There are no words to describe the sadness and heaviness that weighs on my heart. Buddy was the first being that I loved unconditionally and selflessly. He had the best life and was loved dearly. I will never forget him and the tremendous amount of love he filled my heart with. I wish nothing more but for him to be with Dominic playing ball and giving kisses relentlessly.
I saw this one evening, months ago as I was trolling Pinterest (I love that damn website).
Anger. So much fury. I think about this fucking tee shirt more in one day than I probably should. So much anger.
This confirms my general assumption that the majority of conservative right wing douchebags would rather cling to their ideological theology than FACTS and SCIENCE. They would rather cling to their bibles and made up stories than critically, rationally, and logically THINKING (for themselves) about the world around them.
This statement implies that college exists merely to taint religious and capitalistic thinkers. WHAT.
I have thought about blogging this for months - MONTHS, but knew I lacked the articulation to properly convey my FURY.
Even now I know that I am not serving it the justice that it deserves.
Art called me today. He doesn't sound well, at all. Using? Maybe. He says he's "sick" and didn't offer up any information saying he had yet to tell his family. He's been "sick" for a year. I think he's using. He says his meds are morphine and something along the line of oxycontin.
How do you know when a junkie is lying to you? Their lips are moving.
Yea...
It is weird, however. That what ignited this entire reunion is a bad dream that I had concerning him and his health. This could be viewed as nothing spectacular since he's always had "health" issues. But I've never dreamt of him before yesterday. So why now? This dream prompted the reunion and his voice on the phone sounded just as bad as it did 7 years ago. When he was using.
He says he was clean for 2.5 years before getting sick. And considering the medicine he's on, this broke his sobriety.
It's his excuse. His way of reasoning. His lies.
He's a lonely soul. He always has been. I just wish he could find it. Find something. Something to keep him sober. I'm afraid his daughter hasn't even been able to do this.
I had a dream last night that Arthur Rose had brain cancer or something and was really sick. I remember seeing his body lye there like it did when he overdosed on heroin 7 years ago. In my dream I hugged him and he smelled just the same as I have remembered.
I woke up crying.
I really miss him. I really miss a lot of, once important people, who just aren't around anymore.
I wrote him. He wrote back. It feels nice. I never realized the friendship (relationship) I had brushed aside for a second chance at something that, ultimately failed. I'm not so sure I should have sacrificed that. Who knows. What matters now is that I'm speaking to him for the first time in 7 years, SEVEN YEARS! It's so fucking crazy.
There's only a handful of men that have loved me unconditionally in this lifetime. He was one of them. And I shut him out.
Art Rose died in the early hours of November 9, 2013 in his sleep. Three days have passed and I am still in disbelief.
I received a message from Carrie, his sister in law. She said she had bad news and needed to talk to me and to call her immediately. I knew before talking to her that he was gone.
My heart is sad. But I feel like he is finally able to rest. Finally able to be at peace.
I had never met anyone so tormented by their own thoughts, so uneasy in their own head.
He was one of the most genuinely nicest people I have ever known. He struggled with addiction for all of the years that I had known him. He could not find peace.
I remember the day that he overdosed in 2003. I had made it to his house before the ambulance. I was terrified. I stood in his living room as they carried his limp, cold body out of the house. I watched him as he laid on his bed in the emergency room. He looked like he was dreaming. I was so grateful that he survived.
I watched him sleep, what little he did, months after that. I laid next to him, snuggled in his arms and bed. He never felt at ease. It was too much for me. Whether I was too young, or just too strong to be with an addict that would not even let temporarily dying keep him from using - I could no longer be with him, day in and day out - watching him go through the torment of his own brain.
I cannot say that I am shocked that he died this way. But it is apparent that I simply cannot wrap my brain around the fact that he is no longer on this earth.
I have not cried. I don't know why. I am angry with him. I am saddened for him. And I am so very sad that he left his daughter behind. I cannot even imagine.
I just cannot believe this has happened. I just can't believe it.
So many people loved him so much. I loved him so much. I just wish he could have loved himself half as much as we did.
crushed
guilty
