A Memory
The first thing I recall from childhood is standing outside in the parking lot of my church. We attended with my Aunts, Uncles and cousins. It wasn't a big church I could probably have name everyone there if you asked me. In later years in the odd moments when I would try to recall my earliest memories this is the one that would pop up, because of this I know I was seven.
I wasn't, and would not become, the most outgoing child. This memory takes place as I walk in to the parking lot. I can see my sibling playing with the other children, not to far from him my cousin is talking with a group of girls and in that moment I realized I did not have a place to belong in these pictures.
Memories are fickle, they come and go like the waves lapping on a sandy beach. I recall the moment I stopped crying. I was being punished for something, I can't remember if I was in the wrong, and parent had given me physical discipline for the matter. I don't remember why, but I thought to myself "they must enjoy seeing me cry" and I vowed never to cry again. I didn't place parameters on this vow and so for all matters I did not allow myself to cry. That small misplaced vow ruled my childhood with a iron first.
My first best friend was not originally my friend. I recall our first meeting at a school we went to for standardized testing. I saw her sitting waiting to be picked up, and my brother started a conversation up and introduced me as his sister and stated they should be friends.
People my age where hard to get along with. My mother had just given us access to our own computers for online school. I had just gotten a email and however it happened we became friends. From her I learned that I was not the only one whom felt estranged in the world. We shared our likes and dislikes, our happiness and our sadness, we gained a safe place to speak about our deepest fears. I loved her. Openly and happily. My mistake.
My parent voiced a concern that we might be too close, and to be careful not to getting to close. Maybe they were right to say that as, I would have my heart ripped out, but that was way in the future and when they told me that it only gave me unnecessary anxiety about things I had never thought about before till they mentioned it.
I recall my first separation from her. We spoke every day at all times, neither day nor night gave reason for us not to be up speaking to one another. Then she didn't respond back. A day passed or maybe more. I lost all concepts of time and space and became severely depressed and anxious. I didn't know that at the time. I just knew that all I could feel was the crushing weight of loneliness, and a deep desire to fix whatever I had done wrong to make her leave me. She had gotten sick. She was in the hospital. Two weeks had gone by when I found out. I repressed everything because she didn't hate me and that's all that mattered.
Some time after my sixteenth birthday and before my eighteenth birthday I realized I was an addict. More than likely stemming from a non existent feeling of self worth, anxiety, self hatred and probably the beginning of depression. I told my parents, they blamed my friend. Perfectly parental reaction had I stopped to think about it. I craved parental affection they where giving me said affection, so I did as I was told so that I wouldn't lose this new found reality.
In three days I mustered up the courage to call my best friend, who I had promised to grow old with and live with if we never find love, the one who I vowed to hold up when she couldn't do it herself to tell her we can't be friends anymore. I am now a liar. I deserve death, but I have what I've wanted attention from my parents, and when I turn into a legal adult I don't have to adhere to their rules and we can be friends again right? Right?
Hey Miki, I don't stop thinking about you. I hate me a lot for what I did to you. I hate myself even more every time I reach out to you, or think of reaching out to you. As I know that I am the poison from your youth that just won't die. I hate myself for the years I wasn't about to be there like I said I would. I hate myself for never being able to see your smile or hold your hand again. I hate that I'm no longer apart of your life, but I still after all these years want to be. I hate that I don't know if I'm chasing the feeling of the person I became around you, or if I just miss you. I hope you heal from the damage I dealt you. I am sorry I can't erase myself from your life so you never had to experience it in the first place. I'm sorry for still reaching out.
