Anchors Aweigh, Uncle Al.

Uncle Al with daughter Keli

My uncle Al passed away on February 14th.  He had been sick with lung cancer for a couple years, he fought HARD until the end, and as a result of this, I have been asking myself questions.  I am not religious, but I so hope that the end isn’t the hard truth that science gives us.  This has been a time of reflection, not only on his life, but on my own beliefs.  I’ve stalled on my gym attendance and my social outings, as a low-grade depression has come over me.  I know my mind is searching for answers to the questions I have always had about death and dying, and the motivation will return to me when I figure something out, or at least find a temporarily satisfying explanation until I begin to question things again.  This will be a long post, but I hope you will read it all and give your opinions in the comments.

I learned some things about uncle Al that I didn’t know about him while he was alive, like that he was born premature and the doctors didn’t think he would make it.  I learned that he broke his leg pretty badly, and once again, doctors didn’t think he would survive it.  His father went out on a fishing trip that uncle Al REALLY wanted to join him on, and his father drowned on that trip.  Uncle Al probably would have, too, had he been there.  So, to say that the man really wanted to stay here with us is an understatement.  Now, I will share with you what I DID know about him.

Uncle Al owned a doughnut shop in Pennsylvania.  I went there as a child, probably a few times, but I only remember once.  I don’t know how old I was, but I was pretty young, and I remember running past a mixer and being completely fascinated by it.  Not sure why, apparently I am easily fascinated, but that’s what I remember.  I remember the smell of the shop.  I don’t eat a lot of doughnuts these days (yeah, I am trying to live cleaner), but I know that any time I step foot in a doughnut shop, he will be the first person I think of.  He had quit smoking some time ago, but I will always remember the smell of pipe smoke around him.  I was at the funeral service thinking to myself, “uncle Al, if you ever want to get a hold of me, send me some pipe smoke.”

If uncle Al had a beverage in his hand, it was hot tea or a rum and Coke.  I haven’t been out to a bar since the funeral, but when I do, my first drink will be a rum and Coke.  I mixed him one once at a family Christmas party and he said he liked the way I mixed them because I made ’em strong.  I laughed.  I have no idea if he was serious or if he was just politely telling me that I needed to tone down the alcohol, but either way, his laugh was infectious and I will miss it dearly.

Uncle Al never missed a family function.  Family was his biggest priority, and honestly, he is an inspiration to me in that

Uncle Al and Aunt Dee, best buds

respect.  Everyone is always so busy with their things and their whatnots, and we often find ourselves sitting at funerals thinking “if only I had visited more”, or “if only I had called them to chat more”.  I am so glad that I was able to go visit him the Thursday before he passed.  I am glad that he knew that I was there for him, I am glad that I saw him once more.  My aunt Donna and I went to visit him while he was in rehabilitation after he had a trache put in, we played cards with him, his two daughters, sons in law, and his granddaughter and her fiance.  Bob cheated, Evan tried to cheat, too, I had not idea how to play and winged it for most of the game (still won, though), and we had such a fun time.  I don’t want to remember him sick, but I will still cherish that memory.  I am glad to know that he knew that I was there.  Is it sick that I wish that I had taken photos of him that night?  I mean, I’m sure he would have protested anyway, but I think if I had taken a few photos of him, I could look back on those photos and remind myself of his strength, still laughing and yucking it up while he was on oxygen.  Every ounce of his being wanting to kick that cancer and get back to life.  I know I would gain strength from that, because he just resonated with it.  Of course I would prefer to remember him not sick, but thinking of the opportunities to capture his love of life and family, right up until the end, that is the kind of soul that every photographer wants to capture in their work.

Darts

Uncle Al was an avid fisherman and hunter.  He loved the outdoors.  I wish I had the patience it takes to do either of those activities (not that I would do either, but I would love to have that amount of patience).  He had always been an all around patient guy.  I don’t think I have ever seen him get angry or frustrated.  He took the world in stride.  Me?  Not even close.  I get into a screaming fit every time someone cuts me off on the highway.  If I can take a lesson from his demeanor, I need to take that lesson.  He was always gentle and kind, never had a bad word to say about anyone, and was always willing to give someone the benefit of the doubt.

I wanted to leave a small bottle of rum and a Coke in his casket.  I’m sure no one would have minded, but something held me back.  Something always holds me back. Yet another lesson to be learned from uncle Al.  He never held anything back.  If he wanted to tell you something, it came out.  No holds barred.  One of his best qualities, arguably, was his ability to tell you that you messed up in the most patient, tactful, and FUNNY way possible.  The man was HILARIOUS.  He could have the whole crowd laughing in a matter of minutes.

