It’s Serenwrap

When a door closes a window opens. Or the window slabs and blows the door open. Either way the house is draughty, it’s eight in the morning and I’m in my PJs with a knock at the door. Little blue cloud PJ’s no less

There stands my best friend of 18 years who I haven’t seen in too long after we parted with angry words. We grew up side by side. He was everything to me for those years and then we weren’t any more and seeing him there reminded me how much I needed him at moments like this.

I haven’t slept in days. I haven’t eaten. My eyes are stinging red and I cried again. There he was right when I needed him, on my door step.

We went to breakfast, talking over each other

Me: I’m sorry

Him: no I’m sorry

We were brutally honest about our friendship crumbling down like a straw house blown on by a pissed off wolf.

Him: I couldn’t continue to watch you make mistake after mistake and ignore the people who have loved you and known you all your life. It hurt me to watch you fall apart. Your happy drained away. I had to leave you and hope we could come back together some time.

Me: Now is the time. You’re right. I didn’t listen. I was miserable.

Him: I’m not going to support you in continuing to make poor decisions but I want to get you healthy again. Your mom called me, she’s worried, my moms worried, a lot of mom’s are worried. You’re skin and bone, your sick and I’ve never seen your hair go in so many directions. This is bad. You need vegetables and a blow out girlfriend.

Me: This is acceptable to me

That was the last thing I wanted. To worry people but of cause clueless me had done exactly that. Worried lots of people who love me because I’m too stubborn to say I need help. I’m out of my depth. I can’t swim any more. Help me. I’m doing stupid things and pretending I know what I’m doing and hurting myself and others. I’m climbing over the roadkill of my arrogance and bitchiness.

Health wise, I’m in dire straits. I’ve never been so run down. I’ve had a cough for months and every bone aches. I’m 25 and feel like those numbers have switched. I need help.

Dear dear Damien who drove from Portland to tell me he doesn’t like what I’m doing but feeds me bacon anyway. I love bacon. And coffee. Small town coffee but what’s a girl to do.