My best male friend broke off our friendship today. Well, his with me and with my girlfriend, who’s also a friend of his. She’s known him longer, I’ve known her longer than that, he’s been lonely for a very long time and can’t handle being around us. Either of us. Both.
It blows. So I came over to comfort her, and then I ended up being the one who got sent to the shower to wash my hair so she could style it for me before I left to get up Way Too Fucking Early (tm) for work tomorrow.
So I’m thinking about how fucking lucky we both are, to have each other on a terrible horrible no good very bad day. And how much it sucks that he doesn’t have someone, because on some of my worst days, he took care of me when I was sick, or scared, or depressed and anxious as hell. And I would go take care of him, you know, if this was someone else his heart was broken over. The last girl that broke up with him, I took him out to our favorite French pastry place and told him she was not a prize and he was better off.
Last week he took me to see Frozen and gave me his reading on the queer subtext in it and said he thought the movie would make me happy and the story about accepting yourself in your difference would make me more comfortable with myself.
I have his Christmas present sitting on my letter tray and our concert tickets for his birthday next summer in my inbox.
I wouldn’t trade my girlfriend. I’ve loved her for more of my life than not, if you count straight forward from me meeting her when I was in 6th grade and being the primary reason I realized I was queer.
And I imagine this hurts her more than me, because they IM’d each other for hours, every day, for years.
And I don’t understand how you can make that call, to just cut two people you care about out of your life, but I imagine it happens when seeing people, or even seeing their names and faces on social media, becomes like being cut open every single day.
Everything in my fucking being says this is not what you do, this is not how you treat people you love just because they couldn’t love you back the way you wanted, you don’t just excise them like you’re Jefferson with the Bible.
This is all we have, these scraps of skin we’re wearing, and each other, and “I tore these out of your symbol and they turned into paper” and how can you leave me, how can you just quit, and let the history of us, every other day or so for two years, flutter to the fucking ground? You are my photographer and you are my biggest and most eloquent cheerleader and you are my great golden bear and you are probably not going to read this and how could you leave us? How could you leave me?
How the fuck could you leave me?