DONE

I saw this today as I was dropping Steph and the girls off at her house. Just a few houses away, there is fail in full force. It made my day (keyword henceforth: IMMD). :)

On a serious note, I have decided to, for the time being, cut ties with the person that inspired "I'm Going Home." Because there are not going to be any names mentioned, I feel that I can tell you the story and not feel as though I've sold anyone out. Be warned: this tale contains drug references, homosexual references, and a peeved Jenno.


It's difficult to tell this story in chronological order, so I'll do my best, but know right off that it's not on a time line. The fact that I was drunk and stoned doesn't help.

 The other night, I had a great time hanging out with a friend of mine that is, in many ways, a lot like myself. She is fun, caring, bright, energetic, and imperfect. We had some drinks together, played with her new Wii, and straightened out our curly, frizzled hair. Marco even stayed and played the Wii with us after he got off work, even though the plan was to just bring me home. Eventually, it was decided that Marco and I would just crash there as we were having too much fun.

Shortly before Marco went to try to sleep, my friend revealed to me that she has had feelings for me almost since we met over a year ago, but that the circumstances before I walked away from our friendship the first time made it impossible to tell me as much. Surprised, I didn't quite know what to say, especially considering that I'm unsure how I feel about having a relationship outside of the one I have with Marco. Truth be told, yes, I am bisexual and yes, Marco is okay with me seeing other women without having to share with him (which is good because I don't want to share him). Although I've been seeking a girlfriend for quite some time now, albeit rather inactively (I don't make the first move, so to speak, nor do I actively search for a female mate), my feelings about it have been slowly shifting towards monogamy for the past six-to-eight months or so.

So after Marco went to bed, we sat up talking about this new revelation and the barriers it faced: her controlling, abusive, and ill (both physically and mentally, if you ask me) ex-husband, the amount of time that her kids (who are actually the one argument I have for having children of my own, that they could turn out like them) are home and present... but most important to me was the drug use. Now, pot isn't really a concern to me (although I've quit smoking it since this happened); my big issue is her use of crack cocaine. Eventually, the conversation shifted to her guilt over her mistakes and how she wants to be a better person. She confessed to me that she punished her youngest, age four, so severely that it left bruises all over her neck, face, and arms, and that she, if only for a fleeting moment, had kind of wanted to kill her. What exactly was done to provoke such rage, I still don't know, but my friend was absolutely torn up over it. She sobbed, with what I thought was true regret, about how she was a bad person. I tried to comfort her and reassure her that she, herself, is not a bad person. She has just made mistakes. Some small, some big, and some very dangerous mistakes, but mistakes nonetheless. I honestly don't believe that she is a bad person; she has just made some grievous errors in judgment.

For a couple hours, until about two or three in the morning, I consoled her. She cried on me about how she wants to be a better person (she is even entertaining the idea of becoming Amish for a while to get away) and stop making stupid mistakes that just sabotage her. I agreed and swore that I would help as much as I could as long as she made up her mind to make an honest effort to change and be the better person she says she so desperately wants to be. Marco ended up leaving around three or so himself, and I asked him if he wanted me to come along with him. He said it was up to me, and even though my gut told me that it was actually time to go home, I stayed anyway because I did not want to leave my friend alone while she was vulnerable against herself and just plain upset.

Not five minutes after Marco left for home, she was on the phone. I asked who it was, to which she replied, "nobody." She asked them if they could come over, then talked for about a minute longer before hanging up. I asked, "what is up with that? You say you're enjoying my company and that you're glad I'm here, but it isn't good enough?"

She replied, "oh, they were sleeping. They're not coming over."

I said, "oh, okay, that's good. I like having you to myself, after all," and smiled.

She sat back down beside me and we talked some more for about ten minutes... until someone knocked on the door. As soon as she opened it, I was seeing red.

It was her crack dealer.

