friends

I am digging through my concept of myself, and of my ‘value’.

I have noticed a pattern, and best I tell it with a story…

Quite awhile ago I met a group of people in the pagan community and made friends with them. They were sort of a Renaissance fair offshoot, and a few of them went on to the BDSM community as I have noticed the typical crossover between these alternative groups.

One of the people I met was David.

Now David and I we, made friends. We hung out- although not frequently, and we talked- about women, life, sushi, good food, jobs, women, and how we really needed to go burn some meat and paint on caves.

Each of us lived out life, went through jobs and lovers, homes and circles of friends, had all the normal ups and downs. I hid out much of the time, as I often do. I worked, raised kittens, did my stuff and generally lived my isolated and sometimes very lonely life.

Dave got sick. No one knew what was wrong with him. We talked, I would throw myself into his arms and crawl up his body and give him huge hugs. We lamented that some of our friends had mainstreamed and vanished. Dave worked at something he loved, and went on adventures- wine making in Australia was one of his favorite. He’d call and tell me about his friends, fads in wines women, working out and of course, if I pestered him, he’d talk about the medical mystery bullshit he was going through.

Dave got sicker. We didn’t see each other much. I always figured Dave had a billion other ‘real’ friends and I was just one of his oddball distant talk to when no one else was around friends. Sure, I adored Dave. But I didn’t expect that adoration/ friendship returned.

Dave got sicker, and after 6 or so years, ‘they’ figured out he had cancer. He fought with his insurance company, his was a rare cancer, and the insurance company classified the treatment as experimental, so denied it.

His treatment was approved a week before he died. He’d called me all excited because his treatment had been approved, and I asked him ‘do you want me to come?’ and he said no, he was cool. We talked about being afraid the treatment might not work, and he might die. He talked of his lady friend. He was so jazzed, because this treatment worked… and he could finally be better.

I called on his first chemo day. No one returned my call. Oddly, the day before my computer had blown up, as had the vacuum cleaner and an alarm clock all at the same time, as if a massive power surge had ripped through the house. I’d thought ‘huh, funny- I wonder if that is Dave calling me’.

About a week later I got a call that told me David had died before his first chemo treatment.

I reluctantly went to his memorial, feeling so out of place with his pretty friends from the wine industry. I didn’t want to meet his girlfriend, figuring she’d do the ‘ew icky’ at me, sorta like ‘happy bunny’ says ‘you made me throw up a little’.

She was gracious and kind, and I made my rounds and went away.

A few weeks later she called, needing someone to talk to and me, compassionate me talked to her for hours. Apparently few of David’s friends would talk to her. Many did not approve that she’d married Dave in his last week.

I asked her why she picked me to call, and she said “I was reading David’s journals, and you have always been his very best friend…”

I was stunned. Me, David’s best friend?

I had no idea he valued me so…. Or rather, I didn’t believe that someone, anyone could bond to me as I bond to them.

Now, this is a repeating pattern.

I have several people who I love so dearly. They are- in my mind, my comrades, brothers, sisters, family beyond blood forever and ever into the stars. Recently one of them has been telling me he wants me to know that I am one of his best friends…

I struggle with this. I love him. I would kill for him and hide the bodies- but not believing in my own self worth, I have stayed in the shadows, not called out to him, because I do not want to dump my odd little self on him…

And I’m wrong to de-value myself that way.

So here I sit, teaching myself to try to stay in contact with my beloved ones, to ask if I can visit, to call or email and tell them I love them, or I need them, or just hello…

Because I do not want to find out I really was someone’s best friend after they are dead, and beyond my functional reach (hello Dave, I feel you in the room, I see you)

So D.B., this is for you my friend. I love you. I miss talking to you. Thanks for telling me you value me. I’ll be asking to visit… and if you need a hammer swinger, creative dark décor person… here I am.