Friends. What to say about friends that I haven’t already said somewhere else? I’ve written a lot of songs about troubles with friends (all based on real things). And of course there’s the ever popular Facebook vent post. Which I’ve done a time or two (perhaps more but I don’t care to recall). There was a lot of friend drama in 2017 for me. A lot of drama period. Although drama isn’t the word I want. It undermines the true emotion. There was a lot of broken promises, broken hearts. There’s a lot of scars. That isn’t over dramatization. There is such a thing as emotional scars, as anyone with PTSD will tell you. Or anyone who has a reasonable amount of emotional intelligence will tell you. These things I keep vague because I have to, and because I want to. I’m still friends with all those friends. I don’t regret doing so. That doesn’t mean that they are all friends with each other anymore, which they were before. Which is unfortunate, but entirely understandable. Of course this complicates things, and it also destroys a core friendship that we all shared that I deeply enjoyed, and that comes so rarely in our lives; especially as high school grows further and further in the rear view. I guess there’s just a lot to mourn this year. It’s that awful feeling that comes when you arrive at a fork in the road; where there is no correct answer, there is just one choice over another. And you’re at that point in your life when there’s no one to help you decide, or at the point when you realize there never really was. People can say “this worked for me, or that worked for me,” but you have to satisfy that inner voice inside of you, and the only that can hear that is you. You can try to describe to people what you hear, but in the end everyone has their own agendas, and you have to follow that voice until the end. We all do. To borrow a tired phrase; it’s a lonely road. And we walk alone. 

Friends. What to say about friends that I haven’t already said somewhere else? I’ve written a lot of songs about troubles with friends (all based on real things). And of course there’s the ever popular Facebook vent post. Which I’ve done a time or two (perhaps more but I don’t care to recall). There was a lot of friend drama in 2017 for me. A lot of drama period. Although drama isn’t the word I want. It undermines the true emotion. There was a lot of broken promises, broken hearts. There’s a lot of scars. That isn’t over dramatization. There is such a thing as emotional scars, as anyone with PTSD will tell you. Or anyone who has a reasonable amount of emotional intelligence will tell you. These things I keep vague because I have to, and because I want to. I’m still friends with all those friends. I don’t regret doing so. That doesn’t mean that they are all friends with each other anymore, which they were before. Which is unfortunate, but entirely understandable. Of course this complicates things, and it also destroys a core friendship that we all shared that I deeply enjoyed, and that comes so rarely in our lives, especially as high school grows further and further in the rear view. I guess there’s just a lot to mourn this year. It’s that awful feeling that comes when you arrive at a fork in the road, where there is no correct answer, there’s just one choice over another. And you’re at that point in your life when there’s no one to help you decide, or at the point when you realize there never really was. People can say “this worked for me, or that worked for me,” but you have to satisfy that inner voice inside of you, and the only that can hear that is you. You can try to describe to people what you hear, but in the end everyone has their own agendas, and you have to follow that voice until the end.

I Don’t Know

I don’t know. What I want to say, or what I want out of this. I suppose I want to feel better, because writing has always been an outlet for me. To let off steam. A release valve of the conscious...and the unconscious. Because, while I start off generally knowing the directions things will go, the narrative always veers more than I expect.  I think I’m trying to hold things together too much. Because I’m trying to make sure I keep myself together. Since I lost 50 lbs two years ago, and since I got on depression medication one year ago, I kept feeling like I had to keep myself in check. And, for about a year I feel like I did that. Julie’s death in May was certainly a blow, but afterwards I felt like I had escaped with my sanity intact. Asher’s birth in earlier May was such a blessing. I had the whole month of May off from work because we were expecting Asher in the first week. And then he came, albeit via a far more stressful C-section. The stress of his birth certaintly ensured he would be the last born. And I enjoyed my time off. And then came a Tuesday towards the end of the month. I was to return to work the very next day. Julie had came home from work early, since she had been sick the last couple weeks, since before Asher’s birth actually. She didn’t volunteer to go but her boss took one look at her and sent her home. Of course she would never recognize how sick she was; or she might have, but felt she had to work through it. She lived her whole life she had something to prove, and she had never slowed down. And she never did. It was nearly summer, and the sun was going down, so it was probably late evening: 7 or 8. Sarah had to pick something up on one of those Craigslist’s deals, it was a neighborhood about 15 minutes away. Right before we were supposed to leave we got into an argument about my mother. I don’t actually recall what it was about, just something involving my mother. I was so angry that I initially refused to leave with her. But she’s a stubborn woman and I relented. Ava asked to stay behind with “Nina.” Sarah asked her mom and she said it was fine. Right as we were about to leave, Ava began getting crying and ran out to the door to join us. So then we left Julie alone in bed (Miles was on a work trip in Louisiana) and went to pick up her item. We returned to the house probably about half an hour later, and things looked normal. I began to get out of the car when the neighbor from across the street, who rarely spoke to us, told Sarah that Julie had fell down in the yard. The look on his face immediately made concern run through you. He then began saying “it didnt look good” and said the paramedics hadn’t been able to get a pulse. He knew right then. I guess he didn’t want us to have false hope. I can remember the rest, but that doesn’t matter. That’s not for here I don’t think. The important thing is that I never saw her alive again. I saw her right after she died, at around one in the morning. Her face was grey. There was no life in it. I wanted to kiss her on the cheek, but I couldn’t get myself to do it. I was afraid. Seeing her that way was more frightening than I expected. She was covered with a sheet when I walked in, and as soon as they pulled it off I wished they would put it back again. I felt guilty for this. I allowed myself to touch her hair, and I told her “At your best, you were Nina.” I think I might have said goodbye. And that was it. I think maybe that’s what I came here to write. As soon as I started writing about it I felt relieved. I felt focused. I think that’s all for today. Goodbye.