Memory # 5,892

Note: The Memory Series is made up of entries that are my attempt to puzzle together so many disjointed and out of context memories and pieces of memories that float around in my brain. Most of these are memories I’ve always had, but even though I remembered these events, I never really examined or understood them. They are now critical memories to revisit as I work through my healing process. The numbers attached to each memory aren’t that important; they’re mostly random but the do indicate their order in my life.

From my journal on July 11, 2015

It’s been two months, and this is the loneliest place I have ever been.

Sometimes my chest feels like it is going to explode with rage and sadness. Sometimes I want to scream, “Somebody DO SOMETHING!” Sometimes I do scream it. Sometimes I scream for help.

INEEDHELPINEEDHELPINEEDHELPINEEDHELP

No one helps.

Because no one can.

My good friends, who are wonderful people, don’t understand, and I know it’s not their fault, because no one understands. I am glad that they don’t understand, because it means they did not have to go through what I have.

Where I am, no one can help. Because what is there to be done, anyway?

No one can help me.

No one.

It doesn’t matter that some of my other “friends” heard my story and then disappeared, while other “friends” barely noticed when I fell into this abyss two months ago and disappeared from all the regular places they would have seen me otherwise.

Because even if these “friends” were present, what could they do?

It occurs to me that my entire life through I’ve never had that one person, a best friend, a best BEST friend. One that I could show every part of me and not be afraid. I suppose a lot of that is my own fault.

But if I did have a real best friend, I imagine that she would come over in her sweatpants with her hair in a messy ponytail and bring me some sweets and plunk her ass down on the couch next to me.

And just be there with me. In this black hole of tears and screams and quiet or not so quiet sadness in front of a stupid sappy television show or another raunchy comedy.

This best friend, I imagine, will bring a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and eat it with me while we watch American Ninja Warrior, and listen as I fantasize that I will RISE ABOVE THESE CHALLENGES and create a backyard training facility and lose a hundred pounds and become THE NEXT AMERICAN NINJA WARRIOR and show them all that I am stronger than what they did to me.

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Well, I am not going to be the next American Ninja Warrior. And I don’t have any friends like that. And there are no pints of Ben and Jerry’s in sight. And I can barely walk a half mile without my tendinitis acting up much less run up a vertical wall and everything just fucking sucks anyway and I am sitting here alone.

Because, even for the real friends, good friends, true friends, life goes on. I am stuck here, in this place, and everyone else’s life goes on and I don’t have a bestie best friend who will bring the Oreo brownies from my favorite bakery and sit next to me and say, “What shitty romantic comedy are we watching next?”

Maybe then I wouldn’t feel so alone.

Maybe there are friends in my handful of good ones that would do these things if I asked them.

But I won’t ask. I can’t. It’s not who I am today. I don’t want to be a bother. I know they have lives to live and their own kids to tend to while my two kids wonder what is wrong with Mommy, why she is always sitting on the couch crying or laying in bed crying or standing in the kitchen crying. Because usually Mom cooks when she’s in the kitchen but now she just cries everywhere.

So, anyway, people must live their lives and I am alone.

My husband has been a champ, but he has to keep the family trains running. Keep the kids moving to school, camp, etc. Do the grocery shopping, make the dinners, wash the dishes. While I am sitting or laying or standing and crying.

This has been a huge burden for him and he is rising to the occasion, mightily. But it doesn’t give him the room to sit down next to me, and he doesn’t really like brownies or ice cream and frankly I think that he, like others who love and care for me, is a bit bewildered and at a loss of what to do for me.

Because really, what can anyone do?

So I’m still alone.

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2 thoughts on “Memory # 5,892

  1. Stupid miles between us.
    I would’ve been down to feast on baked goods and cry with you. I love you. So many people love you. You should never feel alone.

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