Dear you,

I know I will never get amends from you, but I have been collecting these amends all the same, for 18 months, 3 years, 5, 6, 10, and 15 years... And while I do not know how to contact you, and you want nothing to do with me, I still, for some insane reason, need to make these amends.... in part because I know amends don't always have to be heard by the other person and I simply need to stop consuming this rat poison; stop thinking that getting you back might somehow be a good thing.

I am sorry I did not set boundaries and speak my needs from the beginning. Part of me can imagine what that would have looked like; part of me can imagine doing that.... but I did not, and for that I am sorry.

I am sorry I allowed us to talk about exes as much as we did. We talked so much about J and L... It seemed like we were both desperate to prevent those mistakes again, but we were so focused on what happened-- that shit about how I have never had a past situation like that work, so I will not do it now-- that we forgot to focus on what was happening at that moment with us. I don't want to know that S couldn't make fresh juice right, because the likely follow up to that is that I couldn't make steak right, even though it was the kindest thing I have ever done for any lover... I don't want to know all that happened in your past. I don't want you to know all that happened in my past. I just want to be with you, as is... In this moment... Even though you can't do that now and probably will never be able to do that. I am not like the ones that came before and I cannot answer for them and the you that was then... I wish you could see that...

I am sorry I didn't know how to tell you how scared I was. I wish I had been able to press pause, talk to you, reach out to you, hold you and let you hold me. My fear took over. My fear that I was in an unhealthy relationship that would never be healthy again took over my entire life: my body, my brain, my soul. I shut down. And I am so sorry I couldn't figure out how to stop that spiral.

I am sorry I took you to Fest. I am sorry because I wish I had been able to be there without you, knowing it was ok to do that with myself.

I am sorry I came back for Halloween even though I knew it was for selfish reasons.

I am sorry I hung out with you again. I knew after the first time that it should stay a one night thing, but I went back for selfish reasons. I am sorry I went back after the second pause. I felt obligated because of what you did, and I wish I had not. It was not a good reason to go back, and I am sorry for that. It put into motion the events that I have still failed to stop.

I am sorry I didn't stand up to your best friend. I am sorry I didn't explain to you that you act like an asshole around her.... I mean, every one of your girlfriends hates her, and that is no coincidence... It's not about finding the right girlfriend... It's about leaving that 16 year old you in the past and growing the fuck up. I am sorry I never found a way to say that in a compassionate way. I am sorry that I still don't know how to say that nicely. I am not sorry for feeling harassed and demeaned by her and you when you were around her... But I am sorry I did not stand up for myself.

I want to say I am sorry for the break but I am not. I needed that. I needed to stand up for myself. What is sad is that it caused all of this... so long later. We still don't speak really and for that, I feel resentful. And for that, I am sorry.

I have recently been thinking about that time you told me how you saw the old couple and imagined us at that age. I have been thinking about how you saw that old woman in the airport and said that would be you. I have been thinking about how you told me about how you imagined yourself riding bikes with small dogs in the basket, even though you hate animals... I knew it wasn't ever going to be. We would break up; you would die; or you would continue to be incapable of loving a living being...

But right now... right now, I wish that were real. I wish we were entering that time period and we were still or soon to be in love. I wish that I hadn't made the biggest mistake of my life. I wish you would speak to me... I mean, really speak to me... But I know that will never happen, so I am writing these amends here... to go unanswered as all amends do...

to be put out in the world for selfish and unselfish purposes.... floating along... forever... devouring all the rat poison before I can get to it.

I am not really what they said I am, you said. And I kind of admired your confession. My arms twitched the whole time and I couldn't wait to be home. And alone. And I felt like there was some kind of comfort in that sweet understanding... Something about both of us not belonging-- you because you were not what they pegged you in this world obsessed with labels that don't fit, too big and too small... Me because I fit too much, with the stumbling through scenes full of a lack of boundaries and forced labels.

And I really just wanted to be alone... And I could sense you might too, in some corner of some nook of your mind. But who am I to know.... I always want to be alone. Which is why I broke her heart and now she breaks mine in return-- because she hates what I did and do she hates me and herself.... And we all take it out on ourselves in one way or another.... Knife or needle or pipe or plague. It's all the same in the end-

I am not what they say,..

