The longer you go without sex, the less it matters. Women who are undersexed, according to Wikipedia (HA) become exceptional flirts but seldom if ever pull the trigger, as it were. Sex is fear. Women who end up in this state have inevitably been denied love and affection from a man/woman with whom they were in love. They lose confidence from the rejection. They lose dignity from the crumb crawling. They lose the “relationship” but never leave it. The pain of it lingers in a space too difficult to reach. Human beings can adapt to anything. Women can adapt to sexless, loveless lives even if it is the thing they want most because of that lingering. I know all about this.
Damaging romantic events, love unreturned can divide one’s life: the time BEFORE it happened, and the time AFTER. It becomes a landmark on our emotional map. The time AFTER pulls us down and divides us from trust, love, sex, romantic happiness. The time before?
We met 16 years ago and ended a few years later. And I still miss him though I know he is not long for this world. He was the true love of my life. We did a lot of drugs and everyday was a felony. We took a lot of chances and moved in dangerous circles where one must have money, drugs, savvy and decent Spanglish to survive it. Somehow we kept the cable on the whole time.
There were so many laughs, just as many fights, and endless drug shenanigans that bound us together as partners in crime which seemed more intimate than love. Of course, it all crashed down.
As I got better, he got worse and there was no where to stand without seeing that line between us. Eventually, I left him – it was not a life for me. It was a certain death in my mind. Ryan never thought past the moment he was in so he was never tormented by the inevitability of addiction. The last time I saw him (2012) he was so ravaged from heroin and meth that it was hard to look at him.
This once gorgeous, ballsy, intelligent, loving Dead Head had become a skeleton on the altar of addiction. He was in the grip of dark evil. We still had the easy banter and the equally easy silence. We were happy to have time together but he was a shadow and his sanity had faded considerably. I was afraid to be around him. I cut him loose and have not spoken to him since.
I pray for him regularly and I think of him more often than I would like to. It’s like I am keeping vigil, waiting for word of his death. Anyone can change, miracles can occur and I am proof. Jesus could just easily step into his dark night of the soul as He did mine. Ryan can be salvaged. But I have found out that there is not much time. He is in worse condition than he was in 2012 and back then his flame was flickering. My heart hurts and I want to reach out but self-protection is not something you abandon in the name of faith. I can not save him and I hate it. I can only pray, ask others to pray and continue to place everything in the hands of Christ. I feel like this is the first draft of his obituary.
Remember when we say up on New Years Eve 1999 – Y2K? You said “Well, my beer is empty so that happened.”
How you would get irritated when I struck up little chit chats with strangers in any given line at any given place?
Remember when I finally fell in love with Jerry Garcia’s guitar playing and in exchange you fell in love with DEVO?
Our NBA obsession? Crack, heroin, Antoine Walker, The Mavericks – good times.
Remember how everyone was named Flaco?
The ten dollar tickets that wouldn’t stop paying off?
When, after a fight, Mike Tyson said “my back is broke. it’s broken.” and we made it our outgoing voice message?
Remember your job where the Asian chicks did Tai Chi in the parking lot and how hard you worked and how much you loved it?
Packing drugs in fake birthday gifts to go north which always felt like we were taking the same risk one would in fucking Turkey?
Remember the snow storm that couldn’t keep me from you and all the love peppered between the suffering and withdrawal?
I wonder how many of you have “a Ryan”, bright and dark, woven erratically through the fabric of your life BEFORE. And how many of you have lost something to your AFTER.
I don’t think I’ve written a more personal post than this.