It’s been six months since my best friend died and after my last post, I’ve been reflecting on that relationship and how toxic it truly was. And yet, I took care of him until his dying breath.
We became friends thanks to our children and our exes. Our children are still best friends. Our exes destroyed our lives. Two families ended because two people wanted to play games with our lives.
After my ex tried to kill me in 2009, I was able to relocate and since his ex was not allowing him access to his children, even though he did nothing wrong, he decided he, also needed a fresh start and decided to move with us.
We got a three bedroom house, decided to split living expenses and move away from the two people who were trying to hurt us the most. He knew if he stayed she’d do something to either put him in jail or worse. I knew when my ex got out of jail he’d taunt me and torment me for fun. It was for the best.
My son & I got help. We were in therapy for a long time. We began to heal. My best friend began to drink himself through the pain. My divorce was final March 2010 and his September 2010. It wasn’t long after that when we became lovers. We loved each other; but not the way a man and wife would. I think it was more convenience than anything else. Being lovers ended when I had to force us apart when the destruction became too much for me to bear.
He had a mother f*cker in him that was on a crash course to the end. The more he drank, the worse he became. He moved into his own apartment in early 2012. I couldn’t take his cruelty any longer.
We disagree. He’d get angry and try to force the situation. He’d destroy my property. He would throw things around the house. He’d dump icy cold water on me while I was in the shower. He’d throw my things out in the yard. He never paid a single bill, I had to pay for everything. His check was his own to do with as he pleased. He cut holes in my clothes. He would pull meals out of the oven or off the stove and throw them in the trash, uneaten. He destroyed two of my computers.
I would lock myself in my bedroom, only to have him pick the lock and come in to further torment me. He would trap me with no escape route so that he could get in my face and tell me what a horrible person I was. He always told me that my son didn’t love me and was just like his father, just using me.
I spent many nights on my knees in the closet, praying to God to end it. I wanted to die and I wanted out and I wanted to be free and I wanted it to stop and I wanted it over. And yet, it went on until I cried so many tears I didn’t think I’d ever cry another, but I did.
I am not innocent in all of this, believe me. I screamed back at him. I tried to defend myself. No matter what I did, I was never good enough and he’d use my behavior as a weapon against me, even when all I was doing was defending myself.
Then, he’d calm down and apologize. I walked around on eggshells most days. I never knew what would set him off. I tried to tell him to get help; but you can’t help someone who won’t help themselves.
In 2014, it was the beginning of the end for him. He started to become really sick. I stood by him. He had no one else. I took him to doctors. I became his health care advocate. I took him back into my home when he was so sick he couldn’t care for himself and I was there with him when he drew his last breath.
I helped him to reunite with his brother, whom he had not spoken to in over 30 years. I took care of every intimate detail of his life. He was saved and accepted Jesus as his Savior and I know he is in peace, in heaven, right now.
I’m not a saint. I’m a sinner. I never did to him the things he had done to me. He’d push me and I’d push back; but his cruelty was sometimes more than I could bear. I’d cry, he’d call me a titty baby. He was good at name calling. He was good at breaking a person. But, through it all, I was his friend.
He told me constantly that he loved me. If that is love, I want no part of it. I loved him, too; but I wasn’t in love with him and that’s a big difference. He was like a brother to me. I never understood the demon on his back. I have since made peace with God over all that transpired. I would help him again. No one should die alone and unloved.
I am not a monster. I have seen my share of meanness. I have looked death in the face. I am at peace with who I am in this world, even if no one appreciates me or loves me. Despite what people think of me or say about me, I know who I am and what I have done. Cruelty is not in my DNA. I’m a call it like I see it kind of person.
In reflection, I see that the people who don’t love me or like me or whatever; are the ones who have hurt me and didn’t like it when I treated them as they did me. My father doesn’t like it that I stand up for myself. My sister hates it that I no longer put up with her bull sh*t. I call a spade a spade. They think it was so much better when they walked all over me and I let them; but this gal learned to stand up and not take it any more. I have worth. I have value and I don’t deserve to be mistreated.
I may never be loved in this life; but that is okay. I know who I am and so does God and that is all I need.