Uncle Al was a charmer.  Every wedding we had, he would be surrounded with ladies.  He just had a way about him.  He was

Uncle Al, wedding professional

also the garter belt magnet.  I am pretty sure I have never attended a wedding in which he didn’t catch the garter belt.  I’m fairly certain he strategically planned these things! Nothing will ever be the same without him there, without his laugh, without his wit, but I will especially miss him at weddings.  He was a pro at weddings! He had the kindest eyes, eyes that told you stories.  He was one of those people that hung on your every word until you were finished talking.  You could always tell, too, because he had this funny way of mouthing the words you were saying while you were saying them.  I always wanted to ask him why he did that, or better yet, HOW he did that… it was almost as though he knew what you were going to say even before you said it.  Probably because he paid so much attention to you, that he probably DID know you better than you thought he did, hell, probably better than you knew yourself sometimes.  Someday I will find out why he mouthed along with you, but for now, that is one of those traits about him that always secretly fascinated me.

He lived with my grandparents for a long time, helping to care for my grandma as she slipped further and further into dementia.  He would help my pappaps care for her, and they would talk, and I am sure they shared moments together while my pappaps struggled to understand what was happening to his wife.  They became closer and closer, best friends.  Watching my pappaps cry for his friend when we went to visit Al that Thursday before he died was one of the hardest things I have ever seen.  All I could do was hold my pappaps while he cried.  My dad told me that was all he needed me to do, but I wish there was anything I could have done or said to change it, to have uncle Al here with us, to make both of their pains go away.  I’m sure that is a completely normal reaction to seeing two of the strongest men you know, both in such weak and vulnerable states.  It tore me apart to see Al sick and pappaps so upset.  All I can do is wish things, but I wish my grandma had been cognizant enough to say good bye to him.  I wish she hadn’t gotten sick.  I wish he hadn’t gotten sick.  I wish we were all younger and things were the way they were when I was a teenager and I thought everyone in my life was invincible.  Sadly, life is more fragile than we give credit for when we are young.

As I said, I wanted to leave a rum and coke for him, but I didn’t.  I was sitting at the funeral service, hearing all the wonderful stories about him, and I kept my gaze on the balled up tissue in my hand.  I had been staring at that tissue for the bulk of the service when it suddenly dawned on me that I had to put a little piece of me in the casket with him.  I had worn my PuraVida

Anchors Aweigh

anchor bracelet that day, my favorite bracelet.  As I stared at the tissue, the bracelet suddenly came into my view like a shining star and I thought, “well, hell.  Why don’t I leave him my bracelet?” it is the perfect bracelet for a fisherman like him, with the golden anchor and rope.  I figured, I would just go home and order another one, that way we could both have one.  Hell, just a week after the service I got an email that PuraVida had put my bracelet on sale for half off!  What are the odds, right?  Well, I got that order out right away and I expect my new bracelet in a few days!  I hadn’t even had the thing for very long, but it was my favorite little trinket, and I knew, had he seen it, he would have mentioned the anchor.  I mean, he loved fishing, he loved the water.  Furthermore, at least for me, the anchor meant a lot more than just fishing symbolism, it meant safety, it meant steadiness. I don’t have religion, I don’t know what I believe happens once we die, I know what I HOPE happens.  I know what I don’t believe happens.  I hope we reincarnate into another life somewhere and our souls just keep on going.  I hope this isn’t the last time my soul will walk the earth, even if it is in a different vessel.  I hope that someday I will meet Uncle Al again, though I don’t believe in a heaven or a hell, I hope someday when I am an old lady, I will see a young man in a store or on the sidewalk, and I will smile at him and say hello, and he will laugh an infectious laugh and it will be him, in another vessel.  We probably wouldn’t recognize each other, and that’s fine.  But our souls met again and everything was good.

Anchors Aweigh means that the anchor is clear of the sea bottom and the ship is officially underway.  It seemed fitting to me to bid uncle Al anchors aweigh versus “good bye”, as I do hope that his soul was set free to a new adventure, that his anchor, the only thing holding him here, his body, is clear of this Earth and his soul is officially underway.  I would like to hope that he gave me this revelation.  I would love to think that he was sitting there with me, checking out the turnout for his memorial service, laughing along with the stories being told about him and the memories shared, and his soul whispered to me, “hey Melissa, this isn’t goodbye.  You will see me again, in a healthy body, cancer and pain free.  So, this is anchors aweigh, never goodbye.”

