The One About My Friend

I took this one out of my sister’s book. Her blog reads like a Seinfeld season. Each post neatly entitled concerning a different situation. I didn’t know what I would call this one so I put it as plainly as I could. 

This one is about my friend. He’s one of the greatest and most inspiring people I’ve ever met. Oh, how he would vehemently disagree with me. He would volunteer the facts. He’s 33 years old, currently attending community college and living in a dorm serving as an RA chasing around a bunch of teenagers making sure they’re following at least the simplest of the rules. He might even mention that he’s still smoking weed and drinking with the best of them. “How,” he might say “does this paint a picture of someone that is ‘inspiring’ in the least sense of the word?'” 

I’ll tell you why. This is the main purpose of a blog right? To tell something? To purvey, acknowledge, and/or inform? 

He spent his 20’s pissing his life down the drain for all intents and purposes. He could probably get away with it because he still looks like he’s in his mid twenties at 33. The beginning of his 30’s, however, were met with body blow after body blow.

His mom died. I won’t sugar coat it.

She overdosed.

There’s really no way to determine whether it was intentional or not. To the best of my knowledge a note wasn’t left. You see, she used around him and his siblings. Drugs numbed the worst of her mistakes. Once her kids started using, she would actually ask them if they had anything to give. As much as I complain about the shit that has surrounded my life (which is substantial) I can’t hold my candle to that. My friend was living a desperate life with no one but extended family to prop him up. He made it clear to me that I would not have wanted to know him in the decade preceding the day I met him.

All I know is this. I met him somewhere around October 1st, 2012. I remember wanting to move my stuff into my new dorm before the ballgame came on. My Cardinals were in the playoffs. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I got up there and didn’t meet anyone for a few hours. I started hearing noise out in the living room so I decided to introduce myself. A party had commenced and he asked if I was his new roommate. I said yes and that was that. He handed me a drink, A damn good one too.

Later that night I was talking to both of my new roommates one of which would go on to be my friend and he overheard me mention that I was a registered Republican. He told me later that he felt like he was having a coronary. My friend is gay and he was sure that he had just roomed with a straight up bigot. Of course, he would learn later on that this was far from the case. As the months went on, we became closer and shared our stories and made each other aware that one was there for the other. He told me that it was February of the year we met that his mom died. The summer of that year his relationship of ten years ended with a 2×4 to the face. 

He could have reacted in a number of different ways to these events. He could have drank of drugged himself into oblivion or he could have offed himself. What did he do? He enrolled in community college at the age of 31. White knights do not inspire me. White knights usually had the ability or the investment to do the things they do. Someone like my friend inspires me to the ends of the world and back. He has a steady job, he is going to college. He is actively trying to better himself. Even when he went off the wagon for a spell and tried to cover up his pain with booze and sleepovers I always knew he’d find the way out. 

My friend received another body blow sometime between today and when I visited him Saturday night. His brother died. 

I wish I were with him. For a year I was. Even when I felt like I wasn’t in a position to effectively help him I knew that being there was enough. It had to be or there was no reason to be there at all. I went searching in the night for him one time. I would do anything for him. And I feel like I can’t do anything. I can only hope that being there is enough this time around.

He has time and time again shown that he is fully capable of taking on potentially destructive events head on and make decisions that are for the better. I trust him fully to make the right decision this time as well. The right decision being the one that is best for him. 

Some might wonder… “Why do you care so much? You’ve known him for a little more than a year.” 

Sure. The thing is, I feel like I’ve known him forever. It’s weird to say but it makes so much sense to me…

My soul has known him seemingly forever. The year we were roommates seemed to be so slow in comparison with this year and he has treated me better than almost anybody in my entire life.

We call each other brothers.

When I messaged him, pleading that he get back to me, I said “brother” and once I sent it I felt awful. He had just lost his actual brother. I nor anyone else can ever replace that.

I worry about him. I worried about him before this happened. I don’t worry about anybody. I usually don’t care enough.

He’s different. He’s my friend. You might say that “friend” is pretty insignificant. Well, then you don’t know me. I don’t have many friends. It’s better that way. Outside of my family he is without a doubt my best friend. And I pray that he is okay and he finds his way once again.

 

     

 

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