That's it. This year's been an odd one for friends and for trying to figure out who I am.
I turn my back on two, and while I make friends with two more, I loose one of the closest friends I had to suicide.
The thing is, I'm getting along fine with his suicide. I promised him that if he did this, I would move on as quickly as I could.
He was there for me when I needed a shoulder to cry on, and I was happy to do the same for him. He was a beloved friend. I loved him, like a brother, like family, like soulmates, Like lovers, like fucked up people, like alcoholics.
We'd sip at whiskey, talk about the shit he got himself into, laugh when he caught the pizza box on fire, and smile awkwardly at my parents when they came outside to see him walking around in the pool with me sitting on his shoulders, shouting "DOWN PERISCOPE!"
I'd take the bat out of his hand, calm him when he was angry, break his cellphones so he couldn't get to his drug dealers, and hold him when he cried. He did the same for me.
It was a friendship that kept me somewhere between sane and insane. Always on the border, always powerful.
We had our moments, we had our fights, but that was one of my best friendships that I will cherish for the rest of my life.
And some punk with a bible who used to be my friend has NO right to talk about him like he did just because he couldn't do a simple request of mine to remain friends with me. I asked him to try to work on his shit with religion, that it was extremely grating to be asked to convert every day, to be asked what I believe in, to feel my privacy violated when he even asked me for Catie's phone number so that he could call her and ASK HER TO PRAY WITH HIM. Because she raped me. SO OBVIOUSLY SHE NEEDS TO PRAY.
Among other things.
So I had given him an ultimatum. If he couldn't cut it out in three-four weeks, or change in the SLIGHTEST bit, I would have to part from him.
This was the three month mark. I saw no progress, in fact, he was getting WORSE. So, I called him, not too long ago. I broke it off, said I was done, sick of his shit. And then hung up. I ignored his calls. I looked the other way at the text messages, but one voicemail enraged me.
He condemned Jon's suicide. Again. Told me he was going to hell. Demanded to know if Jon believed in "God".
Jon didn't believe what was two inches in front of his face.
I didn't call him back. I'm still ignoring him. I'm sick of the shit. I said my piece. If he keeps calling, I'll just block him.
But it angers me. It angers me beyond belief. It still hurts. It'll always hurt. But it hurts. Tonight, where I feel like all I want is to see that boy again, I know I can't. It aches. It's like a knife twisting into my throat.
Four friends.
Then two new ones I had ended up being insane (Literally. And racist, and stupid.) So I got rid of them too.
But it's all good, because I make friends easily all of a sudden. But at the same time, it sucks, horridly.
I'm getting rid of so many problem from my life, and my head's spinning from how quickly the stress is going down.
It's a lot of changes at once. I'm happier. But that voicemail.... that voicemail set me off royally.
I'm just sitting here, staring at the picture of Jon I took in sophmore year. He was sleeping on the bus on the trip to Big Bend. I had never seen him smile like he had when he was asleep.... so I got my camera out and snapped a picture.... but the smile didn't show....
I had always shown it to him. joking about how I stalked him. Then we'd have paint fights in art class.
I remembered something he told me while I was in Ohio on facebook:
thank you so much. youve helped me out ever scince we met. you are my best friend.
He's still my best friend, even now.
So, even in the loss of friends. I still have a lot.
I have a guy who I love and I have a sneaking suspicion that he loves me back. I have people to go to if shit hits the fan. I have friends and family.
But I have probably 50% less stress at least.