Thomas Edison
I used to look down on my friends who drank or did drugs. I used to give them grief about it. I used to give them ultimatums, telling them that we couldn't be friends if they did those kinds of things. Since then, I've grown up a lot and I've experienced what people are like in college. I've learned that my friends are going to do what they want, regardless of what I think or say. I've learned that while they are free to make their own choices and suffer those consequences, I am also free to choose not to. I ask my friends not to do it around me, do it right before they know they are going to see me, or pressure me to join in.
Accepting that my friends make their own decisions has grown a little easier as I get older; it doesn't mean I approve or agree, but in this way we remain friends. I don't support their choices or enable them. However, I am always there for my friends, regardless of their mistakes. I bailed one friend out of jail, I visited her in the hospital, I forced her to go to rehab (even if only for four days). She made mistakes, but she made sure not to shoot up before she saw me or snort when I was around, and she definitely never spoke to me about it. She was a good friend, always making me laugh and willing to sit with me while I read. We accepted each others' flaws for better or worse, never putting our friendship on the back burner for boys or work or even drugs.
I suppose her bad decisions were rooted in her lack of positive role models. Her mom ran off with her boyfriend a few years ago, her father ancient history. Her friends slowly started distancing themselves from her until eventually I was the only one still around. I don't know why I was the only one she never tried to push away. I was her sister, she always said. I was all she had left. I forced her to sign papers during her hospitalization that gave me the right to make legal decisions for her. Suddenly I was no longer just a friend or even best friend; I became a parent of a girl three years younger than me.
She's gone now; I lost her. Maybe I lost her last Monday when she overdosed on heroin and wound up hospitalized. Maybe it was last Wednesday when I had her committed to rehab. Maybe it was Saturday when she checked herself out. Maybe it was yesterday when she passed away from another overdose, this time with no one to call 911 for her. Maybe it was a long time ago, when she let her ex-boyfriend convince her that drugs were fun.
She was lost and scared of reality, until eventually flying high as a kite became her only way to handle day-to-day life. She wanted more, constantly needing more and more drugs to reach the same level that made her numb to the emptiness she felt inside. I knew that she was unhappy during her four day stay in rehab. I guess I just assumed it would take a while before she made the mistake of overdosing again - a poor assumption on my part apparently.
My friend passed away and I have to arrange for her cremation. I have been meeting with lawyers and police and funeral homes with cremators, going to class, working late and never sleeping; I haven't slept since Sunday night. I'm currently running on adrenaline, constant refills of my coffee cup and laughter. I miss laughter. I miss joy. I miss relaxation. I miss ease. I miss music. I miss comfort. I miss love. That is what I miss most of all.
I take comfort in knowing that I tried my best to help her but not change her, that I loved her unconditionally when everyone else wrote her off. And so, dear readers, I leave you with a quote that keeps me functioning and somehow, hopeful:
"Thomas Edison's last words were: 'It's very beautiful over there.' I don't know where there is but I hope it's somewhere, and I hope it's beautiful."
~Looking for Alaska by John Green
Accepting that my friends make their own decisions has grown a little easier as I get older; it doesn't mean I approve or agree, but in this way we remain friends. I don't support their choices or enable them. However, I am always there for my friends, regardless of their mistakes. I bailed one friend out of jail, I visited her in the hospital, I forced her to go to rehab (even if only for four days). She made mistakes, but she made sure not to shoot up before she saw me or snort when I was around, and she definitely never spoke to me about it. She was a good friend, always making me laugh and willing to sit with me while I read. We accepted each others' flaws for better or worse, never putting our friendship on the back burner for boys or work or even drugs.
I suppose her bad decisions were rooted in her lack of positive role models. Her mom ran off with her boyfriend a few years ago, her father ancient history. Her friends slowly started distancing themselves from her until eventually I was the only one still around. I don't know why I was the only one she never tried to push away. I was her sister, she always said. I was all she had left. I forced her to sign papers during her hospitalization that gave me the right to make legal decisions for her. Suddenly I was no longer just a friend or even best friend; I became a parent of a girl three years younger than me.
She's gone now; I lost her. Maybe I lost her last Monday when she overdosed on heroin and wound up hospitalized. Maybe it was last Wednesday when I had her committed to rehab. Maybe it was Saturday when she checked herself out. Maybe it was yesterday when she passed away from another overdose, this time with no one to call 911 for her. Maybe it was a long time ago, when she let her ex-boyfriend convince her that drugs were fun.
She was lost and scared of reality, until eventually flying high as a kite became her only way to handle day-to-day life. She wanted more, constantly needing more and more drugs to reach the same level that made her numb to the emptiness she felt inside. I knew that she was unhappy during her four day stay in rehab. I guess I just assumed it would take a while before she made the mistake of overdosing again - a poor assumption on my part apparently.
My friend passed away and I have to arrange for her cremation. I have been meeting with lawyers and police and funeral homes with cremators, going to class, working late and never sleeping; I haven't slept since Sunday night. I'm currently running on adrenaline, constant refills of my coffee cup and laughter. I miss laughter. I miss joy. I miss relaxation. I miss ease. I miss music. I miss comfort. I miss love. That is what I miss most of all.
I take comfort in knowing that I tried my best to help her but not change her, that I loved her unconditionally when everyone else wrote her off. And so, dear readers, I leave you with a quote that keeps me functioning and somehow, hopeful:
"Thomas Edison's last words were: 'It's very beautiful over there.' I don't know where there is but I hope it's somewhere, and I hope it's beautiful."
~Looking for Alaska by John Green
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