My Grief Serves to Remind Me of All the Ways I Failed to Be Better
I'm an awful human being and an awful friend. My grief serves to remind me of all the ways I failed to be better. The way I haven't been sober if I'm not working serves to remind me even more of the ways in which I let everyone down.
I had a 3 day weekend this week, Monday through Wednesday, and I spent all three of those days with people. There's nothing interesting about me anymore. All I am is my job and the atrocious way I treat women. I'm not proud of myself. Can I still blame it on J? Every time I think about him I think about everyone else, laying with him, cold in the ground.
Connor. It's been four years. I think about who you could have become. Barely an adult. You died alone in your room with your parents asleep downstairs. Your body's thousands of miles away from everyone you ever loved. People talk about you and they say I was one of your favorite people. I'm sorry I didn't feel the same. I miss your voice. I listen to your music now. I'm sorry no one was there for you. I'm sorry you had to die alone.
Nate. I saw your old tiktoks a month after you pulled the trigger. I'm pretty sure your girlfriend followed after you, but it's impossible to keep in touch with everyone. You were kind. I stopped thinking about you a while ago. I'm sorry we stopped saying your name, and started calling you the first of many.
Scar. It's been about a year since the accident and we still don't know any details. You deserved a better ending. You deserved to die on your own terms. I'm sorry the world took that from you. I wish you could have seen how much you meant to all of us. I hope you knew how much you mattered.
And J. It still doesn't feel real. I keep thinking I'll see your notification on my phone, or a post of your son with a caption about how much he's growing. I keep thinking everyone made a mistake, that you ran away to Alaska or something. I wish I could have been there for you. I should have been there more. I wish I could have done something about the way they treated you, but we were both kids and it wouldn't have changed anything. I don't know where to put all of this.
Grief is funny. I drink to avoid the feeling, but drinking makes it more real. Everything gets a little fuzzy and suddenly I start remembering stolen conversations and moments of vulnerability. I start thinking about all the other stuff too. My dad dying and losing his sanity, my sister afraid to come out, my mom's cruelty. I feel like I never get a chance to breathe.
I miss who I thought I could be before these past months. My ambitions now feel muted, the passion unreachable. My survival and continued delusions of fun control my behavior. Thinking about my sexuality is nauseating, thinking about my engagement is nauseating, thinking about my family is nauseating, thinking about waking up tomorrow is nauseating. My skin crawls when I reminisce about my actions a day ago. I miss myself and who I was before it all.