Wouldn't it be weird if you came across this letter somehow? I know that at one point, when I first started this blog years ago, I showed it to you in the vain (both meanings) hopes that you would be one of the followers. I don't know why. I usually don't like it when friends or family see my writings, especially since some of this would be sensitive stuff. I'm pretty sure that if I actually make it as an author I wouldn't tell my family until my name was in a paper somewhere.
I miss you so much.
Let me rephrase that in a sense throughout this letter, because I don't think that sentence does much justice to the meaning that is bursting at the seams of the phrase.
Sometimes when I think of you, of how close we used to be, my chest gets a dull ache that throbs with every heartbeat. I once called you sister and I once called your child my nephew. I don't know why you won't return texts or calls. I thought it was just the stresses of motherhood and your nursing job but I think it reaches deeper than that somehow because after all this time there's no excuse. Communication is a two way street. There's no reason you can't text a simple 'sorry, been really busy lately.' while pretending to go bathroom at work or before going to bed. I know because sometimes when I used to text you I did exactly that. It saddens me to think that I am somehow not worth that after all these years. When we were younger I told you I wanted to name my first born daughter after you. I loved your name almost as much as I loved you. I still intend to keep that claim.
Sometimes when I think of you I get angry. Not cursing your name to the sky, throwing things around the room angry. My anger is like the soft crashing of waves from a distant shore as the storm rolls in behind me. This anger is a thing I scoff and toss out of my mind because when I think of the reasons why too much my anxiety acts up. Because after all this time I still have your phone number in my phone under 'Sister From Another Mister' where it will stay. I'm not sure I will ever take that number out. It might even be the wrong number (something inside me doubts this though because it's been the same number every time I lost your number and got it back from you for years) but since it's the only one I know of and it's 'yours' I will keep it.
Sometimes when I think of you I get scared. A slow, steady, creeping feeling that slithers its way into my veins and takes root, pulsing through my body like a living essence taking over. I'm afraid that you don't talk to me anymore because of something I did. Or perhaps something I didn't do, something I didn't have the strength to do. Ten years. Almost ten years is how long it took me to recover and get some semblance of who I used to be after I left my ex. You were there for the beginning and middle of my depression but not the end of it. Was it hard to see your friend fight through a riptide that threatened to drown her everyday? I guess it probably was. Maybe too hard to stay and watch, not sure if I would reach the shore.
I don't blame you. I've never wanted to be anyone's beast of burden.
Maybe it really was the new life you built with your husband. Maybe our friendship, as strong as it was, was just destined to fizzle for some reason with me holding these memories in my heart.
I'll always miss and love you,
Thank you for being the psychologist that I don't pay. The sister I never shared a womb with. The buyer of my dinners at our diner. And so much more. Your friendship is worth more than its weight in gold.
And you kick ass.
See you at Scouts,
I had to put that last letter in there. What can I say? Humor is my defense mechanism. When things are too serious, lighten the fuck up.
I never did my 'ketchup' blog post like I was supposed to....Oh well. Que sera, sera. It will come again another time. This first letter for this challenge took a little too much out of me.
Have any of you readers ever lost a friend you felt for sure you were destined to have forever?