I'm grieving a Lost friendship.
My best friend
Victoria.
Can I still call her that?
Could I have ever called her that?
Some of you might have heard me speak her name in hate,
In anger,
In pure, undying rage.
But today I speak it in love,
Because I love her;
Victoria.
I love her, but I had to let her go.
She's the only one who understood,
What I was going through.
What my family life was like, as a Big Sister,
As an unloved child.
She even understood the heartbreak I endured in 2015.
To an extent.
And this brings us to the second stage of grief:
Anger.
I am angry at her for choosing him over me.
If she were my friend, how could she be with him?
Knowing what he did to me, to JRF?
To Molly, with hair like a lion's mane?
How could she see blindly past it?
I can never get his touch out of my aching skull;
How can she love being touched by the same hand who hurt me?
Who hurt at least 3 others?
I asked my mom what she thought.
Was our friendship weird?
Awkward?
Unusual?
"Imagine if Anna got together with Travis, who I am still to this day traumatized by, 21 years later. Of course it would be awkward to be her friend.
She wasn't a true friend."
Could that be?
Could that really be the truth behind the pretty pictures?
Could she, deep down, not see me as a friend?
"It's always been about winning with her. She has Mark, who you were so in love with. She's trying to dangle that over your head. That's what she's always done!"
But that's not true.
All we had was eachother, for the longest time.
We're past all that, right?
Right??
Maybe.
.... right?
I loved her.
Victoria.
I'm angry at her.
Victoria.
I love her, and I'm angry at her.
I miss her.
Victoria....
- The Spider

Everything always seemed to happen by your house,
and hidden by the trees.

It was a couple weeks after I slapped you.
We were in the woods again.
The snow was melting, and the frozen muddy ground
was visible again.
I sat down on a log, and you sat next to me.

"I really want to try. Can we please just try it?"

You looked at me, pleading for me to try to have *** with you.
But the thing is, you knew I'd never had *** before.
I was scared, and you knew that.

"If you loved me, you would try."

Being fifteen years old and a suicidal wreckage,
I didn't want you to leave me.
I was naïve enough to think this was love.
I agreed that I would try, not that it would go anywhere.

You laid down your jacket, so that neither of us would get muddy.
I started to pull off my pants, but I left my underwear on.
I just wanted to get used to the idea of your **** near that area.
I explained that to you, and you seemed to get it.

"Are you ready?"

I told you no, that I wasn't ready for any of this.
But I would do it for you because I love you.
You pulled off my underwear, and got yourself into position.
My heart was pounding. I kept saying for you to go slow.
And you did.

As your **** began to touch, I started to panic.
I was stuck, frozen in terror.
I had never had *** before, and I 100%  knew I wasn't ready to yet.
As you put your tip in, I remember that it started to hurt really bad.

"STOP. STOP. I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS, PLEASE STOP."

You didn't though.
Instead, you pinned me down,
putting your weight against my struggling body.

"No, I don't want to. Just let me get it in once, and then I'll stop."

My heart dropped.
This is where I began to panic.
I felt you try to put it in just a little more, but the pain was too much.
I let out a small scream, and then I started to cry.

And that's where you started to panic.
You got off of me, looking hurt and upset.
I put my clothes back on, and you picked up your jacket.

I was reeling. I was scared.
And you were mad because your jacket got *****.
I was still crying, and after what seemed like an eternity you
asked if I was okay.
I played it off like everything was fine.
Heaven forbid I hurt you.

Yes. That was just really scary. I asked you to stop, and you didn't and I just got nervous, that's all.

We went to your house.
You walked me home.

Winter; late 2014/ early 2015

"I need to know that you'll be able to stop me if I can't stop myself.
I don't know if I would be able to stop myself."

In the woods by the baseball diamond,
you took my hand.
The setting sun was glowing through the trees,
and a fresh blanket of snow gently covered the ground.
Your green eyes shined in the speckled sunlight,
contrasting against your dark hair and pale skin.
You stepped towards me.
You started to kiss me.
You started to take it further.

"Hey, stop. I'm not ready, please stop."

I pushed you away;
I tried to, at least.

"I don't want to stop. YOU have to stop me."

After I asked you to stop a few more times,
without any signs that you were going to listen,
I finally slapped you.
I slapped you across the face, hard,
and I just looked at you.

"Well, now I know that you can stop me if you need to."

You had said it like it was amusing to you.
I was scared.
But I loved you, so I forgave you.
I stood there, in my blue fleece jacket, freezing,
frozen, scared,
telling you that I loved you and that I forgave you,
when I didn't even fully realize what could have just happened.

I walked home.
Oblivious.

I have vivid dreams.
I dream in color; dreams of laughter,
Dreams of sorrow, dreams that are caked in blood and fear.
Occasionally, though, the dreams I dream are muddled,
Only flashes of seemingly arbitrary scenes in every day life.
"It was only a dream. No context or meaning," I tell myself.
And then I see that same little arbitrary scene while I'm awake.
Like sitting on the floor at Grant's house in my dream,
And now in my waking life.
At the store, with Whitney jumping all around, giggling and being roudy.
I believe I am on the right path,
Because my dreams have shown me the outcomes of my choices.

except...
my heart is as cold as the ice
on the ground...
dead as the trees come winter.
how i miss my family
in a land so far away...

There is always a reason
why people listen to certain songs.
To certain artists.
To certain genres.
Somehow, music has this mysterious
Enchantment over the human brain.
Something that makes
Even the most aloof brain
click.
I listen to songs that I can relate to,
Or songs that have the ability to bring out emotion in me.
I listen to songs that make me sad
When I'm sad
Because the slow melodies are
comforting.
Sometimes what a person listens to,
Is a reflection of themselves on the inside.
I went through two playlists from people
I don't particularly like.
One of them must be very angry,
But he must find comfort knowing that his anger can be channeled through music.
The other one, though,
Her playlist was like
mine.
Sad songs for a sad person
About being broken, or lost.
About being able to see the future,
But not see yourself in it.
I think I understand now why it happened so quickly.
She's like me.