It was over. Any future she had expected, planned, dreamed of, was no longer of any consequence. She blinked and it was gone.
She opened her eyes and saw fire, engulfing the hood of the car. She felt everything and nothing, excruciating pain and numbness. The only sounds she heard were the crackling of the flames and the awful screams of her best friend to her left in the driver’s seat. She was in hell.
Blackness overtook her and when she awoke the cacophony of EMTS and firefighters and her best friend’s continued screaming was overwhelming. She panicked, tried to lift herself back into her seat from where she had slid, but she discovered she was caught.
“Please!” she begged, too quietly to be heard over all the ruckus. “Please, I can’t sit up! Please help me!”
She looked down at her knees, noticing for the first time that the windshield had melted down onto them. It burned. It burned more than anything she had ever felt.
Her right arm was crushed into the passenger side door. The two seemed to be melded together. She couldn’t move it. It felt unattached. No longer a part of her.
A face floated into view through the empty space where the windshield had been. He looked concerned but all in all, much too calm considering his surroundings.
“Hello, ma’am, can you tell me your name?” He said, a sense of urgency evident in his otherwise kind voice.
“Laurie.” she croaked. “Laurie Hanson.”
“And your friend’s?” he asked, gesturing to the driver’s seat where her best friend sat screaming, cursing and spitting as if she were possessed.
“C-clara. Clara Golding.” Laurie stammered. “Please! Please get us out of here!”
“We will, honey, we will!” the man replied. “But right now, I’m gonna need you to do me a favor. I need you to try and calm your friend down so we can help her! Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”
Laurie nodded gingerly, sending pain shooting through her body. She lifted her left hand, which was still mobile, and patted the middle console next to her until she found Clara hand. She grabbed ahold of it, as if to say: “I’m here too. I’m still here with you.”
And the rest was an absolute blur.
I am NOT a marriage counselor, a fact that I am very content with because, let’s face it, I have enough freakin problems of my own. Now if I could just convince my mom and dad that this is not my occupation that would be super.
My mom and dad seem to find it not only appropriate, but necessary, for me to know every detail of their marital problems. They use me as a mediator of sorts, as if it’s not going to scar me for life. My dad is constantly trying to force me to choose a side. Aren’t we all a little old for this?
Is it ever ok to give up on someone? I mean some people never change right? Don’t some people need to be given up on, in the hopes that they’ll change because you gave up on them? Like how long are you supposed to deal with their crap? Forever? A while? A few days? I have many more questions than answers in this blog. Though I never really have many answers.
If you’re going to destroy yourself then just destroy yourself. Why destroy other people in the wake of the atom bomb that is your life? Why would you treat the people that are doing the most for you the worst? Is it because you think you can treat them badly because the ones that love you will never leave?
I know we’re all guilty of it. We have at least once all been awful to the people that we love the most and that love us the most. But when it’s consistent and never ending and you never return the love that they give you, it’s different and diabolical and spiteful and mean. Let us go. I’m sure we’ll mourn for you. We’ll miss you. We will tell stories about you until we’re old and gray. But you will be so much more in our memories then you are in life right now. It’s sad to say that and it feels cruel, but the truth often is.
So if you’re going to be a drug addict and make everyone around you miserable, and you don’t even feel empathy for them, then maybe you should rethink this thing called life. If you’re threatening suicide every day just because you don’t get your way and you’re stealing and you’re making your family so so unhappy, then maybe you should just go away. I guarantee there are people like you out there and you can join them like a herd. Like antelope but much clumsier and drug addled. And you can eat grass and see funny shapes in the sky and eat entire pies while everyone is asleep on Christmas Eve… you crackhead!
It’s Christmas Eve and I’m fighting with myself as to whether or not I should reach out to someone who hasn’t spoken to me in almost 2 months. She is/was/might be my best friend, I don’t even know anymore. We’ve LITERALLY known each other for our entire lives. Our fathers were best friends and we were born 11 days apart. That’s either fate or an absolutely insane coincidence, right?
Should time ever be a factor when it comes to friendship? Just because I’ve known her since I first started breathing doesn’t mean we should be friends until I stop (breathing, that is), right? I mean, sometimes it seems like our friendship is poisonous to both of us. We infuriate each other and stop speaking constantly.
