So me and my best friend are no longer best friends. We got into this huge argument this past week over something stupid but the feelings that I've brushed off have kind of risen to the surface and I ended up getting way more mad then I should have.
So let me give you a recap of our frienship:
We have known each other since the third grade, but we became really close friends last summer. From last summer up until this past February, I went through a depression. My brother cut off all connections to me and my family last summer. He was fresh out of high school and he was tired of hearing everyone telling him what to do, so he moved out and stopped talking to us. No calls, no texts, no vistis. Nothing. He was the only person I could talk to. The only person that I knew understood me. So when he broke things off with the family, I started thinking everything was my fault. That I was never good enough. From there, my depression just spiraled deeper and deeper. But my best friend was always there for me. She helped me get better and she was always there when I needed someone to talk to. She couldn't, however, open up to me. She would lie to me about being upset when I asked, but would post a facebook status about it. Or she would wait until I caught her in lies to actually tell me something. But it was never the truth.
So, I felt like a lousy friend. I felt like maybe I did something that made her not trust me. I just didn't know what. She has some really tough family issues. My house was always available when she couldn't stand being at home. My mom always payed for her when we went out to eat or to the movies or whatever. I always made time for her and made her feel like she belonged somewhere and always had a friend. She just never did the same for me. She would leave my house early in the morning and go to the beach with her mom and other friends and not invite me. I don't mean to sound like a clingy friend, but it'd be nice to feel like she wants to hang out, right?
I just feel like our entire frienship was a huge lie and a waste of time. Now she says she doesn't care about how I feel and she's always making a sarcastic remark to me. It makes me hate her, but I just don't understand what I did so wrong to get trated like crap.
better without you, correct?
You’re utterly convinced that no
one needs you, right?
Right now, I want you to go to
your special hiding place and
get your knife, your blade,
your lighter; whatever tool
you’ve spent countless nights
battling, turning to for some
type of comfort. Now, I want you
to hold that tool. I want you to
feel the weight of it within
your palm. Feel the coldness
against your warm skin.
Now, picture this:
your mother, going to your room
to wake you up, only to find your
corpse on the ground, surrounded
by your own blood.
Can you hear it now?
The shrieks of terrors,
the uncontrollably sobbing.
Can you hear it now?
Then, your father comes running
to your room, finding your mother,
his wife, clutching your limp
body (his precious baby); screaming
to the heavens, desperately wishing
that she would just wake up from this nightmare.
He runs to her, pulling her away
from your body, shielding her
away from the horror. He bites his tongue,
holding back the sobs.
An hour later, they’ve collected
the body and your mother hasn’t
moved from the couch, blankly staring
into space; still waiting, hoping, praying
that she’ll wake up from this nightmare.
Your farther is in the other room,
sobbing silently; the same man
who you never once saw cry,
broken down.
Still believe your life means nothing?
Now picture your sibling, your sister, your brother,
getting called to the office; their teacher telling
them it’s an emergency. Your parents are there,
your mother is crying, your father is holding
her shaking body. Your sibling is confused, frightened.
They tell them the news, and the teacher
has to catch them before they fall
to the ground.
It was just last night you two
were bickering over what movie
to watch. It was just last night they
heard your laugh, saw your smile.
It was just last night.
When they tell your best friend,
they break down; you two were
supposed to see a movie that weekend.
You two were going to get pizza; now you’re gone,
and they’re left alone to fight their own demons.
It’s been one month.
Your door remains closed,
no one dares to go in there.
Your mother has shut down,
not knowing how to go on.
She cries herself to sleep every night.
Blaming herself for not telling you
how much she loves you.
Your father goes through the motions,
but some nights, he has a little too
much whiskey, hoping to numb the
pain that seems to have settled
on his chest.
Your sibling has gone silent,
turning to the knife to deal
with the pain that has taken
over them. Almost ever night,
they break down, punching
the ground, screaming your name
to the heavens.
Your best friend goes out every night,
drinking to forget the ache in their chest.
Just one more glass of vodka to forget,
even for a little while.
And where are you?
You’re six feet under the ground,
rotting away silently.
While everyone you loved,
who loved you, is continuing
their lives—but there’s a void
in their a hearts, a space where
you once lived in.
Did you know that you’re
the reason your best friend
didn’t kill them self?
Did you know that you were
your sibling’s best friend?
Your parents’ pride and joy?
The light of everyone’s lives.
No, because you were blinded
by your sadness; you let
the darkness win.
Don’t let the darkness win.
Put the tool down, you’re
needed elsewhere.
(DS)
When I was a kid
I used to think that pork chops and karate chops
were the same thing
I thought they were both pork chops
and because my grandmother thought it was cute
and because they were my favourite
she let me keep doing it
not really a big deal
one day
before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees
I fell out of a tree
and bruised the right side of my body
I didn’t want to tell my
grandmother about it
because I was afraid I’d get in trouble
for playing somewhere that I shouldn’t have been
a few days later the gym teacher
noticed the bruise
and I got sent to the principal’s office
from there I was sent to another small room
with a really nice lady
who asked me all kinds of questions
about my life at home
I saw no reason to lie
as far as I was concerned
life was pretty good
I told her “whenever I’m sad
my grandmother gives me karate chops”
this led to a full scale
investigation
and I was removed from the house for three days
until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises
news of this silly little story
quickly spread through the school
and I earned my first nickname
pork chop
to this day
I hate pork chops
I’m not the only kid
who grew up this way
surrounded by people who used to say
that rhyme about sticks and stones
as if broken bones
hurt more than the names we got called
and we got called them all
so we grew up believing no one
would ever fall in love with us
that we’d be lonely forever
that we’d never meet someone
to make us feel like the sun
was something they built for us
in their tool shed
so broken heart strings bled the blues
as we tried to empty ourselves
so we would feel nothing
don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone
that an ingrown life
is something surgeons can cut away
that there’s no way for it to metastasize
it does
she was eight years old
our first day of grade three
when she got called ugly
we both got moved to the back of the class
so we would stop get bombarded by spit balls
but the school halls were a battleground
where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day
we used to stay inside for recess
because outside was worse
outside we’d have to rehearse running away
or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were
there
in grade five they taped a sign to her desk
that read beware of dog
to this day
despite a loving husband
she doesn’t think she’s beautiful
because of a birthmark
that takes up a little less than half of her face
kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer
that someone tried to erase
but couldn’t quite get the job done
and they’ll never understand
that she’s raising two kids
whose definition of beauty
begins with the word mom
because they see her heart
before they see her skin
that she’s only ever always been amazing
(part one)