She went back into the bedroom with him and closed the door after telling me it was my turn to put some music on. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, although it was silly to even entertain the idea of having him there at four in the morning without the pretense of a transaction, I sat down at the computer and let the song she played last finish. After it was done, I did a search for Muse's "Uprising" but did not hit the play button right away. I couldn't hear anything for a moment, but then I hear the flick of a lighter followed by a short silence, then, "oh, that is good. That is really good."

Uhhh, not good, I thought to myself.

I pressed the play button, turned it up a little, and my wheels started turning. At this point, I don't feel the slightest bit drunk, even though I've had a pint of whiskey and three beers. I was officially pissed off. Not at her, although it was my first reaction to be angry with her. I was pissed off with her decision, not her. After all that time crying to me about how she thinks she's a f*ck up and a bad person, she goes and does this?

Oh, hells nah. Jenno don't play that game no more.

In that moment, I decided that I would no longer sabotage myself. I would no longer smoke pot, I would no longer let my curiosity get the better of myself, and I would no longer stand by and watch the people I care about destroy themselves. I would still care about them and their problems and I would absolutely still do all I can to be an inspiration, but I will not be a spectator at the funerals of my friends. Most of all, I decided that I will no longer be a hypocritical preacher, meaning that I am DONE with drugs, self-sabotage, saying "yes" to try to please everyone, and most of all, being a f*ck up.

When she came out, I told her that it was time for me to go. She asked if I was mad at her, and I explained that while I was not mad at her, I was upset with her, further explaining that the decisions to lie to me and buy/smoke crack were my issues. She seemed to understand that, although it's impossible to tell if she really did or just said she did because she was now cracked out.

Instantly the other version of herself again. The jumpy version. The over-active version. The unconcerned, irresponsible, and careless version. Not my version, not my friend.

I walked my fat, drunken, pissed off ass home at 4:30 in the morning. I was just glad that it wasn't raining, even if it was 30 degrees and I stood a fair chance of being stopped by the police or being attacked by some strung-out dope friend for their chance to get a few bucks.... so I wrapped myself up tight in the hoodie that my friend had just given me that night (although it was stolen from a chick that she didn't like), wore my purse inside the jacket, and made myself look as big and bad as possible. I gave myself a quick internal pep talk (at least it's not raining!) and started hoofin' the mile home.

As I was walking, I noticed that that grass was clearly impressed upon all the way down the road, evidence that I was neither the first to make this walk nor the last. It really got me thinking about what f*cked up circumstances may have set them running this route, and I concluded for the second time that I would no longer sit and mope when bad luck or depression strikes; sometimes a set back is needed to make real progress.

I also resolved to cherish my life and remember my blessings. Losing sight of just how good I have it and just how good I really am and want to be... I believe those are the reasons I have been depressed for so long. No more. I'm done. My life is far from over and I can't help everyone (a fact that I will always regret is so very true), so I had better get off my sorry ass and help myself before it's too late to help anyone.

Today I wrote her a letter to explain to her that I can no longer be in her life as long as she is still making the decisions that will destroy her because I care too much to watch her destroy herself. I also explained that I am completely done with irresponsible choices and now committed to getting clean for good, getting a job, and living my life for me and my own happiness. After she is clean for a year, however, I will welcome her back into my life with open arms, and that I also wrote down to her. While I very much want to be her friend and be there for her, I cannot, for the sake of my own sanity, happiness, and strength, stick around while she is recovering. I have my own recovering to do and I would absolutely hate to make a stupid mistake that may somehow inspire her own.

The most difficult part of it is that we just reconnected not even a month ago, and I truly did miss her friendship. I didn't miss the crazy drama that came along, but that drama was caused by all those other influences. I hate that the best thing for me to do in this situation is cut her and her girls -- who quite obviously, generously, and genuinely adore me -- out of my life a second time.

She told me that the first time I walked away from our friendship, it broke the heart of both her and her wonderful children.

This time, it is I who is broken hearted.

If there were any other smart way to help her, I would jump at the chance.