I will admit that the reason she’s mad at me is completely valid. I said something I shouldn’t have out of hurt feelings. I have since apologized, telling her I knew that I was in the wrong and that it was all my fault. No reply. She won’t return my texts or even write me on Facebook. Part of me feels that I should just give up and let her be, maybe she’d be better off for it. The long-distance thing has brutally mangled our friendship, probably beyond repair.
Don’t get me wrong, I love her. I try to be happy when she’s happy. But our fathers instilled in us a competitive nature, pitting against each other in a “friendly” battle to be the better of the two. In school, in life, in sports, it didn’t matter. The loser would be chastised with harsh words and cold silences. It was our way of life.
We’ve been through things together that no one else would ever understand and that’s bonded us throughout the years. But I’m afraid the bond may be breaking, and I’m wondering if I should let her leave my little house of horrors and unrest…
A long-distance boyfriend with a traumatic brain injury is not an easy or ideal combination. God knows I’m trying, but how can one be sure they’re trying hard enough? I’m leery, even now, to admit to our relationship. Not because I’m ashamed. Not even remotely. It just doesn’t feel real at the moment, and it won’t until the 2 of us are reunited.
The whole thing is a long and sordid story, but I’ll give you the cliff notes. We met in rehab, the North-East Center in Lake Katrine to be exact. We started out as friends and fell in love somehow along the way. He knew he loved me right away, I could always see it in his expressions. It took me a little longer to catch on because the heartache caused by my gay fiance was still too fresh. We were on and off a lot because of fights that rarely made sense to me. B had lyme disease which, gone untreated for MUCH too long, affected his short term memory. His long term memory is perfectly fine, he can tell you his whole life story up until the seizure. He forgets things minutes after you tell him and he rarely ever knows what month it is. Obviously some things stick, because I did ❤ We were together in rehab for about a year and a half. He was a big factor in how I stayed sane in there, though he did drive me crazy from time to time. And then I left for Cohoes and after 7 years in rehab they finally let Binny leave and he moved to Suffern. He is now back in a rehab in Staten Island for reasons I will not discuss. He plans to move to Cohoes when he gets out, whenever the eff that is, so that we can be together. I can’t get my hopes up though, because I don’t want to fall apart,
All I want is for him to be with me for Christmas. I want it so bad that it hurts. I know it sounds cheesy, but we literally complete each other. He makes up for my physical deficiencies and I make up for his mental deficiencies. We fit together perfectly. Yes, we are both jealous and crazy and angry, but it works and it’s ours.
A life with B would be a life of forgotten birthdays and anniversaries. A life of screaming matches about complete nonsense. A life of inconveniences. But I want it. I want it so, so badly 😥
As the title would suggest, my best friend of 17 years is getting married today. Ever since I found out, I can’t stop picturing the scene in The Wedding Singer where Drew Barrymore is standing in front of the mirror in her wedding dress and says, “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Mrs. Julia Gulia” and then bursts into tears. I should probably explain that one of my best friend’s nicknames is Julia Gulia. When I’m not picturing this, I busy myself worrying. I’m good at worrying, as I do it so often. What am I worried about in regards to the wedding? I’ll tell you.
I’m worried that everything will change. Well, I should say I was worried, that is until I realized, everything already has. Things change everyday and they will continue to. For example, my best friend had a child and I was shuffled around between hospitals and rehabs for 2 years. Those were 2 huge changes in our lives, yet here we are, still as thick as theives. We’re never going to not be there for eachother, no matter what changes. It’s just not going to happen.
I want to wish Jewels and her husband-to-be a world of happiness. No one deserves to be happy more than my best friend ❤ . I can’t wait to see her dolled up like a princess! She’s going to be the most beautiful bride anyone’s ever seen!
I really do not know how I’m still conscious right now. I am running on literally zero hours of sleep. Why? Because I was up all night shivering and shaking like a crackwhore while buried under 6 blankets and one small dog. This, of course, is most likely the result of another lovely UTI brewing in the petri dish that I call a bladder. Yay. Winning!