I am.

Today on the BART I saw you as an old man. You were so cute. You looked at me and smiled and that's how I knew it was you. You had the same lips you have now and the same smile-- which is really more of a smirk-- but you were old and male. And for a moment, I forgot all about iPhone thieves, grading, and past loves who I wish were on speaking terms....

I just rode the BART, imagining what it would be like to see you grow old; imagining what it would be like to see you trust yourself enough to open to life; imagining what it would be like to allow myself that gift-- the gift of opening to life. But I know what that means... so, I stay here, allowing my body to crush me one inch at a time at a glacial pace, so slow no one notices.... not you and not anyone else.

That's why I loved seeing you as an old man. You had this peace around you... it seemed like you had opened up and let go of your fear that you don't deserve this. You smiled at me with a freedom I have never really seen in you. You smiled at me in a way that made me think you would ask how I was-- drop me a note to see how my day was going, just because you were interested... And in that moment, I felt a little less alone. I knew I would come back to reality as fast as I let myself slip away, but it was nice for a moment to be there with you-- happy and open... to whatever was happening with our future selves....

My new lover just left and I started thinking of you... would I ever feel your arms around me again, as I once did? And then I just went about my business as if your face hadn't just flashed in my mind... as if I hadn't just thought about your hands on my cheeks or your lips on mine. I washed the glasses of their gin and ginger, and put them on the rack to dry. I picked up the various pieces of clothing strewn throughout the apartment-- a path of awkward moments laced with chemistry... I turned off the Pandora and turned on the "sad" playlist.... and finally sat down to the chaotic comfort of my mind.

 It's strange that I think of you in these times, fulfilled and ready for sleep; empty and knowing I will not. What sparks these memories of you in this space and in others, haunting me still after all this time? especially because you have never been in this space... not really in any space I have occupied. I'm pretty sure I occupied your space in so many ways for short periods filled with this and that.... but that is long over, leaving me here: writing.

Maybe that's why you lurk right after I have had that kind of sex... I always think back to the awkwardness of our first kiss and our first make-out session. It really was quite awkward, although we quickly rewrote that narrative to fit lust or love or something else. And then we had short or long periods of this and that for some undetermined amount of time before it was over with a swift, way-too-short phone call.

So you pop into my mind after my lovers leave... taking with them their strange smells and unfamiliar touches.... I'm so bad at convincing them, and yet we proceed through the this and that all the same. We send flirty texts and sometimes even speak of the future, as if it exists in this space... as if this and that is not simply and only awkward moments laced with chemistry....

Or is it a thousand? I can never remember clichés.... which is interesting, as I feel like my whole life is a fucking cliché right now.

We never have really talked much. We just hung out and then one day I just jumped down that rabbit hole and I can't really remember what happened after that. It was all just a big blur of psychedelic patterns, late nights, and good music. So it is fitting that this picture sums it all up in such an easy-to-read way... No.words.necessary. Well, I guess it's not that one picture, but the two placed next to each other. They say everything. Two separate looks. Two separate pictures. Two separate situations. I know the situations are unrelated, and this is not an either/or proposition, but they tell me exactly what I have known since before I jumped down the rabbit hole.

And it took this.... this fucking Alice in wonderland bullshit to make me understand that line from my favorite movie-- the movie she would never watch because it was too depressing-- that line I never got until now... It's the line when they are breaking up the first time. He says "This is going to hurt..." and I have always gotten that. I always imagined that to be the subtext.... In this situation, from you.... in that situation, from me... But what I didn't get was when she says "I just want you to hold me" (or something to that affect...). I didn't get it. Why the hell would she want him to hold her? He is a complete dick devoid of emotion or care for her. He can't see past his own self delusion. Why would she ever want him to hold her, much less after that?

But now I get it. I mean, I would bail like she does if it weren't for all this student loan debt.... So, I get that. I have always gotten that.... But the whole holding thing??? But yeah... now, I get it.