Uncle Al and Uncle Sam

Anchors Aweigh, Uncle Al.  Until we meet again…

I would have been a mommy in a couple weeks….

The pain that I feel is not long since gone.
Nine months ago, you did me wrong.
The mask that I wear cracks and breaks
So everyone knows I’ve made these mistakes.
But don’t you think twice of the prize that you won,
I’d certainly hate to ruin your fun.
You left me alone to deal with the pain,
And I don’t deserve to be hurt again.
So don’t bother to call, don’t try to write.
You’ve made it clear, this was never your fight.
I’d fight it alone, and that I have done,
And I’ll continue to do, until I am gone.
I don’t write this for you, just so we’re clear,
I write for the little one not meant to be here.
And since this is mine, this cross that I bear,
I don’t want to see you, I can’t stand to hear

“I’m sorry.”
You’re not. No question.

So go and have fun, your battle is done.
Mine wages on, it will never be won.
I’ll never be “momma” to this girl or boy
Because to you, my life was a toy.
You were my friend, you left me in pain
But rest assured, that won’t happen again.
Two days in a hospital while I lost our child
My trust in you forever defiled.
When you failed to show to help me cope,
Each moment alone was a tightening rope.

“I’m sorry.”
You’re not. Where were you?

Me, scared and alone, you out on the town,
Me clutching the bedsheets in a hospital gown.

“I’m sorry.”
You’re not. How dare you?

The tears that I cry are still hot with grief,
But I won’t bother you with it, to your relief.
But you are right about one little thing,
You are very sorry, a despicable being.

“I’m sorry.”
You’re not. But you should be.

Whatever.

Basically, this is what I said to the former best friend. Maybe I am naive, but I thought a good friend was worth a good fight … You know, not wanting to give up a friendship is one thing, but making an effort to show that person that you don’t want to lose them is another. For three years, I have made that effort. I have begged, I have pleaded. Basically, I’ve lost any pride or dignity I once had because I was a sniveling bitch trying to get him to make an effort. Any effort. Send me a fucking letter, SOMETHING. But I got nothing. I’m sure my regular readers know that this has caused me a tremendous amount of torment for three years. Here’s the thing: my parents divorced and I didn’t see or speak to my mom for 6 years. That was tough. It was mostly my fault. Why? Because it hurt. All of it hurt. When I was a ‘troubled’ teen, my family talked about me behind my back. I know this because I had a few informers on the inside. That really hurt. I found out recently that that shit still goes on, maybe not so much about me anymore, but I’ve heard people talking about other people in my family much in the same way that they used to talk about me, I would venture to guess. That hurts. My dad got a girlfriend, and he turned on me. So you see, I’ve been hurt by the people that aren’t supposed to hurt you. I know I’m not the only one this has happened to, but I am clearly not equipped to handle this shit. I used to be. When I was a teenager I could give a fuck what any of these people did or said. Maybe I cared more than I thought and that shit is now eating me alive like a cancer. Who knows. Either way, the slightest betrayal is monumental to me now … Why? Do you think my parents divorced overnight? No. Do you think I lost my relationship with my mom overnight? Nuh uh. Do you think my dad just disappeared one day? Nope. It was slow starting. One betrayal led to another and then another until I ended up hurt and crying over my fucked up existence on this god forsaken planet. Well, here it is … It all comes to a head. I am losing my fucking mind and no one except the readers of this blog can see it. Why? Because I am a master of fucking disguise. You have to be!! No one wants to be around you when everything hurts. Well, dear readers, I am two steps away from hermit and I don’t care. I know that no one understands how overwhelmingly hurt I am, because everyone tells me to just suck it up. Hey, everyone gets hurt in their lives. You’re right. Everybody hurts sometimes, right REM? I don’t feel good. It is as though good doesn’t exist. Even when I should feel good, I don’t. How do I suck that up? Tell me, since you’re so good at giving advice, how do I do this? How do I make myself feel good? The checklist: Being around family. Not good. Being with friends. Not good. Lucero concert. GREAT! Sex. Not good. Making art. Not good. Staring at TV. Not good. Walk in the park. Not good. I don’t know what else to do. I am going to have to take drugs. I don’t want to do that. People die by those pills, too. They don’t always fix everyone. And I have been on them before and I HATED it. Never was the will to die so strong until I got on those pills. “You have to find the right ones, first!” Yeah. I’ve heard that. The problem is the “you may get worse before you get better” part. If I get worse than this, I won’t want to live. That is what I am terrified of. Yeah, so now I sound like a whiny bitch so it’s time to stop. I just needed to vent that, since I don’t talk to people about my problems anymore. The minute you start talking about problems, that’s when people start leaving. It happened with my mom, my dad, my family, and now my best friend. Glad to see, though that I still managed to make him a part of my life while I was in a relationship but he can’t extend me the same courtesy. Fuck him. I don’t care. I can’t feel a thing.

