You and I are destined to incarnate again. It is inevitable.
That, or something very similar to it, is the last thing the Vegas Chick said to me. When I spoke of it with a friend weeks ago, he remarked, “Sounds like a red flag to me. Did she kill herself?”
I’ve given that a fair bit of thought. She was plagued by suicidal thoughts, or so she claimed at least. I only know what she said, and it struck me then that age was prone to bouts of extreme emotion and despair, but that’s hardly suicidal. Suicidal thoughts are written not in words but in scars. So, realistically, I sincerely doubt it. Despair is a cause of suicidal tendencies, but it is not interchangeable with suicidal tendencies, and many people mislabel emotional surges of hopelessness as suicidal. But I hold that thinking “I wish I was dead” and taking a razor to the wrists or gun barrel to the temple are very different things.
But that’s the intellectual take, and another layer of that is that killing herself would be the zenith of melodrama. Oh, poor thing with a career and apartment and kids and financial stability–how terrible such a life must be! Despite everything, she’s aware of that, and I don’t think she’s susceptible to that level of melodrama. I could be wrong, though.
The primary reaction for me, though, is a simple emotional one–and also one that must be explained so that I don’t sound like a monster.
Goddamn, do I hope so.
To be clear, I don’t want the girl dead by any means. But I do want peace. I requested numerous times that she leave me alone, and she wouldn’t. I told her repeatedly that I was through talking to her, and she always popped back up a few weeks later, sometimes a few months. Our relationship goes back years in a similar way: every few months. Then, we didn’t end those periods on such negative terms, but it doesn’t change the fact that, for many years, she regularly came back into my life, whether I wanted it or not, and even if I explicitly asked her to leave me alone.
I don’t want her to be dead, and I’d love for her to have a long and happy life, but I fucking want peace, and I don’t trust her ability to refrain from reaching out to me.
I’ve nothing more to say to her. It is impossible for me to ever again consider her to be a friend, or even a decent human being. She has revealed her colors, and her hue is that of the jaded and mundane. It is not because I was the victim of all that she did; it is because she did it at all. I do not associate with such people.
Of course, being the victim of it hasn’t helped. Each time I find myself on the interstate, I find myself vividly recalling the high hopes that fueled my journey across thousands of miles, through deserts and over mountains. I remember the way that I happily raced through the red landscape of New Mexico, not caring at all that I’d be very unlikely to ever again see my old friends. I recollect how I sat in the Nevada sun through the days, agonizing, totally alone, isolated from everyone, thousands of miles from someone who cared, with the Sword of Damocles hanging over me and desperate to keep it from falling.
She could have spent her entire life making amends, and maybe I could have, at some point, forgiven her. But no amends were made. I tried to forgive her anyway, and I repeatedly failed. Sometimes it’s just not possible to forgive. Sometimes it’s not possible to forget.
I will never really have “peace” about the entire thing, because I’ll never be able to come to terms with what she did. Honestly, I doubt that anyone could come to terms with such betrayal and abandonment from such a trusted friend, especially when the excuse for the treachery was more or less an unapologetic and grossly inadequate “I’m mercurial and narcissistic.”
Because make no mistake about it: that was essentially the reason given. That was the excuse she gave. Everything I did after easily falls into the stages of grief, and I spent much time in denial. Not just denial that I had just been the victim of the basest betrayal, but denial that she really was just a mercurial narcissist. I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to believe that the person I loved wasn’t a farce she constructed. I still don’t want to believe that.
I don’t want to believe anything at all. I want peace. I want to forget it, and i can’t even explain how much I want to forget her. There’s a reason Vegas isn’t mentioned at all in Dancing in Hellfire. The places she held in my heart and mind, she forfeit her right to. And now all I want is for her to completely fade from my past. I deserve that.