I have let exactly two people hold me.... Some may think they have, but that was just a hallucination, brought on by a similar Alice in Wonderland trick. The first time was about 19 months ago. I had just been to the Temp Agency. She said "Wow. You have a Phd. That's very impressive..." Later that night, we were recounting our days in that very couple-y way we did. We were in bed and about to go to sleep....

And that's why I can't stop thinking about her right now... I want to call her, but I don't have her number. I want to email her, but I know she doesn't want anything to do with me-- probably because she has told herself that I was evil, and did something horrible like cheat or lie, even though I didn't; and probably because she has moved on to any number of long-haired pin-up style women... I know I don't actually miss her; she is just filling the profile of someone who could hold me... someone I would really let hold me... synecdoche.

Fast forward 19 months and clichés float around my head like smoke from a cigarette someone else is smoking.... invading my atmosphere, and contaminating my lungs.... Because I know the ending of this movie; the ending of this trip down the rabbit hole... and it could not be more cliché than a "a picture is worth..."

Two in a row.... rough week.... I wrote this about two years ago, right after Kristen killed herself. I met Kristen at Carrie's funeral. She had been close friends with Carrie, but they had a falling out before Carrie killed herself... She was so beautiful, so happy appearing, so sweet, and so smart... And so cool. Everyone who met her loved her instantly. She ended up moving to LA shortly after we met, and we became friends. She was there for every step of the way for the transplant.... She helped me fundraise... She drove me and chattered endlessly as Pai Tama and I sat scared shitless.... she came to visit every day I was in the hospital. She came to Nikki and Karl's to visit after I left the hospital... She was there when Pai Tama came to the ER.... She tried to get me info when he was in a coma and his mom had blocked his records... and she was there for his funeral. She was such an amazing support. I loved her so much...

10 Days before she killed herself I noticed something on her facebook. I called her and said "You need to call me right now, because I love you and you are not allowed to go." She called me back and said everything was fine... It's just song lyrics... And then she hanged herself. A huge part of my heart left with her... I still have no idea what to say or how to process this really... I feel like it is some murder mystery cover up. I miss her every day, and think so often about how freely she gave her heart. I have thought a lot about that recently. She gave her heart so freely. And she got hurt so much. I was so angry for the first year. I mean, there were hundreds and hundreds of people (if not a thousand) at her two memorials... How could she have not known how loved she was? How could she do that to us???  But lately I have felt empathy... It's easy to feel like no one loves you... Like you are really utterly alone, after all of the people who have died.... But I try to remember that.... You probably aren't alone... and as my friend recently said "at least you know you still have a heart and are capable of love." But sometimes that capability to love and give your heart ends with you feeling thrown away, rejected, or broken and alone...  I wish she had've known how many people loved her so much. I wish she could have seen it. I miss you sweet Kristen. I will always have a hole in my life in your shape. xoxoxox

Krissa Amore

Today I went to the gym wearing your sports bra. It was the one you gave me
after you got breast implants, causing it to be too small for you.
It's pink and the perfect size for my natural breasts. It's pink and so
different than anything I would buy for myself, yet it fits so perfectly that it
is my favorite.

So,  I ran, feeling my
breath fill my lungs, your sports bra holding my chest tightly.... in and out;
in and out; in and out.... like the time we made out after too many vodka
redbulls... grasping each other in panicked desperation for something to hold
onto.

Do you remember that night at Girl Bar?
We went there because I wanted to be around women and you knew the bartender. I
think you had made out with her too, but probably because Jimmy Joe was
involved.... as that was your name for the singer for that band who had a
vineyard and doesn't drink but instead has orgies with tons of young and
sometimes underage girls at his secluded home in Arizona or New Mexico.


We stood at the bar and there was a woman who
knew you and was obsessed with you. She hit on you in a semi-creepy way, as I
let my eyes wander around, searching for some butch to make my dreams come true.
That girl who hit on you reminded me of my news reporter ex stalker, and I
looked around some more, dissatisfied with the eye candy, but happy just to be
with you... laughing and creating memories.

We
danced and some gay boy stopped us to tell us that we were the sexiest women
there and that we were the best dancers. You told me about how you had been a
lesbian in High school and we went across the street to have another
drink, just seeing the seen and being seen in WeHo.