Every day is a learning experience

I am … ENTIRELY … too angry.

Today was supposed to be a day of study and learning.  Unfortunately, the fact that I spent the entire night in an uproarious panic sort of derailed the day of study, as I had to ingest three cups of coffee just to keep my eyes open, and coffee tweaks my panic nodes (?) and they are all out of whack right now, all because I didn’t want to waste my day off sleeping.  When am I going to learn that I don’t have to be awake at 6 am?  I mean, where did I get this idea that I have to wake up that early?  Sleep in, for Christ’s sake.

Anyway, the day of study got derailed because I am like a little kid with the attention span of a gnat today.  I blame that on the insomnia and the coffee.  Shiny things, things that light up, and things that make noise are all on the list of things that I would rather look at than my book.  Ironically enough, I am studying psychology. Ha.

So, I decided to play a video game.  Eff it, my day of study is already down the tubes (because it is after noon, so my whole day is wasted?  I think that is my logic right now), so video game.

Well.  That didn’t go too well.

My computer was built in 1879, so it likes to stall A LOT.  Plus, I was trying to play a game that required the use of an ACTUAL mouse, not the stupid touch pad that will forever take you to just short of where you need the mouse to take you if you can’t remove your finger from the pad.  Yes, I had to trace the length of the touch pad to play that portion of the game, and my dude kept falling off the rip cord because the touch pad is literally a millimeter too short to get the dude all the way across in one swipe.  REALLY?  So, yeah, after three tries, I got a little frustrated, so I decided to go downstairs and get a mouse.  I tried once more and I got the dude all the way across the rip cord and he landed safely on the other side.  SUCCESS!

Well, that brings me to what we will call “Google Chrome is a bitch”.

Google Chrome is a BITCH!  I had to uninstall it.  Every time I try to get on the Internet, Google Chrome tells me that there is some stupid web page that won’t open and it gives me the option to wait or kill it.  I tell it to kill it, and … it never does.  It gives the option of murderous tendencies, but it never follows through.  Lizzie Borden you are not, Google Chrome.  This leads me back to the “Video Game / Mouse Contingency”:

Then I had to shoot things.  All well and good for a computer that wasn’t built in 1879.  A bad guy pops up, computer stalls, I try to shoot, and nothing happens.  It probably wouldn’t have been so bad if the effing character would have kept his stupid “hurry up!” and “start shooting!” comments to himself.  Who the eff are you, computer character, to berate me?  Ha ha ha I am three dimensional and you aren’t so SUCK ON THAT.

Anyway, when my computer kept freezing, I chucked the mouse across the room.  Done with that.

So, I decided that a spot of tea might calm me nerves.  I broke the faucet in what we will call the “Faucet Predicament”.

R.E.A.L.L.Y???????  How the hell did I break the Gotdamn faucet?  Well, that flooded me with an exponential amount of rage, so I punched the refrigerator, then I fixed the faucet (don’t even ask me how, because I have no idea), and decided to go switch my load of laundry.  Well, I am washing sheets, blankets, and the like, and I have a strange fascination with germs, as I am sure regular readers have figured out by now, so I have a real love-hate thing going on with throw blankets.  Let me explain in what we will dub “The Blanket Debacle”:

Throw blanket, n. a blanket, shorter than that of regular bedding, meant for portability.

Okay great, since my house is usually colder than a witch’s tits, I need throw blankets!  However, and here is where shit gets weird; throw blankets touch your feet.  Your feet touch the floor.  Floors are dirty.  The next time you use said throw blanket, how do you know which end is the foot end and which end is the face end???  Herein lies my dilemma.

