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.

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I Have No Clever Title

If you look at my history, it is clear that I am inconsistent. I am inconsistent in just about everything I do. I am inconsistent in my friendships, I am inconsistent in my parenting. I am inconsistent in my productivity and my motivation. I am inconsistent in my gym habits and my hobbies. I am mostly inconsistent in my mood.

For a long time I was convinced that there is something wrong with me, psychologically. I am a very moody woman. I was a moody child, I was an angry teenager, an angry young adult, and now I am a moody adult. I like what I like, I want what I want, and when those things don’t happen, not only am I moody, sometimes angry, I also am not aware of it.

I’m sure that this is frustrating for anyone that knows me and has to deal with the brunt of my own confusion over how I feel and what I want. Maybe this is just what women are like. Maybe I will always be this way, always wishing to be different than I am. I am a part of a fellowship that tells me that we can always improve, as long as we work hard at it. I’m not sure that it’s true-maybe some things are just who we are. Who I am.

That makes me think of astrology. Astrology is entertaining to me. I’d like to say that I don’t hold faith with astrology, but I do. It links in my mind to the idea that everything in this world is held together by an energy, you can call it GOD, I do for simplicity’s sake, that ebbs and flows. I also like to say that I am not a superstitious person, but I am. Watch me freak out if someone opens an umbrella inside, or warn my children near a mirror. I like to say a lot of things about myself.

I’m terrified that I am developing OCD. I realize that terrified is a very strong word. It is, however, accurate. I have two great fears. One is death, due to my lack of solid belief in an afterlife, and the other is losing control over my psych. If I am developing obsessive compulsive disorder, my fear is that it is the beginning of a long downward spiral into mental illness. Here is what has been going on:

In the morning, after I walk out of my apartment, I have a nagging thought that I have left my straightener on. I have to go back inside to check. This happens almost every morning. Rarely before I walk outside. Sometimes I get all the way to my car. The other day, I got halfway to work. I considered turning around to go back and check. I did not, and it ate at me until I got to work, where I became too busy to think about anything. As soon as I walked back in my apartment door, I went to the bathroom to check. The only way that this does not happen is if I consciously focus on my hand removing the plug from the socket after I straighten my hair. If I routinely left my straightener on, this may be understandable. I’ve done it maybe twice, and not recently.

Another thing that is happening that is making me uncomfortable is the bridge. I live in Houston. If I want to go visit my mother, I must drive over the ship channel bridge. If I am in an inside lane, I get through this just fine. If I am in the outside lane, my heart races, my palms sweat, I am gripping the steering wheel, and avoiding looking to my right until I am all the way over. Okay, so maybe I’m afraid of heights. Which I am. However, I have been driving over this bridge for at least 12 years–this just began a few months ago.

This post is completely unfocused.

My inconsistency is showing.