State of Soul

What Remains

When I was a little girl, I went to church with my grandmother and uncle all the time.

Honestly, I couldn't say what drew me there. Was it the bagels they served, or the smell of the brewing coffee? Was it the worship before the preaching, or the preaching which followed the worship? Or was it simply because I could still wear my favorite dress without stockings? The reasoning is unclear, but I always went and always because I wanted to.

And then, we just stopped going.

It didn't bother me. Over the years, after my uncle married his now wife and they began a family and my grandmother cared for her mother, things changed. We occasionally visited the church my uncle took his family, but I felt restricted by the itchy material of my sweater and too anxious around the other children. I hated the Sunday school classes and chose to sit with my family in the pews. The minister often said things I didn't understand, and he intimidated me. Church wasn't the same.

Then, my great-grandmother passed away.

The glue which held our family together left this world and unfortunately, the family she left behind changed. It wasn't her fault. I just wasn't equipped to handle it. I didn't know how. My emotions became scrambled messes which festered in my head. Past problems and complications that I brushed under the rug years prior began to resurface, leading to many nights of me crying myself to sleep. It was a hard time, but times would only grow harder.

I found myself with a crowd of people that I called my friends. There was one girl in particular that I was close with. She was an eccentric, goth girl who was not afraid to be herself. We both loved the same music, the same books, the same fashion taste, and had the same twisted minds. To be honest, I could have helped her. I should have tried, but in the end, our friendship was brief. We went down different paths after a misunderstanding.

However, before that transpired, she was the closest friend I had. Literally, she lived across the street from me. I told her everything and we shared so much; secrets, notebooks, shirts, books, and movies. I found myself comfortable around her. Even when she told me she thought I was attractive, but she wouldn't cross any boundaries, I still felt fine around her. There was no awkwardness in the air. We were still just friends. But because of our twisted minds, we were not the best pairing.

I never stopped her. On that cold day where the snow fell from the heavens, all I did was hold her in my arms as she cried over the guy who broke her heart. I saw them. The markings she put there and instead of telling someone, I kept it a secret for her. And we stood and I held her as she cried and cried and cried.

I suppose you can say we fed into each other's mental instability. Instead of encouraging each other to get help, we applauded each other's new secrets. And when we reached our most twisted fantasies is when our friendship crumbled. However, through our friendship's ashes rose a new friendship with the girl she introduced me to countless times.

Both of us had been discarded by her, so we found common grounds in our memories of her. However, this friend was different. We had different tastes in music, she hated reading, we didn't share a notebook, and she wore a small while I wore a medium. So, there were different things that bonded us.

Though, she was a fierce friend who did things that pushed me.

During another dark part of my life, she saw them. I thought I hid them, but she still caught a glimpse. She said she'd give me one more shot. If I did it again, we'd go to the counselor's office. I didn't believe her. So, that night was like the past nights spent over those three years. The next day, she saw them and went to our homeroom teacher. He gave us the okay and she took me to the counselor's office. There...that was where I thought my life would end.