Well, it doesn’t really effing matter, because I dropped my fuzzy blue favorite on the floor as soon as I got it out of the dryer.  Blankie, ruined.  Can’t use it until the next washing.  This week, it will exist only as decoration.  This, along with the fact that I didn’t notice that I had dropped it until I stepped on it, caused the rage to grow once again.  This will take us to our next chapter, “The Phone Fiasco”:

So, I am sure anyone who mildly pays attention to my neurotic rants on here knows how much I hate my touch screen phone.  I have been in a conversation on Facebook with a fellow neurotic since last night while I was panicking.  He responded to my last message, so after the Study FAIL, Google Chrome’s bitchiness, the Video Game / Mouse Contingency, the Faucet Predicament, the Blanket Debacle, we have the Phone Fiasco in which I am trying to type out this message back to my friend and EVERY TIME I TOUCH AN “S”, I ACTUALLY TOUCH AN “A”.  I threw the phone.  At least this time I had the presence of mind to throw it at the couch, so I didn’t kill it like I did the last phone.  And, you would think that this would be the end, but you would be wrong, reader.  I am beyond PISSED at this point, so I figure that the way I have been expressing my rage, ie, throwing things, punching things, etc. was not exactly a healthy outlet for these overwhelming feelings.  I decide to get on WordPress and vent it all out of me on the screen.  Let other people read this and laugh their asses off because that is what this blog is intended for, others to laugh at my neurosis.  WELL.  That SEEMED like a good idea at the time, and I am GLAD that I did it, EXCEPT …

THE UNPLUGGED COMPUTER MELTDOWN

My computer’s battery died in approximately 1880, since it was made in 1879 and these batteries don’t last very long.  Anyway, my LAPTOP computer serves no portability purposes because I am forever tethered to the outlet.  There isn’t even a battery in this bitch.  The battery was so dead that the computer wouldn’t turn on when it was installed, that is how much of a ZOMBIE this battery was.  Anyway, I am still so so so so SO angry about all the SHIT that has happened for the sole purpose of annoying the crap out of me today, that I grab my computer about half way through typing this blog post and the power cord snags on the edge of the TV tray I was using and I inadvertently unplug the computer.  RAGE RAGE RAGE courses through my body because WHAT ARE THE FUCKING GOD DAMN ODDS OF THAT and I feel every muscle in my body tense.  I start to shake.  I am nowhere near anything to punch, so what is my first instinct?

I fucking bit my hand.

I bit my hand.

Why the fuck would I bite my hand???

So, let’s add senseless violence to the list of problems with my brain. 

Well, thankfully, WordPress saves drafts as you work, otherwise this important piece of writing would not exist right now.  I say important because I am sure that my therapist is going to want to know that I am now back on the subject of hurting myself in fits of rage. At least I didn’t take a knife to my skin.  That would have been strike 3.  I was told I am not allowed to do that anymore, and I haven’t.  Not since I was a teenager.  I don’t want to go back to all that.

All right, that is all.  I just thought it would be nice to get all this rage out of me in a more productive manner and it worked, aside from the fact that I have teeth marks on my hand.  I really hope those go away before I go in to work tomorrow.  These are very clearly human teeth marks.  Ha.  I can’t help but laugh at that.  I fucking bit myself.  What a psycho.  I mean, I guess it is a good thing that I do these things to myself and not to others.  I guess that keeps me just on this side of neurotic and not psychotic … I am comfortable here.  However, I think it might be an apporpriate time to start pushing my insurance company to let me go back to my shrink.  And, of course, discuss the medicine option.  I can’t go back to the pain thing.  Pain is not a good way to heal anger.

And then I suddenly realized…

This post isn’t going to be one of my usual “funnies”, but I hope you’ll read on anyway:

Sometime around 9:00pm the “hustle” at my job slows, not as many customers to wait on, no lab orders coming in.  I was asked to pull sale signs, which is where I suddenly realized just how horrible losing my best friend actually is.

A young girl, maybe 21 or 22, darts from aisle to aisle, randomly picking up items from the shelves.  I smiled at her as I am supposed to, and I asked her if she needed help finding anything.  She said “no thank you” and smiled back, her selections in her arms overflowing and nearly falling on the floor.

She walks in to the next aisle, where she is approached by a man whom I can only assume is a new boyfriend.  She says something to him which I cannot hear, and he says back to her “you’ll need a toothbrush.” 

I only took notice of the items in her arms as I entered the toothbrush aisle as she struggled to grab the one she wanted off the peg hook, her arms overflowing.  A blue toothbrush, a bottle of mouthwash, a sample sized shampoo and conditioner, a bottle of body wash, two items from the freezer, which I am assuming is her and her boyfriend’s dinner for the night, a bottle of Pepsi, and a box of condoms.  It doesn’t sound like much, but seeing her with her arms overflowing, struggling to get her toothbrush, it broke my heart just a little bit more.

