For anyone who really knows me and who has been with me all the way up until Christmas break, you know that Tony and I were inseparable. He knew me better than anyone else did and who ever will, and no one will ever have the same bond with me as he did. It was crazy, to be honest. He always knew what to do or say when I was upset. He would always get me out of the house when things became too much to handle. Our late walks at night became routine, and chalk drawings were always a favorite hobby of ours. Sugarland was our music any time of the day, and we would often stay up until the ungodly hours of the morning talking about our hopes and dreams, what we thought about death, God, and we would even fight sleep just to see how long we could fight it for. And then, somewhere along the way, things took a turn for the worst. I don't want to get into details, but things changed dramatically. Now, whenever I see him, I have the strongest urge to walk up to him and start talking like old times. But at the same time, seeing him makes me sick to my stomach. It's one of those moments where I'll stare at him and try to remember who he is, and how much of a role he's played in my life. Ten years of memorizing that face, those eyes... it's hard to look away, to think that he's the same guy. And then his eyes meet mine and I look away, trying to forget; trying to shake the memories away as my heart crumbles to bits. How could we have gotten this far just to watch our little Jericho fall to the ground like nothing? We trusted each other with everything we had, made time for each other whenever we could, and no matter how stupid we felt rambling on about something that shouldn't have been as big of a deal as it was, we never felt idiotic in the end because we both had that kind of understanding. We both knew what to say without even having to think, and we had memorized each other so well that we couldn't hide anything, ever. We always threw our cards out on the table, no questions asked. And I guess that's why we aren't friends today. I knew him so well that I could see change happening, and I was no longer one of the main concerns anymore. I had been replaced by someone much more addicting, and I soon found myself spending weeks at a time without seeing him. My depression went out of control, and after that, it was over. I said things that I shouldn't have said even though I was in the wrong state of mind at the time, and even though I tried explaining it, my excuse wasn't good enough. I said what I said and that was that, and I was called a hypocrite and a liar and a shit talker. My best friend, the one who had seen me at my absolute, and I mean absolute worst... the one who had always been kind in patience and plentiful in love, and the one who always forgave me no matter what was going on with me, had left me for dead. Left me for her. I was no longer a priority. I was tossed aside like yesterday's news, and although I was the one who said lets just end it, he never took the time to let me breathe, nor did he ever try to ask for an explanation. Seeing him makes me sick. That's why I look away.
I never realized what it was like to be so disgusted that I couldn't even look a person straight in the eye. But after ten years of thinking a friendship is going to be for a lifetime, and then watching it crumble, I now have that understanding. I can no longer go on walks with people around my neighborhood because it's just not the same. I can't draw with chalk. I still listen to Sugarland every now and then, but not much anymore. It's just all too bittersweet. Heck, I can't even listen to "For Good". I don't know how I'm going to make it through the production of Wicked in December without crying my eyes out. I miss him so much, but not who he is now. I miss who he was, and what we were. I miss the history of our beautiful friendship, and how it was something that not everyone gets to experience. Sure, people tell me that I'm better off without him, and better off without the hurt he was causing me, but no one understands just how important that boy was in my life. He's the one who shaped me and who helped me become a better person. He was the one who taught me how to laugh and how to be myself, and he even made me realize that if I'm a weirdo, hey, let that weirdness shine. He's done so much for me, and I miss having that reassurance that I felt so many times before just by having him around. No matter how awkward a situation was, he was there to break the ice and to bring me out of my shell. The part of me that I loved... the part that he brought out the best... began dying soon after I made the decision to walk away for good. I will never be the same without him.
All I want is an apology and my best friend back. I want to sit down with him and explain to him what happened back in December when my depression had worsened. I want to tell him the thoughts that were running through my mind, how I had starved myself for a full 24 hours because I was too sad to get up off my bum, and I want to tell him how much I missed him during that time when he was running around with her and neglecting me. I want him to understand the state my mind was in, and how half of the things I was thinking or saying weren't normal. I want to ask him what happened, and why he started making the choices he made. But I can't do that now. It's too late, because my best friend is gone, and no matter how many times he tries to walk back into my life, pretending as though nothing has happened will never fix anything. I want to hear an apology. I want honesty. I want to trust him so I can laugh again and be happy like I used to be. Nothing is the same, and nothing ever will be. I lost the one thing that I will never find again, the one thing that you can only find once in a lifetime: true friendship. Someone who knows you so well that they can decipher any facial expression, any stare, any smile or frown, any tone in your voice, any body movement, and know exactly what's wrong and how to fix it without needing to think twice. They just get you.
I hold onto his paintings. I hold onto the hat he gave me. I hold onto the photographs. I'll never be able to throw them away, nor will I ever be able to look at them without feeling that surge of sadness and sickness that accompanies a bad memory. Sometimes I wonder whether I should be thankful for our friendship, or hate it for what it's doing to me. I may smile and laugh, and I may be able to forget about him a good amount of the time. But no matter what, he's always going to be in the back of my mind. I guess I just don't have the heart to throw him out, and I never will. Those memories are going to haunt me for the rest of my life, and no matter how hard I try, I will never be able to let go of them.
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