An Open Letter to Those Who Amuse Me and Then Abuse Me with the Word “FRIEND”

The way I see it, obligation sucks. I try not to put myself in situations where I feel “obligated” to do anything because it is the socially acceptable thing to do, particularly with friends. With that in mind, I want to offer you a few of my thoughts that have been bouncing about in my head in my head for the better part of my conscious years.

I love you and want to bring you into my life. I don’t want to be dishonest, so don’t ask me to. If I do not call you in while, instead of thinking that I do not care, or have forgotten you chew on this: I haven’t. I rarely forget anyone or anything. When I do not call it’s more than likely that I just don’t have anything to say. You may have something to say to me; that’s fine. Call me. However be prepared to hear me when I say that I do not want to listen. It’s not about you and it’s not about me, it simply just is.

I am not like you, yet I am only you. Consider this: I have reigned in my fears and insecurities long enough to realize that many of them, if not all of them, are pointless and do little but cloud my beautiful mind. So when you claim to love me or say you care although your voice or face is absent I believe it. It’s there. I know it. The time and space evaporates and here you are, in my heart. And if this love you have for me is no longer mine, has evaporated, no longer exists, then so be it, a-men. Glad to have known you and your love. I will not try to convince you to think otherwise. I will sit and consider your gift, and then turn the page.

I am not like you, yet I am only you. The spark in your eye is the same in mine, and the blood that runs through your heart is mine. We are. Love is just us being. Maybe it is where you stand in relation to that love that causes you pain. I know when I do not love me, the love of others figures into my mind differently. I feel desperate, hungry for affection from men and women that would sooner eat dog shit then hold me in their arms. I sit and nibble on every insecurity I’ve ever had. I ponder death as punishment for feeling less than. When I love myself with conditions, it is always feels like swallowing jagged glass. Rejection from another is hurtful, but rejection by my own hand is paralyzing. So weekly I turn off the television and turn down the phone to actively explore self-love as a daily practice. Sometimes when I meditate, it's interesting to travel my mind's space. Other times, I fall asleep. It's all in the gesture. I do this in the face of what’s popular, what’s in, what’s new now and fresh. I do it so that I can sit here and enjoy my life.

So check this out: maybe when you are reaching out to another for love, maybe you should be reach in. Maybe when you accuse me of not being the friend you think I should be, perhaps you should check for unspeakable transgressions against yourself, maybe some self-mutilated pride looking for love in places where it cannot be found because it does not exist.

I know I do not need anyone, which for a long, long time was a frightening realization. Everyone should have somebody somewhere close, right? What I want is to want you, which feels better to me. When I don’t want you, and I think I need you, I know I am lying. Arresting this behavior/belief has been challenging to say the least. Today, I feel like this:

I do and will not live in a perpetual state of insecurity about being alone and unloved. I believe in love and the one sure thing that that love holds for me is limitless possibilities. I appreciate the spaces that love gives me to imagine myself whole and useful. So no, I do not need you; I need myself. To want you is better for you—and me.

I am not like you; yet I am only you.

I sit and labor with words in order to be able to love this world better, myself better, and you better. I am an artist and I was an artist before I knew it. For you it could mean: I am not bound to the same social and moral codes that tie and render you filed down, beat down, apologetic, meandering or perpetually riddled with self-doubt. I listen and write what I see and try to make the sentences useful first to and for myself, and then to and for you. I am a song that needs to sing itself no matter if either you or I want to hear it or understand it. I am here for whatever time to record the narratives that sprout from my every cell. I am here to describe the breath of a worm. I am here to be as free as I possibly can be. So far I am doing a good job. I love myself and I want to love you. So don’t press me to be something that I cannot be because you feel scared. Let go.

I am not like you; yet I am only you. Without you there would be no reason to be me. Yet if you left me, I could only try to understand. Maybe it is always just a matter of time. I will cry. I will pout. I will be. I will carry on. I have other things to do and be and smell and taste and feel, imagine and discover. Fear does not guide me. It does not circumcise my life. Fear, at its best, is a motivator, a coach bringing me into the game from after a spell of warming the bench. You see I came here to change the world and to leave it better than I found it. No doubt. I came here to lay my body down for the lesson.

If you think for one instant that our association, friendship, marriage, or fuck moment does not mean anything to me, you are wrong, and perhaps a bit silly. Of course you matter. I just express my love and appreciation differently. I am not afraid to be alone. I will always respect that which is given to me: good, bad, indifferent. I know I do not know everything and nor do I think it is necessary to know everything. What I write today may be obsolete tomorrow. I accept that. All I want to know how to recognize a gift for what it is—and what it isn’t. You bring that, friend, and so do I. All I can say is that calling someone a friend is a risk, but a wonderful risk. Know what you want and what you are willing to do to get it. I'll be here at the table, smiling. Risk with me.

Friday, February 20, 2004 @ 11:28 AM