He was my soul-mate. Not the romantic kind, but soul-mate just the same. We met at work, and I loved him instantly. It was almost as if I had known him for decades – and not only a few seconds. I remember the day clearly. I was wrestling around the office with my coworker when we met. He was sitting at the computer – his back to us, trying not to stare at our ridiculousness. One loud “Hi-Ya!!” threw us both onto the floor and he finally turned around, looked at the hilarity of the situation and laughed. I invited him out for a beer, and that was the end of it. We were inseparable from that moment forward, our lives forever entangled. It was like he was supposed to be in my life all along, and I had a hard time remembering that there were 22 years prior in which I existed without him. He was the place I felt safe. He was the happiest part of my day. We never dated, we never kissed, but it was love from the very beginning. He was my brother and my best friend – my protector and my cheerleader. We laughed together and we cried together. We fought like siblings. He could finish my sentences and I knew the punchlines to all his jokes just as well as he did.
Many people have known me in my life, but so few have been able to see into my heart. The real parts of it. He understood the ugly and the broken. He accepted my faults and my crazy and loved me even more because of them. If I thought I could have saved him, I would have walked through hell and back for him. My heart hurts without him. I see his face in my dreams and hear his jokes in my head. I miss him with every ounce of my heart. Many people can talk to us when we are sad, but he could speak to my soul without words. He gave me a safe place to say all the ugly things I am thinking when I am upset. He let me act out on my feelings – good or bad, without judgement, always understanding why – even when I didn’t. I could tell him what he was feeling when he was afraid to say it out loud. He knew I was his safe place as well.
I didn’t care that he was broken. I didn’t care how ugly it got toward the end. I picked him up from the side of the road, the beach, the bar, the police station, the supermarket, and sidewalk benches. I answered every single phone call no matter where I was or how frustrated I was with him, because I was terrified that one day he would be in danger and I would miss the call and lose him. I would have picked it up for 100 more years to keep him safe. I would have picked him up every single time. I wanted to save him so badly, but he couldn’t stay. Just beyond my reach… The addiction took him to a place I couldn’t reach. It locked his mind in a state of unfamiliarity. He couldn’t recognize the difference between friends and enemies, or light-hearted fun and self destruction. The demons took over and claimed his life in the middle of the night. They took his body, but they freed his soul. I hope he found peace. I hope he can hear me and see me. I hope he knows how much I miss him, and how fiercely I loved him. I hope he knows that my world is a little less bright without him. He was my soul-mate, and no amount of time will ever take that from me.
Tuesday, November 26, 2019
Wednesday, September 11, 2019
Loss
I took a drive to the places I used to love yesterday. The streets, the exits, and even the shopping centers all reminded me of a life I used to love and a girl I used to be. I loved her the most. She was happy, and brave, and driven. She was beautiful and wild, but still focused and centered. She knew what she wanted in her life and who she wanted to have in it.
I remember waking up at 5am to run into the sunrise before work. I remember days off running the bridge and hiking up mountains to beautiful deserted beaches. I remember nights making pillow forts and cooking dinners together with a man who became my lover and my friend. I remember going to meet up with my best friend for a beer at the end of a long day of running and exploring and being greeted by his smiling face. I remember the bliss in my ignorance of the mortality of the people I loved. I thought my love was timeless. I thought my family was immortal. I thought my best friend would be beside me forever.
I found a strength inside myself that I didn’t know I had. Running served me well. Running Half marathons reminded me that I have an unbelievable strength inside me. It made me feel powerful. It made me feel like no matter what happened in my day, I had something that no one could touch. It was almost a religious experience. 3 miles to turn off the voices in my head. 5 miles to not feel my body. Anything further was the equivalent of nirvana. Being able to exist in nature and beauty without noise in one’s mind, not feeling the bonds of your human body has got to be a spiritual experience in its own right. And as I sit here, with an aching in my back, pain shooting down my right leg, I feel a grief inside me that can only be equivocated to the loss of a loved one. I have come to realize that the loss is me. I lost me.
In the months prior to this I have lost little pieces of myself. And big pieces of myself. My lover betrayed me. My best friend took his own life. My father was injured in an accident that could have taken his life. My job that used to give me such gratification became a place of emotional abuse and stress. The thing that was holding me together was my ability to push the limits of my body. Take that away and I am a shell of who I used to be.
I want to find happiness again. I want to love myself again. But right here in this moment I feel an overwhelming sense of despair. I feel a hopelessness. I feel stuck, and unable to get out of this rut. I want to run away without a trace, but I’m limited in my mobility. How can I run away when I can barely walk around the supermarket without pain? When I left my job I wanted to hike the John Muir Trail. All of that seems like a distant memory. Like a dream I once had and can barely remember.
I feel an overwhelming sense of grief for the loss of my best friend. I lost a piece of my soul with him. I feel an anguish for my relationship ending. I feel animosity, and anger. He didn’t mean to hurt me, but he did. I was a casualty in his story. I am a casualty in my story as well – never asking for enough for myself. Being ok with a half assed-relationship with my half-assed heart. One day this will all be a memory. Maybe I will be too.
I remember waking up at 5am to run into the sunrise before work. I remember days off running the bridge and hiking up mountains to beautiful deserted beaches. I remember nights making pillow forts and cooking dinners together with a man who became my lover and my friend. I remember going to meet up with my best friend for a beer at the end of a long day of running and exploring and being greeted by his smiling face. I remember the bliss in my ignorance of the mortality of the people I loved. I thought my love was timeless. I thought my family was immortal. I thought my best friend would be beside me forever.
I found a strength inside myself that I didn’t know I had. Running served me well. Running Half marathons reminded me that I have an unbelievable strength inside me. It made me feel powerful. It made me feel like no matter what happened in my day, I had something that no one could touch. It was almost a religious experience. 3 miles to turn off the voices in my head. 5 miles to not feel my body. Anything further was the equivalent of nirvana. Being able to exist in nature and beauty without noise in one’s mind, not feeling the bonds of your human body has got to be a spiritual experience in its own right. And as I sit here, with an aching in my back, pain shooting down my right leg, I feel a grief inside me that can only be equivocated to the loss of a loved one. I have come to realize that the loss is me. I lost me.
In the months prior to this I have lost little pieces of myself. And big pieces of myself. My lover betrayed me. My best friend took his own life. My father was injured in an accident that could have taken his life. My job that used to give me such gratification became a place of emotional abuse and stress. The thing that was holding me together was my ability to push the limits of my body. Take that away and I am a shell of who I used to be.
I want to find happiness again. I want to love myself again. But right here in this moment I feel an overwhelming sense of despair. I feel a hopelessness. I feel stuck, and unable to get out of this rut. I want to run away without a trace, but I’m limited in my mobility. How can I run away when I can barely walk around the supermarket without pain? When I left my job I wanted to hike the John Muir Trail. All of that seems like a distant memory. Like a dream I once had and can barely remember.
I feel an overwhelming sense of grief for the loss of my best friend. I lost a piece of my soul with him. I feel an anguish for my relationship ending. I feel animosity, and anger. He didn’t mean to hurt me, but he did. I was a casualty in his story. I am a casualty in my story as well – never asking for enough for myself. Being ok with a half assed-relationship with my half-assed heart. One day this will all be a memory. Maybe I will be too.
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