When it was my turn to make the mad dash for overnight items at a boyfriend’s house, we were at KMart.  The “boyfriend” had just moved in to his apartment that day, so he had nothing.  He ran through KMart and bought pillows, food, coffee for the morning, soda, toothpaste and mouthwash, you know, the essentials.  I ran through the aisles and grabbed a tee shirt to sleep in, a toothbrush, a magazine (because I am addicted to fashion mags), shampoo and conditioner, body wash, all the things that I would need in the morning that I knew he wouldn’t have or that he would have but was designed for a man (I don’t want my hair to smell like a dude’s).

We slept on an air mattress on the floor.  There was no television, no form of entertainment other than conversation and unmentionables that I won’t discuss here.  It was new and exciting.  I didn’t care that my back was sore from sleeping on the floor.  I didn’t care that the apartment was dark as a cave.  I was happy to be there with him.

The “relationship” part didn’t work out.  We both have things in our lives that prevent us from continuing a “relationship”.  He and I became best friends instead.  I can honestly say that when I think of him, I feel a physical reaction, and no, sickos, it’s not THAT kind of physical reaction.  I feel it in my heart.  When I think of him, my heart smiles.  I know it sounds stupid, but as I sit here typing this and my eyes tear up, I feel him in my heart.  Do I love him, you ask?  I absolutely do.  I love him beyond a “relationship”.  It’s more than a sexual thing, I could go the rest of my life without having sex with him and I would be completely content with the conversation.  I NEED him like I NEED air.  I NEED to know that he is there.  I could say a million words to him without ever opening my mouth.  It’s rather poetic, actually. 

Well, his life has taken another path, and I am no longer a part of it.  It hurts me when I am snarky to him, but I can’t stop.  I want him to know how badly he is hurting me every day that he doesn’t call or text.  I want him to explain to me how I burn every day without him in my life while he seems to continue living without a care in the world.  Was I a better friend to him than he was to me?  Did I care more for him than he cared for me?  How can he not feel the same way that I do?  My heart literally hurts.

Before all of this, if someone had asked me if I had ever had my heart broken, I would have answered “absolutely.”  My heart has been broken a million times.  This thing with my former best friend, however, hurts more than when my parents divorced.  It hurts more than when my boyfriend of 4 years cheated on me.  It hurts more than when my father and his girlfriend forced me out of their house.  It killed me when my grandfather died, but he didn’t choose to leave me.  I found solice in the fact that if he had had a choice, he would have stayed with us forever.  Best friend, however, has a choice.  He chose to leave, and I think that hurts more.

I feel for the girl that made her mad dash last night.  I hope everything works out for her with this guy.  I hope she marries him and has his babies and they live happily ever after.  I wouldn’t wish this kind of pain on anyone.  I’m not sad that I didn’t marry best friend.  I’m not sad that I didn’t have his babies.  I am, however, crushed without him.  I had a better relationship with him than a lot of married couples have.  A year of this pain later, and I realize that I am still having a hard time adjusting to my life without him in it.  10 years is a long time to invest in another human being.  10 years gives you enough time to grow so attached that the person feels like a living, breathing part of yourself.  A part of me died along with the death of our friendship.  I spent 1/3 of my life devoted to someone deeper than I have ever been devoted to anyone who didn’t share my bloodline.  And now, I am left with nothing.

So, what becomes of the broken hearted?  They write blogs in the hopes that the best friend will happen past it one day while browsing the Interweb.  They hope that when the best friend sees and reads the blog, he will call.  They hope that one day they will be sitting in their bedroom watching Harvey Birdman for the hundredth time and there will be a knock on their door.  They hope that the woman that best friend is seeing now will break up their relationship so best friend will have “time” to come back.  They hope that best friend will wake up one morning and realize how much life sucks without their best friend.  Alas, I don’t think that will happen for me.  Besides that, being the distrusting person that I am (which only hurts more because I put so much trust in him and he hurt me), I will never trust him not to do this to me again.  There will always be a guard up now, even if he did come crawling back.  He has changed me, and not in a good way.  I could easily become closer to one of my remaining friends and replace him, but I will never trust them to not do the same thing to me. 

The part that hurts the most is that he and I were so similar in personality.  Our tastes are the same.  He’s like the male version of me.  So this means that if we are so similar, then that means there’s a possibility that I could inflict this kind of pain on someone and not have a care in the world about it.  Well, my resolve is to not let that happen.  Ever.