I have issues expressing certain emotions. Some, like anger, hate and lust are easy; those come naturally and roll off my tongue (as well as other body parts) in excess. I’ve actually developed quite the talent for being mean and cruel and slutty. It, much like me, is easy. Probably something to do with walls. But others, like love (depending on who I’m talking about) and that painful feeling of loss when someone love-worthy is gone, are very difficult to show. Difficult in the sense that anytime I’m sad or hurt or any related emotion, it converts into anger and rage. And the aforementioned sluttyness. As for love… well, it's love.The dirtiest four-letter word in the English language.
Anyway, I tend to keep my “good” emotions deeply hidden while setting the “bad” ones loose to play. Not the most upstanding way to be, but it's how I’ve dealt with the various ups and downs of life. And I know it's not good and I do wonder if I can change that nasty habit; an option I consider when even I have to admit I’ve gone too far.
And once again, I did. Or at least, almost did.
Scout and I decided to get together one night after many nights of not doing so. We’d both been missing the one-on-one time where we snuggled, made out like teenagers and, of course, fucked like porn stars.
We settled on the couch with pizza and Sex and the City 2. All roving hands and lips and teeth were adding up to a perfect evening. Once the movie was over, we decided to head into the bedroom for the grand finale. After the fireworks is where my descent into fucked updom occurred.
I decided not to spend the night. Nothing against Scout, mind you. I just had the urge to write and knew if I did it there, Scout would get no sleep. As much as I wanted to wake up and see my baby next to me the next morning, I had to get the writing out of me. So, after a bit more high school-like making out, I made an innocent comment about locking the door behind me.
Innocent. I swear.
I didn’t see anything wrong with that comment. It seemed perfectly logical to question how the front door would be locked as I do not have a key to Scout’s apartment. So imagine my surprise when I got that tone of voice and the eye roll. Suddenly, I was livid. But not at Scout, though I’m pretty sure had I been angry with Scout, no one would have blamed me.
Confused? I understand.
See, it all goes back to hiding and showing those pesky emotions. And walls. Damn those fucking walls. Back in April, I lost someone special to me to a random act of violence. Very special. The kind of person that proves you don’t always fall in love with and marry your soul mate. Sometimes, your soul mate is simply a friend.
I was with “Friend” (yes, the backstabber from the last column) and we were just relaxing and watching TV. The urge for another cigarette made itself known so I made my way outside. And my phone rang.
“……………… dead ……………..” That’s pretty much all I remember from that call.
My oldest friend, someone who I rarely spoke of but never went a day without speaking to, was dead. Shot. Gone. Silenced for good.
The night angels cried, I didn’t. I missed him the moment I was told I could never see him again. Or hear his voice. Or read another letter. And I still miss all of that. Maybe one day I’ll write all about him. But not today. I’m not ready for that yet. But still, I didn’t cry. Have yet to, in fact.
I was… actually, I don’t know what I was. I don’t even remember breathing. It was as though the world had slipped into a blinding darkness (oxymoronic, I know, but it is what it felt like) and time had turned in on itself.
And I was adrift in nothingness.
I wandered back inside at some point and just kind of dropped onto the couch. “Friend” was so busy with some damn phone game that my misery went completely unnoticed (or, as hindsight pointed out, completely uncared about).
I noticed the lack of notice. And that’s were it started. That nasty feeling of wanting to inflict suicide-inducing pain on another person. But at this point, “Friend” was still a best friend (albeit on very thin ice) so I swallowed it down. Hard.
Anyone one with any common sense could have seen I needed a shoulder to lean on. Of course, “Friend” never had any of that. And this night, it really pissed me off. Like, royally. Finally, angry over the non-caring attitude, I finally asked for help. Just so we’re clear, I don’t do that. It's very fucking hard to admit I need someone. But I did it. Multiple times. Eventually, I was able to borrow a best friend. Unfortunately, the entire time spent with “Friend” was listening to him about his gross back hair, weight issues, thinning hair and whether or not he should shave his beard.
Don’t be jealous now. Its not as awesome as it sounds.
I gave up on talking shortly after attempting to open my mouth. So I decided to leave. Honestly, one should not have to swallow this much outside the bedroom.
As I made way to the door, “Friend” grabbed me and gave me a hug. Aww. Yeah, right. Still, knowing this useless piece of fat and flesh didn’t really give a fuck, I clung to him. I lied to myself, thinking he might actually come through for me. Hell, he’d cried on my shoulder more than once. Maybe he’d return the favor and finally be that friend he claimed he wanted to be for me. I allowed the walls to crumble. The emotions bubbled to the surface. It was going to happen…
Wow, who knew I could manipulate myself as easily as I can manipulate anyone else?
He froze and dropped his arms. I was so close to another person and still felt completely alone. So I let go and walked out. I don’t actually recall leaving. Or driving home. The next thing I can recall is waking up the next day, still pissed the fuck off. And in case you’re wondering, I told “Friend” to go fuck himself. Which made his father’s wedding all the more entertaining (but that is, yet again, another column). That night, I felt totally alone. I had reached out for someone who had promised to always be there only to see what everyone else had but I refused to believe – he was not worth my friendship. That kind of realization blows. But is very necessary sometimes. There were other trusted friends I could have leaned on, but that night destroyed my faith in pretty much everyone. And to this day, months later, I’m still working through it.
Which brings me back to Scout.
I almost took it out on someone who has done nothing to deserve anything but my very best. It's wrong to blame someone for another’s sins and I am guilty of doing that. And I feel horrible about it. And while I didn’t think I deserved forgiveness, Scout gave it to me.
Wow. How the fuck did I get so lucky?
There are times where I still feel like the Whore of Babylon, but that has nothing to do with how Scout treats me. And that feeling is fading. Turtle-paced slow, but still… it is happening.
Holy shit. I’m trusting someone.
I think I’ll take that as a good sign.