"Nothing can bring you peace but
yourself." I am thinking about the
time when my best
friend died, and
when I stopped being myself and my life started going to hell.
It happened maybe two or three years ago. The day is very clear in my memory. The
weather was cold
and nasty. The monotonous rain made
everything outside look gray. I
was at home,
waiting for my girlfriend to arrive. I
was sitting on the couch drinking hot tea
and feeling warm
and cozy.
My dog was there too, I
remember. We were watching a talk
show, but I was
not paying much attention to what was going on.
All I cared about was my
girlfriend was
coming home and that we would be able to see each other again. She had left
only four weeks
earlier, but I had already missed her greatly.
We had been friends since the
9th grade. In the beginning we were enemies; we hated
each other. Oh, how we fought!
One time she
accused me of taking her purse, knowing what a notorious prankster I was, even
though I had no
idea what she was talking about. Later
she found her purse in her friends
locker. It seems she had forgotten she had put it
there. This turned out to be the first,
but
not the last,
accident that would occur. What didn't
we argue about? After about, four
years, we became
the best friends ever. We were perfectly
compatible with each other. We
began spending
all our time together. We were vital to
each other. I came to know each
and every detail
about her life as she did about mine. It
was the most enduring friendship of
my life.
I looked
at the clock above my head. Six
fifty. She was supposed to arrive at
five o'clock.
I felt
uncomfortable, some weird feeling crawled around my heart. I did not understand it.
I waited and
waited. It was dark already and I was
afraid of being in solitude. I couldn't
stand it
anymore. Seven o'clock.
The phone rang and it startled me. Who might it be? I wasn't expecting a phone call from
anyone. I got up from the couch and picked up the
phone. "Who is this" said the
voice
flatly. I answered him and asked how I could help
him. I didn't know anything yet, but my
spine felt cold
and I had an irrational feeling of fear.
"I am Detective James," said the man,
"and I have
to tell you that...". He told me
she was dead. A car wreck. He wanted me to
come to the
hospital. Her family had died too.
I hung up the phone and felt immobile. His words were like a cold shower, a crash,
whatever you want
to call it, but as I felt, it was the end, that line which separates life and
death and I
stepped over it. My memories and
feelings were erased and my life was
amorphous. I no longer cared about anything and nobody-
friends, family, or strangers -
could help
me. I mechanically did whatever they
wanted me to do, but I was immune to
their advise and
nothing could illuminate my life. I
thought my life was over, that it was
empty. I would never see her again, and we would
never hear each other's laughter again.
She died and part
of me died with her.
Life
went on lifelessly. Nothing was
important to me. After awhile I felt
that I wanted
someone to help
me, to pull me out of my hole. But it
was hard to admit, nobody could. I
couldn't find
peace within myself. At some point I
felt like standing up and screaming
"HELP." Some people tried to help me, but they could
not. I don't think they understood
what I
needed. Time went on and life did
too. I didn't find any mortal to help
me, but I
found a great
supporter, a benefactor in myself. I
didn't have to go anywhere but within
myself. I didn't have to ask anyone but myself. This self helped me and brought me back to
earth, to the
world with sun and happiness. It soothed the pain in my heart and healed my
soul. I talked to myself and realized what I wanted
and what I needed in my life. As I see
it, I found
myself in myself.
Since then I always turn for help, not to a
doctor, but to my own self, and I always find
exactly what I
need there. I learned the lesson.
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