Disease.

Mountains and valleys extended ear to ear, forehead to chin. Divots and bumps, scraped and stains from food that remained for far too long. And the underlying color of grey tainted the landscape of his face for those last few months. His features darkened is sadness, in remorse – in shame. MS must have been the leech to suck the color out of his body. It would not surprise me because it was what had ultimately drained his life of normalcy, pride, and joy.

I think that the word disease is an understatement for something too daunting to have to live with everyday. It is an expression that seems all too simple and medicinal when juxtaposed to what it truly is. For the possession of a disease, in anyone’s life – whether it be the proprietor or the family and friends – is to don a haunting that follows. It lingers beneath every word of every sentence. It follows to the grocery store. It stays at home with you. Until it is no longer something that chases you. Instead, it dictates your life and the lives of the people that love you.

            Her skin creased between her eyes as tears were pushed down past her cheeks. Face warm and red, the room spinning beneath her feet. Her bodice shaking with terror, little did she know the real pain came from the realization of his death, when it would finally sink in – not shock.

MS, disease, malady; Call it what you want.

It is the leech that stopped blood flow through his heart.

It is the tempest that robbed his lungs of breath.

It was what took a man before his time.

Every time.

You scare me, Sam, when I read these things about you.

These little snippets of your life that have become that only form of contact that we have anymore.

You are so much better than all of this.

The smoking, the drugs, Ana.

Why did you make an effort to except me back into your life, and then just as I was starting to infiltrate back in, you pushed me back out. With more fervor than ever.

What ever happened to that night you were supposed to sleep over?

I spent the night watching tv by myself waiting for a phone call, a message, an explanation why earlier that day you said you’d be coming over at 7, after a family thing.

But you didn’t.

After a while I called your house.

Your Mom said that you were out.

What did I do wrong? We had talked about getting together just hours before.

I felt kind of like I had been punched in the gut. A surprised, lingering sting in the pit of my stomach. I now recognize the feeling as you pushing me away.

Sam, I’m here for you. But I can’t be unless you want me to be. Or let me be.

If it seems as if I’m not, at school, in social studies. It’s because I don’t know what to make of us anymore.

Please don’t get my hopes up for something that isn’t going to happen. I thought things were going to be like old times. Us talking all night.

Deep thoughts. Emotions we didn’t share with anyone else. Because, quite simply, nobody else understood.

I reread the post on your wall entitled: Rachel. And I don’t understand. You seemed to have cherished our friendship at one time, as did I.

But I can’t tell you how hurt I was when you ditched me. Like all those words that meant so much, lost all of their appeal, all of their meaning.

But I’m still here, Sam. That’s all I wanted to say. But if your not willing, please say so. It’s too hard to be pushed away from someone you care for, every time.

Every time.

For Sam

The phone rings over an over but there is no response. I tried calling. I tried helping. I tried reconnecting. And it clicks one day that this is not on me. Your pushing me away, again. Because I have been known to try to combat your addiction for you. And I'm not at all angry or spiteful  that you have done this because I have been trying to understand. You don't know this, but I sometimes check up on you by reading your new blog, and it pains me to see you losing yourself like this. Your losing that beautiful, amazing girl named Sam to a battle named Ana.

I want you to know that I am here. And am trustworthy. I would love nothing more than to sit down and have an outrageously long talk like we did the first time I slept over your house. You can explain, and I will try to understand what you are going through, Sam. Just like we have always done for eachother. We've understoodwith no judgement. We never actually experienced the same pain, yet we tried our best to recognize it. Nver in my life have I had a friend that I was able to open up to in such emotional depth before. And I miss that. And I never really got a chance to tell you how much you helped me with the grieving of my father. You are are way better of a person than you give yourself credit for, and that's why it's so hard to see you losing yourself to Ana. I know that you say that you leech to her, but you need to know that you are better than her. So much more that I can not even put it to words. You are an amazing friend, Sam. Even thought we've drifted. And even if you choose not to let me in, I needed you to know that.

Love Always,

Rachel

PS, And I'm quoting you here. (This is from the first xanga we had shared together, doesn't that seem like forever ago?)

Actress Dedicated to Ray. (by sam) She flaunts her pretty eyes, filled with volitile expressions, she has no-one to confide in. it's wearing her mind, with these untold confessions. && she;s the best actress. molding herself to live undercover. faking every inch, up to her beautiful smile. and theres no-one left to discover the pilling loss building up inside her. and sure.. she drops hints here and there but her body- language is unreadable even for someone who truelly cares. and she's looking for a cure. one to kill out her past, genocide her memory.. she's lost herself, inside losing her dad. and here i am, with my simple little problems. carving another line. when a little girl, who's family is falling apart is thriving to be whole, to act fine and your the best actress. but you don't have to be strong.. it's okay to hurt, your feelings arn't wrong. and when things are aching inside.. i need you to know, you have me to confide. me and my bestfriend.

<3Ray i love you. &you truely are the strongest person i know, i look up to you so much and i hope that if you ever ever need someone .. that you can come to me.

I miss you Sam. ANd I'm offering you the same thing you offered me what feels like so long ago. Stability within friendship. I can only hope that you will trust me enough to let me back into your life.

PSS,

I love this poem you wrote me. So much! One of the sweetest things that anyone has ever done for me.

I'll stop blubbering now...lol

How does it feel to be forgotten?

And I no longer have those feelings

of amore and exceptance.

I don't care what happens to you.

You are a bastard.

and a horrible person.

Is it that hard to be frank with someone

and tell them that you don't like them that way anymore;

or ever did.

then to string them along for a year?

Yes, you may think that I was pathetic,

and in some ways I was.

But you have no right to judge me

after all that I've gone through.

No wonder I liked you so much.

Because you were the only thing that

made me feel whole again after my father's death.

You took my mind off of that

and wrapped your arms around me

in your pseudo-adoration.

It's not right to put someone through that.

To toy with their emotions.

I see now that your regard for my heart was

truelly rudementary.

You had none.

I was just one of the many girls that you'd flirt with.

Well, I don't want to be put in that category.

You stopped talking to me because you feared

that I would realize.

And you knew that you had no validity in forgeting about me.

Well, Fuck you.

I just wanted you to know that you are no longer the highlight of my dreams,

you aren't what I think about when ever a free moment presents itself.

I don't think of you at all anymore.

Not ever.

Now you tell me:

How does it feel to be forgotten?

And I don’t understand why you don’t respond.

How hard is it to utter the word hello?

Apparently it’s near impossible.

Do I disgust you that much?

Can you honestly tell me that you can’t stand to think of me?

Or are you embarrassed?

Embarrassed that you opened up to me months ago.

Embarrassed that you told me you wished you held my hand more.

I want to tell you so badly.

But something’s holding me back.

Maybe it’s the fact that you prefer to act as if you never met me.

Like I’m some random stalker trying to talk to you.

I’m not.

And maybe if you’d give me a chance,

I’d be able to say what I’ve wanted to for months:

“I wish I held your hand more, too.”