Hi, friend.
I’m sorry I haven’t been myself. I’m sorry I sometimes fall off the grid. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. And I do miss you.
You have to know how much I value you. How much I need you in my life. How much your simple notes and texts and efforts to reach me have meant. Yes. I saw every single one. No, you haven’t done anything wrong. It’s me. And it’s this time, this hellish, crazy, revealing, stretching time.
There are so many things I’ve wanted to tell you, but I haven’t had the words.
I’ve wanted to tell you that I still laugh— at my own sarcastic jokes, at inappropriate times, and with others.
I’ve wanted to tell you that I’m weak.
I’ve wanted to tell you not to pity me or feel bad for me or worry about me.
I’ve wanted to tell you that I’m holding on, and I’ll never stop, but somedays, I’m holding on by a single thread.
I’ve wanted to tell you that I feel like I have absolutely nothing left to give to anyone or anything, and that everyday I’m just surviving, moving through each day, sometimes in a fog, sometimes with a deliberateness and ferocity produced by grief.
I’ve wanted to tell you that I still care, even if it doesn’t feel like it.
I’ve wanted to tell you how much I wish I could be there for you right now, support you the way you’ve supported me, carry your mess with you and make the load a little lighter. Someday, I will. I promise.
I’ve wanted to tell you that I’ve changed. Irrevocably. Permanently. My soul is richer and my heart is fuller in brokenness than it ever was without. I’ve learned true despair, and it’s made me learn to appreciate true joy.
I’ve wanted to tell you that I’m still me. My losses and pains change me, but they don’t define me. I’m still me— the same quirky, wild, bleeding heart who lived down the hall from you in college. I still have my trademark bad hair days. I still wear the same jeans three days in a row. I still think fine dining is takeout chips and queso from Moe’s.
I’ve wanted to tell you thank you. Thank you for sticking through this with me. Thank you for understanding. Thank you for giving me time and space when I need it. Thank you for assuming the best in my intentions. Thank you for giving me endless support. Thank you for giving, even when you know you might get nothing in return, after all, that isn’t your motive anyway.
Thank you for taking me, no matter the form. Thank you for loving me through the mess.
Friends like you can never be replaced.
Still me, just a little more worn and tattered,
Your Friend
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