When we got back to your place, you were
disappointed. You wondered why no one had hit on you. I felt like I was in some
kind of twilight zone, because all I remembered was people hitting on you. We
laid on your living room floor, for what reason, I cannot remember... and for
some reason I needed to kiss you. I needed to know what your lips would feel
like on mine, and I needed you to feel the love I had for
you....

It wasn't a romantic love or a sexual
love... instead, it was more of a Cat on a Hot Tin Roof kind of love. Like when
Jade and Carrie had an affair in an attempt to be with me. Or when he and I
dated to be with her. You and I made out so that we could love
you...
 
And like so many before and
after, I did, but you never caught up. Instead, you just wondered why no
one loved you... Instead, you hated you, trying ocassionally to fix you via
implants, excessive working out, more photos, random starvation diets, and any
man who would look your way...

and no matter
how much I could love you, it wasn't enough...


So, I am left now with this pink sports bra...
grasping onto my chest, my lungs, my breath, my
grief...

in and out; in and out; in and out... 

Carrie and I circa 1995. We were at a Christian Death with Eva O and Crux Shadows show... We were fighting... about what, I can't remember... Jade took this and sent it to me later with the words on it...

Dear you,

Eight years ago, you decided you had to go in some cruel April Fools day joke.... When I found out, because Jade found me on Friendster and emailed me, I thought-- some people were born with one foot in the grave; you were born standing in it.

I know we didn't talk much in the years before you killed yourself, but you were such a guiding force in my life from 18-22... I can't imagine who I would be without you. You were there when I first experienced women, so many drugs, heartache, jobs, places, accidents, and random events... You were there for so many firsts... You were there when I sat up crying and writing; devastated over the end of one relationship or another.... You were always on heroin, for the entire 11 years we were friends... I can't believe I didn't fall down that rabbit hole with you. I know I have rarely said that in words. I know no one talks about it.... because it was such a blurry piece of background info; it almost seems beside the point... But I know in the back of my mind that it wasn't.

The last time we spoke, I was living at my mom's, post BA, pre MA.... so fucked up.... so lost.... so unhappy. I felt useless. I had moved there to get out of an unhealthy addiction-based relationship. I had been sexually harassed at my bank job, and fired when I told them. I felt hopeless. I was drinking heavily, but that was better than what I was doing in LA. We talked on the phone, but I can't remember why we never hung out. Were you living elsewhere? Were we just too busy? You told me about interning for Stern and how mean he had been. You seemed utterly destroyed by him... I understood in this way we always understood each other. The "real" world had been cruel to me too. I got how much his words-- this humor to hundreds of thousands-- was truly cutting. I understood how much he got to you. When I later discussed this with Jade, she brushed it off-- she was a heroin addict, that's what killed her-- but for some reason, I knew that there was some other element... Some element that has to do with not making it in life, as you had hoped. That is the element I get-- the disappointment of it all...  

The night before your funeral, we stayed up drinking absynth. On the way to the funeral, I said "we should get tattoos." They asked, "of what?" and it came to me like you had come to me-- a bright light in the darkness of a goth club... "Purple stars," I replied. So we did... We went to your funeral, where everyone was afraid to talk. The extended family was told you had gone in a car accident... You were cremated and would be buried with your mom. I thought, "oh god, she would fucking hate that..." It was surreal. The goths were there in number-- ultra dramatic, just like you would have liked it...

And that's where I met Kristen. We had a brief chat right before I left to sit in the car because I couldn't handle any of it... She said she was moving to LA and got my email. I hardly remember it. She was chipper and kind, as she always was-- covering the sadness and regret she felt at the last words she said to you....

I don't remember the last words I said to you. I just remember that you were one day finally gone... Feeling that numb you always sought...

I wish you had've found a way to be that purple star you always were to me, and will always be.

I don't know how to end this, as I am sure you understand... I heard you wrote a letter, though I never read it.... I just hope you found a tiny bit of peace in the next life, even though I am sure that would drive you fucking crazy all the same...

In the meantime, you are the purple star that will always remind me not to cut my left wrist... and thank you endlessly for that...

xo
Love, me