There is no way to brace for that. There is no big deep breath before they give you the shot. There is no bandage for that sucking wound. Like some movie cliche I asked if it was a horrible fucking joke.
We all know it never is.
I laugh and cry as I write that. Thinking back on endless nights of chatting. Watching movies together on the phone. All the times she tried and we laughed in our morbid way about how she couldn't even do that right. Deep, rolling, belly laughs. She always said she was going to get it one day. For me to prepare for it. To look after Mouse if I could.
When she tried with the xanax, I woke up to missed calls. Text messages. Thursday there were none of those calls, because she knew I was going to talk her down.
Again.
I was going to make her stay. Again.
And she was so tired.
This was all I got that night. The perfect period to the end of her sentence. This, she would also laugh about.
It is hard to think that I'll never see my beautiful friend again. The fast and furious friend I made through Bethanie's death. The friend I laughed with until we were sick. Talked murder shows with. That brought me to Steemit. My weird friend that liked to take pictures of herself crying. I would always compliment the bags under her eyes because they were so her. She was wrapped in exhaustion and sadness and it drew me to her like a tragic flame. I would burn every night with her.
And then it is all snuffed out.
My heart rattles and shakes in my chest for her. But selfishly. It aches for my friend. When I should be celebrating that she is free. I know it is greedy to mourn her, because she didn't want to be here anymore. All the times I stopped her, I was on borrowed time. She was being rented. I was extending the lease.
I was so sure... that one day that need to leave would fade. And probably would have, with enough time. By that time I would be visiting with her, us wearing our fuzzy pjs, eating junk food, and binge watching all the seasons of Forensic Files. That was the plan for later this year. I will mourn that lost plan, too.
I will mourn all the art she won't be making.
I will mourn the loss of her.
But I won't mourn her.
She wouldn't want me to. And I know that.
She brought me here, and left, knowing that I was being well looked after. I would never have been able to thank her enough for what she gave me. Between her friendship, her love, and her guidance, my life is better because of her. She molded who I am today. SHE made me Stitchybitch. SHE made me happy again. SHE gave me purpose.
EDIT: Please, if you can, visit her final expenses gofundme. Donations are needed and welcomed, but loving comments are even more valuable. Thank you. <3
(This is also by
