Goddamned Right, It's a Beautiful Day

Today was the first day that I felt grateful to be alive. Fucked up, I know. I don't know why it has taken me so long to feel like I dodged a bullet; I have had plenty of good times since my suicide attempt; lots of pints with friends, the best gig of my life (Flaming Lips, OMG!!!), going to the beach, exploring my city, parties, amazing food, amazing company; but for whatever reason, I kind of took it for granted, kind of even resented that I survived.

Thinking about that day, the overdoes day, is pretty hard both physically (I was a little, ahem, drugged out so it's pretty hazy) and emotionally (for fairly obvious reasons). It's hard to fully accept what happened; what led me to the biggest fuck you, but I know I wasn't myself, I know now that I was in an abusive friendship and that helped spur me along. I know I was angry; I know I was in the deepest possible despair.

Shit, I was so frustrated, still am, with my life. My life, that I have always valued and grabbed ahold of the happiness no matter how small, where that for so long wasn't enough. I don't understand what it is that makes me undateable; or what spurred on a friend to treat me like I was lower than dirt, that I had nothing to contribute to the world. I don't know why my dad brought me up to fear him or why I am here, in Toronto, my home, and not a priority to anyone within a thousand mile radius. This shit sucks. I wish I was successful. I wish I had money. I wish there was someone who wasn't related to me who was thinking about me right now.

Waa-fucking-waa. I am healthy. I am intelligent and I am pretty. I am going to school to learn Latin and Greek and how to dig up bones and why Anna Karenina is relevent. I have amazing tits. I have best friends scattered over the globe and places to stay in Edinburgh and Tirana and Copenhagen. I live in a beautiful city where I can get shwarma until four am and where I have seen some of my most favourite bands ever. I not only get along with my family, both extended and immediate, but I really really like (most of) them. There is an adorable dog who loves to stick her tongue in my mouth. I live in a world where Arrested Development exists and Deadwood and Firefly and It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. I live in an age where I, a white woman, can be almost as good as a white man (I wish all woman, all people of colour were as fortunate as I am, but right now I'm trying to be grateful for anything I have -- and I plan on fighting until we are all equal). I am glad I learned to read and that I have access to the greatest books of all time. I am so happy that my biggest physical impediment is being a little overweight, something that is completely within my ability to change. I have friends that love me and whom I love. I have friends that when I text them to come for a beer, they show up. I throw fucking awesome parties and I can blow minds with my cooking. I can make people laugh and I, in turn, can laugh with people.

There is so much to give me hope, to make my life worth living and for whatever reason, it has taken me five months to see that. It doesn't mean that tomorrow I will see rainbows or the next day or the next. Tomorrow something might happen and I might look to my wrists longingly but right now, this moment, while I sit at my local with a delicious, cold pint I want to live.

Goodnight, Sweet Prince(ess)

I remember watching Anne of Green Gables as a wee lass and being absolutely enthralled by the friendship between Anne and her best pal, Diana. Anne even had a name for their closeness: bosom friends.

"A bosom friend--an intimate friend, you know--a really kindred spirit to whom I can confide my inmost soul. I've dreamed of meeting her all my life. I never really supposed I would, but so many of my loveliest dreams have come true all at once that perhaps this one will too. Do you think it's possible?"

I dreamt of finding that friend, my own kindred spirit. I had many a best friend growing up but somehow none of those friendships withstood the test of time. There was Cheryl, who considered me her number one as long as no one cooler came along (yes, shockingly, I was never the coolest kid in school); then Ashley, queen of the backhanded compliment ("you'd be so pretty if you let me do your makeup"); the Australian exchange student, Amy; Michaela, to whom I was always her third best friend; Laurel and Deanne, twins, moved away; my first roommate, Lisa, who went all single white female on my ass; and my darling Crystal, who still makes me laugh harder than anyone but is thousands of kilometers away and two kids ahead of me.

