack” at work on my lunchbreak and wishing that I didn’t have to go back inside while I was on the phone with him. We talked about how great he was doing, how he was all set up to go back to school, he was going to be a mechanic. He hadn’t drank in a long time, he’d been steering clear of drugs, I was so fucking proud of him.

On May 16th, 2010, I went to the beach with my parents. The entire day I was uneasy, I knew that there was something wrong. I got a call from Andrew’s phone while I was sitting on the beach watching my daughter play in the sand, I smirked and answered. It wasn’t Andrew. It was his cousin’s wife, she told me that Andrew had passed away. I sat there stunned. I sat there heart-broken. I sat there feeling like I was in a million pieces. I felt like my entire world had just turned upside down. I felt like a complete wreck. I called Jessy and told her, she offered to come out and meet me at the beach. I told her not to bother. I remember sitting in the car on the way home and hearing about how Ronnie James Dio had just died, and I remember thinking “leave it to Andrew to take an amazing rockstar with him”. I cried. I cried so hard. I cried for days and days, months, in fact there are still days that I cry when I think about him. It’s all I can do not to cry while I type all of this up.

His memorial came and I couldn’t even sit through the entire thing. I sat outside and chain smoked, I bawled, I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I couldn’t help think about how all these people didn’t know Andrew like I knew him, I couldn’t help but think about how fake most of them were.. I couldn’t help think about how badly I wanted to kill his ex-girlfriend for saying that Andrew ever loved her. I couldn’t help but hate the entire world for taking him away from me.

I told myself that the day I was ready to accept that Andrew was gone, the day I was ready to let go of it all and take another step forward, I would get a tattoo in memory of him. It’s been five, very long, years. Every single day I think about him, I wish that I saw him walking down the road, I wish that I had some kind of a sign from him. I dream about him occasionally, still, and it eats me alive, but today… Today I am letting go. Today I went and got a tattoo in memory of him. Today I am taking that large step in, what I believe to be, the right direction. Today I am accepting that this is how things are. Today I’m saying goodbye, Andrew.. Today I’m saying I love you, but today I’m opening my heart and accepting that I can love other people too, not just you. I’m accepting that no one will ever be like you, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t hold them as near and dear as I did you. Thank you, Andrew, for teaching me so many things, even after you left.

Let today be remembered as a major milestone for me. It really is.

I chose the anarchy sign because it’s something that he was passionate about. It reminds me of how rebellious he was, how firm he was in his beliefs, it reminds me of his carefree attitude and his punk-rock ideals, and it’s something I care about as well… He had one on his arm, poorly done by a friend with a home-made gun, and I figured nothing would suit him better than this. I got it the closest place I could get to my heart, because that’s where he’ll always be and where he’s always been.. and, well, That’s where he belongs. That’s where my memories are of him.

This is me letting go.

Rest in peace.