My friend, your pain

Dear Friend,

I didn’t know I had so much to tell you and so much to learn about you. I didn’t realize how many songs I wanted to share with you. I didn’t realize I’d need our messages to reread again and again. I deleted them all.

I am glad I broke the rules to be your friend. You gave me the opportunity to meet a genuine person that made me and everyone else feel loved and important. You gave me the opportunity to meet a person that would share his most embarrassing stories. I remember sharing excitement with you about that pitcher looking right at me–the most recent, at the game you should have been at. The excitement of seeing a country artist I had waited years to see, feeling comfortable enough to tell you I was crying.

I am glad you knew that I loved you, because I told you. I knew you loved me, because you told me. I was important enough to make amends to. I wish I had stayed at breakfast longer, drank up every moment I had.

I miss your singing rap songs like the white man from east Texas you were. I miss snapchats of your roommate and his dog. I miss hearing you talk about how hot your girlfriend was, and you sharing big things like when she dumped you.

This is a lot to miss for someone I met 6 months ago. Can you imagine if I’d had longer? A lifetime full of things to miss. I miss that you understood my thoughts on god, “if you’re into that sort of thing.”

I miss the person I immediately trusted with no good reason except intuition. The man that could have helped hundreds save their lives. The man people heard when they didn’t hear others.

I watched a movie the other day that made it hit home how much pain you must have been in. The story was different but the pain was the same. I cried and I cried and I cried and I imagined you in those last days, so miserable that you saw no way out. Of course it makes me wish I could have helped you, that you’d reached out. I know that I could not have fixed you. I could have listened and made you feel less alone. I wonder if that would have even made a difference.

Life without you in this world is weird, and hard to accept. It’s been 20 days and I still think occasionally that this is a sick joke. I’m angry that you’re gone. I don’t feel angry at you, but I probably am. For all the love you had for the people you met and touched, you had none for yourself. I hate thinking of you dead in your car in the Texas heat, but I do.

I miss you, my friend.

Advertisements

Trust Marches On

This title is semi-stolen from the Tracy Lawrence song, “Time Marches On.” It’s an amazing song but has no relevance for me at this moment. 

A few weeks ago, my boyfriend was told that he needed to either buy the house he was in or move, so he proceeded to look for houses. I was scared that since this was something we planned to do once we were married, and not now, that the house buying process (looking at and picking out) was going to be a solo endeavor for him and I would just have to live with his decision. Again, my thoughts and fears were proven wrong by his actions. 

I’m not sure why I always expect the worst out of people. Much of the time, I expect them to be selfish and dishonest. The expected response to that is “you think that way because you are that way.” But I’m not. Ok, I can be selfish-very selfish. I’m typically not dishonest, unless it’s with myself. I’m not a backstabbing sort, I either like a person or I don’t and I generally don’t pretend otherwise (unless it’s politically necessary, and I don’t mean actual politics, like I’m running for office. I mean, like at work or with my boyfriend’s family or friends, where it would be awkward for me to openly dislike a person). 

The only thing I can fall back to is that I have been betrayed multiple times by people I trusted-the usual suspects: ex-boyfriends, friends, my sister once. I have a history of making bad decisions, which has made it nearly impossible for me to trust my instincts regarding who I allow close to me.  I say nearly because I do seem to be making better choices. My boyfriend has consistently been a good choice. I do have a couple friends that have consistently been good choices. 

What is interesting is that it is so easy for me to preach trust to others-friends, clients, family, etc-but very hard for me to practice. Someone told me once that in order for someone to earn trust, you must give them opportunities to earn your trust. Which sounds easy. For a person like me, who has been not just let down, but betrayed by every person that they have let in, it is nearly impossible. 

So I have tried this, and a few people have  consistently not betrayed me, they have stuck through my paranoia that they’re out to get me, that they aren’t who they say they are. Those people are teaching me to look for the good. They’re teaching me that, while I’ve made horrendous decisions in the past on who I ought to trust, I am capable of making good choices. 

This all boils down to a question. Is it others I don’t trust or is it my own judgement that I don’t trust?