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I don't really have a best friend. I don't have anyone that I feel I can be completely open and honest with and I'm getting sick of it. I just want one person who I can spill my guts too and they won't judge me or call the things I stress about or get all giddy about stupid because they have seen so-and-so act this way before and it has turned out badly.
I need you right now. I want to talk to you so badly. But I'm afraid. I'm afraid of bothering you with my problems, I'm afraid of what you might say to me. But most of all I'm afraid of what you might think and not say. I hate feeling this way, but I've asked so much of you lately and I don't want to upset you in any way.
It doesn't seem like you can relate to the totality with which I need you. It's embarrassing, honestly. If I'm away from you for even a couple days I start feeling hollow and... lopsided. You're propping up the part of me that really gives a damn about continuing all this: community work, activism, learning, all of it. I'd like to think that these are independent of my relationships and that my ideals will carry past circumstantial interactions. But I really, undeniably need you to keep me going, to remind me that I can still be worth something, and to hold me until the sobs stop shaking me. You told me once that you needed me, but I can't help but wonder if you just knew that I needed to hear you say it. Either way, I can't explain how much I appreciate the effort and persistence.
I've found that I have this over whelming need to feel wanted or needed. I have to feel like the relationships I have or have had with people actually matter. I want them to feel like something positive came out of knowing, and spending time with me. I don't want some of my best friends now to look back on the time they spent with me and think "Yeah, she was fun to hang out with but oh well."
I don't want them to see me as a waste of time. I think this is coming from the fact that someone that I thought was one of my best friends just ended our relationship like nothing ever happened. I feel like there are so many other things that I could have been doing than investing so much time, and love, and care into her.
She said that she wasn't coming back to this city ever again, and certainly had no interest in ever talking to me again. I thought that we were on good terms again, but the message that I left on her cellphone last winter to wish her a merry Christmas was returned with a blunt request that I not contact her again. "We just don't have anything left to say to each other."
But, like the old myth goes, you can't ever escape from this town forever. She came back to spend some time with her parents. When she said hey and approached me while I was in line, waiting for my bagel, it took me several seconds to even understand that it was her. I instinctively hugged her with one arm, like I do all my female friends, before who she was really set in.
She joined my table of friends and we talked, made polite chit-chat, acted casually. Then she wished me well, gave me another brief hug, and left. I couldn't help but watch her as she walked away and disappeared around the corner of the building.
I don't know what it is that shakes me to my core when I see her. It's not attraction. She's not unattractive, I just don't get intimidated like that by my attraction for people. It's almost as if seeing her is like seeing the specter of a lost part of myself, or a true part of myself, or the agent that had a hand in killing or bringing to life that part of me.
Maybe my heart pounds a little harder when I'm around her because I think it should. I've only built up this person's importance more and more over the years, even though our association with each other went from extremely close and loving to practically strangers.
I tried not to worry about it. After I finished my food, I started walking away from that coffee shop and decided to take our unexpected run-in as a reason to reminisce about the good memories that she and I have together. But then, my mind was only filled with flashes of her crying in my arms, me finding her with a utility knife and a pile of bloody paper towels around her, her and I curled up in her bed talking about suicide with tears in our eyes, the helplessness of graduating high school and being on your own, her mad at herself for thinking that she was the one that inspired me to start cutting myself up. She kind of was. I think. Maybe not. I don't know. But she had reason to think so, and I regret that.