Hurt

I found out tonight that someone that was once one of my very, very closest friends has died.

He died two years ago, and I never knew.

I cannot process this. It's too big to sink in.

I'm sorry, L. I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry that you were so sick, and I knew that you were, but I couldn't do anything to help you. I'm sorry that this illness, this monster in your head, kept us apart, kept me in hiding, so I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry it won. I'm sorry I wasn't there for your family, who, in spite of your fears about them "turning people against you," I always liked, and know they loved you so much. I'm sure they still do love you. I wish you could have seen that as clearly as I did.

And B, I owe you such a big apology, too. I should have called you. I should have explained what had happened between L and I, and why I had to back so far away from him. I should have trusted you enough to give you a chance to understand. But I was afraid you wouldn't, and I was afraid that, if you did, it'd change your perception of him, and you'd pull away from him. I didn't want that for either of you. He needed you.

I'm also sorry I wasn't there for you when we lost him. I should have been there for you! You are the only person in the world who could possibly have felt a similar grief. I don't mean the depth of pain or any other comparison like that. I can't imagine what his family must have felt and what his other friends felt. But you and L and I, we were a we, and you knew that, even if no one else ever got it. I'm sorry that hiding from his disease meant I ended up hiding from you, too. Please forgive me?

L was a wonderful person. He was funny and smart, a fantastic writer, and passionate about his favorite music and movies. He had a classic movie quote for all occasions, and he was one of the best listeners I ever knew. He was always too hard on himself, never giving himself credit for the talents he had. He was often stubborn, but that kept him going through lots of nearly-impossible tasks, as well as making him butt his head against the walls of the truly impossible. He made the best brownies, and I can't ever taste any without comparing them to his.

I missed him all along, and I miss him most of all now. I wish I had gotten to say good-bye. I wish I had gotten to tell him just how much I loved him. I wish I could tell him I'm sorry.

I wish I could tell him I understand.

Weariness and other excuses

Why is it that writing takes so very much out of me? I got sleep last night, but, while I'm engaged in a frantic bout of creativity, "enough" sleep just isn't.

I wish more people understood that, when I'm writing, I can't really do much of anything else. My mind is not here in the everyday world. I'm gone. I'm away. I'm busy.

And I'm very, very tired!