“All this time I was wasting hoping you would come around. I been giving out chances every time and all you do is let me down. And it’s taken me this long, baby, but I’ve figured you out. . .”
I always thought Kim was as fond of me as I was of her. I missed hearing from her and felt strong empathy for her situation. I just kept waiting, and waiting for that contact from my friend–it was torturous. When Kim did make the effort to talk to me, it was only more agony. Nervousness about what she would say, frustration at all the unanswered questions, sadness upon the realization she was drinking, excitement about future plans, then inevitable disappointment. It was always very upsetting to get a random call, text, or message from Kim, but then none of the promised follow up communication. I would fret and wonder if I had said or done something wrong, then scrutinize the conversation to death trying to figure out why she disappeared again.
“You don’t have to call anymore, I won’t pick up the phone. This is the last straw, don’t wanna hurt anymore.”
As much as I loved to hear from Kim, and as good as I felt resuming our comfortable relationship, it was almost worse being reminded of her only to have that familiar dearth of communication again. But I kept making excuses for Kim to justify her hurtful actions. I would placate myself by blaming Mary’s stringent regulations for Kim’s silence. I was livid at Mary for banning Kim from talking to me when she could still continue her affair with the hairdresser.
All this time I had thought that at least the two of us were on the same side of the fight. Recently I realized this was an erroneous assumption when I heard Kim finally fled the Cabin-Mansion, but she still didn’t contact me. How could I possibly conciliate my emotions and blame anyone but Kim for this current paucity of connection? I could no longer primarily blame Mary for Kim’s lack of communication. It makes me replete with dolorous, disappointment.
“. . . Could have loved you all my life if you hadn’t left me waiting in the cold. And you got your share of secrets and I’m tired of being last to know. . .”
There was a time when I would have waited for Kim to come around. I just knew she was a life-long friend, if not my soul-mate. I only gave up after abounding miscommunication, no communication at all, and a lot of outside interference. I hate, hate, hate to think it, let alone type it, but maybe my relationship with Kim was just a string of disappointments. Sure, we got along famously. We would laugh a lot, and understood each other. I knew how Kim felt about a lot of things, and she could read me better than almost anyone else.
But there was another aspect: Sober Kim was not very forthright. The only times she would open up and really talk, or divulge any information or motivation was when she was trashed. I would wait for such moments and embrace them, choosing to remember only those times, and not the times when I was left confused, wondering, and frustrated about the most basic goings-on in Kim’s life.
And now I realize I could never live a life of not knowing. And I won’t accept addiction for a little probity. I am better than that, and do not need alcohol to influence any connection with another, whether they be friends, family members, or a lover. I want all of my relationships to be frank, open, honest, and sincere. And that is something I could never have with Sober-Kim. I simply cannot stand to wonder. . .
“. . . You used to shine so bright, but I watched all of it fade. . .”
It deeply hurts me to accept that this current Kim is not the verdant Kim I met when I was 17 and inexperienced in life. She has been wasted by alcohol, damaged by the isolation Mary bestowed upon her, and she is not going to get any more of my worry. Kim was no longer optimistic or funny when I went back to Dayton. All the fun was drained out of her, and in its place was loneliness and vodka. The second time I knew Kim, she was just an effigy of the person I had known prior to my Missouri move. She was going through the same motions she had before, but as an image–nothing seemed genuine, and everything about her was tinged with sadness.
The stress of the Cabin-Mansion certainly lionized Kim in my mind–she was the only semi-bright spot of that whole deal. When she was drunk or trying to ply herself with my alcohol, she was the only person that knew what I was going through and felt sorry about it. How could I not honor her? But just because there is a dandelion in the poison hemlock, doesn’t mean it’s still not a weed. Maybe my feelings toward Kim were more apocryphal than I knew, just because we had suffered together. I am finished. That part of my life is over. Chapter complete–now for the book.
1!) Song is “You’re Not Sorry” by Taylor Swift
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