Then I met Rebekah, GB, and oh my god, she is my soul twin. I have a sister (an amazing, hilarious, smart, beautiful and wickedly talented sister) so when I say GB is more sister than friend I know of what I speak. We have been joined at the hip for four years: working together, living together, playing together, vacationing together... you get the idea... and now my love, my sister from a different mister, has, just today, moved to Albania. My heart is broken.

GB is one the funniest, smartest, most interesting, most knowledgeable, sweetest, kindest people I've ever met. She also has the best stories I've ever heard and not only does she know how to tell them but even better, she knows when to tell them. She usually will wait until late at night when I am a little, ahem, fevered before launching into yet another lil gem. One half of our other half (our other quarter?), Derek, calls her an onion -- no matter how long or how well you know her there is always another layer to be pulled back.

A few of my favourite layers:

• When she worked at a fashion house in Bucharest under the designer, Jenie.
• The time she lost the toilet paper and her underwear down the outhouse hole in Tanzania.
• Seeing her lost love bird in the mouth of a neighourhood cat.
• Listening and singing along to the Carpenters every morning.
• Working as a clown... for payment in ice cream.

And of course, I have favourite GB moments of my own:

• Furiously hucking Timbits from a speeding car because by day four of driving her patience was wearing VERY thin.
• Singing Shoop, word for word, at every party. 
• Falling asleep on my aunt and uncle's couch and Pique slipping her the tongue. Every time.
• Showing up to work at 7.30 am without having her coffee, wearing her dress backwards. And inside out.
•  Hearing her quiet and meek, "occupied", in a rest-stop bathroom when a woman barged into her stall.
• The fashion show where she pulled a Faye Wray and was carried off by a dude in a gorilla suit. 
• Falling asleep while baking cookies. They did not turn out.

 We have had some pretty good times, ourselves:

• Late night wings and nachos with a Norwegian metal band where the apex of conversation was regarding real-estate in Oslo.
• Learning Ice Cube's You Can Do It together just in case...
• Slumlord/Norman Bates-esque landlords, the Seoks.
• Our mystery guest party when swamp-thing had an impromptu flash-dance in our bathroom. 
• Making our very own saline solution for my contacts from table salt and tap water (I once told that story to a man I was dating and he leaned over, kissed me, and said that at least I was pretty -- shocker of shockers, it didn't work out).

All silliness aside, GB is my bosom friend for reasons other than her incredible storytelling abilities or our constant hi-jinks. She knows me, she loves me, she is there for me one hundred percent no matter what. I am alive because of her. 

When I took thirty-eight too many Tylenols, I wrote two notes: one to my mum and one to Rebekah. And when she got home from work and I was still upright I couldn't bear the thought of frightening her by allowing her to find that note so I told her what I had done and without drama, without hesitation she dragged me outside and got us a cab to the hospital. She held my hand, she rubbed my back while I cried and she told me not to apologize. I don't know if she ever cries over what I have put her through; I can't imagine if our roles were reversed and I had to see the scars on her wrists or the dullness in her eyes; but my strength lies in her ability to put on a calm face. She's so good that when she says, after hearing the exact same hour-long cry for the hundred-billionth time, that just spending time with me is worth it, I believe her.

I could not have pulled through without her constant support: a shoulder to cry on, a sounding board, someone to just tell me it will all be ok.

She has stood by me when I've made mistakes, bad judgement calls and rather catastrophic decisions. Even when I made the same mistake over and over and over and even when those mistakes affected her deeply, she understood and loved me.

She has read every word I have ever written. She has gone out just for Advil and gatorade dozens of times when I've been incapacitated by migraines. She sat in a hospital for four hours last summer when I face-planted off my bike. She has made me a part of her family and herself a part of mine. We speak the same language, often finishing each other's sandwiches, I mean sentences. We have shared our deepest, darkest thoughts and she even listens when I tell her about the dream I had last night.

We are all lucky if we know unconditional love from one or two people, usually our parents and significant others, but how many of us experience that wholly unselfish and unadulterated adoration from a friend?

I am a better person for knowing Rebekah.

Hot damn, I love her and I miss her already, with every fiber of my being.