About nine years ago a friend of mine drank too much. We had been at a lovely little beachside bar, then a dive, then another, and then drunkenly walked to the drive-through at some gut-bomber of a fast food restaurant. I hovered at her bathroom door as she praised the porcelain god. I had tried to hold her hair back, but she had yelled at me to back off.
“I’ll just, uh, let you do your thing then…”, I said, “I’ll be upstairs, let me know if you need anything…”
“No! You can’t just leave me!”
“Oh. Okay, well, can I get you anything?”
“You don’t need to hover, I’m not a child!”
And so it went.
In regard to people, I’m relating to how my shitfaced friend felt nearly a decade ago. I’m lonely, but I don’t want to see anyone. Last night I spent two hours alone waiting in the ER, crying from the pain, but trying really hard not to make a scene. (I don’t know what is going on, but it often feels like my spine has impaled my brain; and last night the pain skyrocketed, with a host of other freaky symptoms.)
“Can I call anyone for you?”, a sweet woman asked after getting me some tissues. There’s people I could have had her call, but I didn’t. Partially because I haven’t seen anyone in nearly two months. Partially they haven’t reached out, and partially I keep cancelling on those who do. It just hurts too damn much. I told her no, and then I wept harder, lonely emotions fueling the fire, even though I really didn’t want anyone with me. It just hurts to damn much.
I retract all of the teasing I gave to my sobered-up friend all those years ago. I get it now, homes.
I’m in pain, I’m frustrated, and I don’t see how things are going to get better. The things is – I never do. And it always does.
For now I’m just taking lots of bubblebaths and keepin’ on keepin’ on…