Two Years

Tomorrow marks the second anniversary of my best friend’s death. If someone would have told me two years ago today that I was going to have to face living the rest of my life without someone I considered to be a sister, rather than just a friend, I would have told them, quite frankly, to go fuck themselves. At that point, the thought of life without Carissa was inconceivable, and it was not something I was willing to give a moment’s thought.

Carissa was the type of person who defined a big personality. She had a big heart, big dreams and a big personality. If she walked into a room, she caught the attention of everyone there. In a way, we were opposites of one another, for as outspoken and loud as she could be; I was the quieter and quick witted one. We got along well, and could make each other laugh. Inside jokes were endless.

We were young, hell, I’m still young, and we often talked about wedding days and things like that. It was planned that we would stand up for each other at our weddings, and it was my intent to make her the god mother of one of my children. We were that close. It was the best type of friendship, because there were times that life got in the way, and we’d go days or weeks without talking and were able to pick back up as if no more than a few hours had passed.

I used to work in a hotel restaurant and lounge, and some of my favorite shifts included the ones that were dead, where she would show up, order some food and sit and visit me for hours. We’d share stories of angst over our parents and the headaches that they liked to give us, or love lives (or lack thereof, in my case), boys, music, clothes, make up. Anything and everything, nothing was taboo. She was one of the first people I  talked to when I was put on anti-depressants, and she patiently listened to me stress over the fact that I was facing a future where having my own children was uncertain.

I’m not going to pretend that I remember every detail of that fateful day, two years ago. I do remember coming home and reading Facebook- thanks a fucking lot, by the way- and seeing something about someone named Carissa passing away. Instantly, my body went numb and I was filled with dread. I got a call from my mother, wanting to know how a medical appointment went, but instead, she had a crying daughter on the other end. She was there within moments. Just as she was walking through the door, I got the call from Carissa’s dad that changed my life. All it took was his number on my caller ID, and to hear the tone of his voice from the first words to know it was true. It took all of my composure and strength to keep it together through that short phone call, and I was glad my mother was there to comfort me, along with my roommate and a good friend.

I tried to go to work the next day, and within a few hours, my boss found a replacement and sent me home. I was lost that day, and in the days that followed. There are still days when it hits me all over again, and I’m made aware of the fact that I will never see her again, never get to share a laugh, or a joke, a hug or a smile, a story or an inside joke. There is so much that I will never get to share with her, so much that I’ve already done, and know I will do that she will not be a part of. She won’t be there when I get married, or start a family. She won’t be there when I’m old and gray, to laugh and share stories of our youth.

Not only will I forever carry her memory in my heart, but I have a physical reminder of her on my wrist. That is one tattoo that I know in my heart I will never regret, and if anyone looks down upon me for it, I honestly do not care. It is my way of showing the world what she meant to me, and there are reasons why I chose to put my tattoo in the spot that I did. And, while it may make me a bit emotional, I have no problems with sharing the story with anyone who cares enough to ask. I usually get looks of sympathy or pity, and that kind of bugs me, but it’s worth it to be able to share that little bit of Carissa I have left with me.

There’s more I wanted to say, but I can’t write anymore, it hurts too much.

I Know You're Fine, But What Do I Do?

"I'm sorry for the distance. I just don't wanna risk a sure fire way to some broken hearts. You're on my fb to see the real me, not just me being charming. I want you to like me for me as a friend, that you would most definitely hump if given the chance."

Too. Fucking. Late. Maybe you're alright, but I'm not. I'm a stupid, foolish little girl. I should know better by now, but I don't, and time and time again, I pay for my stupidity. When will I learn? 

Coward

I am a fucking coward. That's why I am posting my thoughts and feelings here, rather than going straight to the source. Why is it that I always fall victim to the one that has no good intentions, and lies to me? I usually have a temporary loss of senses where I fall for those lies, and believe that this person is being genuine. I have a general distrust for people though, so when my gut tells me that something doesn't click, I become nosy and do a little snooping around.

Lo and behold, you're just like everyone else, and you were lying to me. I should have figured it out after you bailed on me the second time, but after you blew me off again last night, I finally realized that something had changed. Sure enough, you've found someone else, and didn't even have the decency to tell me. Started feeding me some lies that I only pretended to believe, because I wasn't about to go off on you when I didn't have any proof. Well, I do now and by the time I'm done with this, my thoughts will be clear and rational enough to call you out without flipping my lid.

I trusted you, and listened to you sob and cry over how bad your ex treated you and how your heart was broken. I promised to wait for you, not to rush you and to just be friends, because you weren't ready to be in a relationship and just wanted to be friends for a while. Well, fuck that. You were using me, just like everyone else, and I've gotten sick of it. I think the worst of it, is that it wasn't a man who broke my heart this time, but someone of my own gender. I thought I could trust you more because you knew what it was like to have a man use and abuse your heart, feelings and trust. I was wrong.

I now know how so many men turn into assholes, and so many women into cold, bitchy women. Both genders are equally awful to each other, and trying to find someone with good intentions becomes more and more difficult with each passing day.

"Oh, but Nikki, you're not being fair. You have feelings for someone else too!"

Fuck that. I didn't pursue anything, both because I had promised to wait for you and not to rush things, and because I knew that things wouldn't work out with this other person. It's something like a school girl crush. No matter what I feel for him, and how strongly, I'm positive that my feelings aren't returned, and there are several things that would make pursing the feelings illogical.

Know what the kicker is? I honestly hope that you're happy. That's a genuine sentiment. The worst thing is that you just didn't have the decency to tell me that you'd found someone else. Sure, that would fucking hurt, but it would hurt a lot less than finding out this way. All the lies and secrecy start to eat at you, and pretty soon, you're going to be a shadow of your former self. So, just come forward and tell me the truth already, because it's the best for the both of us.

And, if he breaks your heart...I'm sorry darling, I won't be here to pick up the pieces this time. I need to think about myself for once, and you're not a part of that plan anymore.