November 5th 2017, a year since I lost you, a year since my entire life changed.
It would of marked 5 years of friendship, 5 years of sisterhood, yet I’m left remembering the dates of when I lost you.
The first month I didn’t leave my bed, because the world no longer spun. There was no more memories, no more of your smile, no more of your demons.
Our friendship was a whirlwind, there was no testing of the waters, it was diving headfirst in to the deep end, it was true acceptance and pure love, no judgement of mistakes, or words said, you were the sister I needed.
We were there, together, always, people not realising how we’d only known each other weeks, yet I was there for you like you were for me.
I remember when things started happening, and the breakdown you had from everything, you were lost just like me, and maybe this began a friendship that was incredibly strong yet in a way incredibly toxic, we were two people trying to fix each other. The first day you went into the hospital, I was your first call, and I was there within the hour, holding you as you cried, screamed, and yet accepted.
I was at the hospital everyday, I went to every court case, and I visited every time you had visiting hours in jail, and throughout this, everything that happened remained between you and I, no one knew you lived with me, no one knew you weren’t free, no one realised the inner turmoil in which we both fought. Yet in the end the black shadows won, they got you.
Honestly, I’m still so angry at you, I hate that you did this, that you chose to leave, and how you’ll never meet my kids, be my maid of honour, sitting on my porch in rocking chairs doing shots and playing,poker at 85, you chose to leave, you left without even a goodbye, and I understand, I do, but it doesn’t take away the anger, it doesn’t ease the pain of losing you without a damn explanation, or a letter, even a thing left behind, or maybe you did and I’m yet to find it.
And even with you gone, no one knows the truth, no one has your diaries, or the letters of despair from your time in prison, they don’t have the video evidence of why you went to jail or the books you adored, no one knows you fully.
No one knew of the time I found you in the bathroom, covered in blood, surrounded by pills as you cried hysterically under the scolding hot water of the shower as the demons started taking over you, no one knew how to handle you, or read your signs, no one believed I was never going to be in harm in your hands, but that if it came down to it I would give my life to have made sure you won that damn battle. And I know this letter is selfish, but you were selfish, you ruined so many people, and even after a year no one has even remotely managed to unwrap the bandaid to even begin the healing process.
I fucking miss you.
I’m so fucking angry
I’m so fucking sorry I couldn’t save you like I promised I fucking would.
I’m sorry I wasn’t there.
Im just so sorry.