I don’t know how to tell my friends I need to talk. Like I really need to outward process right now.

I don’t know how to tell them I want to spend time with them. I want to have fun again. I want to sleep in the sun. I want to hear how they are. I want a hug.

I don’t know how to tell them that I really don’t need space right now. But more than anything, I need to know that I still have friends. Actually.

Just because my husband died doesn’t mean that I did too. But people across the grocery store still see me and run.

And I get it. No one knows what to say. No one knows what to do. And enough time has passed now that people feel guilty. It’s a good thing I was picked on when I was small because rejection isn’t that shocking.

When people don’t know I’m widowed, I’m more interesting. But now I’m not just widowed. My mother is dead too. My sibling had a breakdown. And I’m a little overwhelmed by the complexity of the things I’m trying to process. Alone.

The experiences don’t equate, but I hardly feel like I can endure yet another tragedy without a friend. I’m afraid that everyone will really stay away from me now. Just when time had finally flowed maybe enough for people to stop avoiding me.

I so want to do this right.

An old friend told me, “When I think of innocence and tragedy, yours is the first face that pops into my mind. Nothing about your life has ever seemed fair.”

Another said, “You’re the strongest person I know, and I don’t want to do something wrong. So I’ll just stay out of your way.”

But in that vacuum, the bad people still show up. The bad things still happen. And I’m not a goddess. I’m not sure I can survive all of this alone. I need friends I can trust around me to offset the inconceivable in my life. I need help making deposits into my bank account of positive experiences that help offset the negative things I can do nothing about.

Please. If I’ve ever been kind to you, if I’ve ever been a friend, don’t leave me to the wolves. Please check on me; let me talk. The black hole whispers.

It’s ridiculous. I move forward all I can. But in times like these — I miss him so much. Because he was more than a love, he was a good friend. And he never abandoned me. I’d sit next to him, and he’d put his arm around me and let me cry, or talk, or sleep. Whatever I needed. And even though I had demons to face, he often just liked to hear my voice. I always came around to the answers I needed if he let me unpack the darkness, lay it on the table, and say its name. If I ever needed to face something, he stood right by me. If I needed to dream, he shared my vision. And that simple loyalty empowered me in ways I never understood until he was gone. I guess I never realized I needed someone to not only believe in me but to bear witness to me. Bear witness to what I was, my scars, what I was becoming. I needed a battle buddy to survive this life.

I didn’t have to entertain him to earn his friendship. I didn’t even have to stay on a pedestal. I could just be his friend. I could just be me: sad or worried or happy or excited. I could be creative without fear. He loved me, yes, but he also simply liked me and wanted to spend time with me, no matter how I showed up. Messy hair, muddy paint splatters, and all. And when I broke my body to have our children, he loved me all the more.

I realize it probably sounds silly, but I miss our friendship. I miss knowing our 6s were always covered. I miss the comfort of being accepted for everything I am, even when I’m traumatized, or nerdy, or strong, or broken. I can’t imagine how I’ll find that again, even in the fragments of friendships left behind. Everyone is so afraid.

And to my shame, perhaps now most of all, me.

I have an internal script that I’m a breaker of things.
A disrupter even when I’ve no idea what’s going on.

I can’t see the world the way everyone else does.
So I never understand or conform to their unspoken expectations.

I’m reluctant to join organizations.
I always seem to pull back curtains I didn’t know were there.

If I sense an arbitrary bubble, I’ll gingerly step away.
Lest I challenge something with my metal.

However, there’s an opposite script as well.
Because I’m often a missing solution.

Help no one thought would come.
The stand-in-the-gap—because someone must.
And I don’t know any better not to.

I see what most do not.
Pose questions most haven’t considered.
Some have called me a muse.

And I guess I wouldn’t give up those roles.

I’m unsure why these parts play on the stage of my life.

It’s not comfortable.
Given a choice, I certainly would not choose to stand out.

But at least there’s a balance to this divergence.