I'm letting you go. Or at least trying. The anniversary of your death came knocking on my door this week. I thought about what you were to me, why I've martyrized myself with mourning youand I realized that you were one if the first friendships I had that was positive. I made terrible choices in friends at that age, the common thread amongst my closest friends was that they were self involved. You were not. You called bullshit on people, you told me to examine the intentions of those around me... And I did, and very few people made the cut. It wasn't until I was mourning you that I saw that wisdom.

I don't talk to people about you, it makes me feel pathetic, needy and naked. That is the saddest thing for me. People die, that is a fact, you get to remember them through other people... Except you were so wise about people that you ostracized most people with your blunt assertions on thier character. I always thought your teenage crush on me meant you didn't see how shitty I was....
Except I wasn't that terrible. My intentions are usually good. I usually put others first, I was just surrounded by self obsessed freaks.

I honored you this week by celebrating being alive, by toasting surviving the self hate, by seeing how most of the scars on me have faded, celebrating cutting the right ties, by writing a few sketches, painting some pottery with girlfriends, fucking my husband, jogging, dinner with the French Canadian brothers, lunch with my soldier. It took 6 years to realize how close I was to making the same shitty choice you did. I love you Andrew. I miss you Vomit. I'm going to stop being angry at myself for you loving me. I deserved it, needed it, and it might have saved my life.

Leppy - a motherless calf in a herd of cattle.