I’m curious what did you tell people who asked. 

I told them the doctors called it an unnamed condition, in a sense it was, that the surgeries I called them, were simply lying back taking deep breaths for hours trying to reason and push myself to refuse the absolute trauma of that event. Until we get to the point that I regained some mobility upon my left, but found I could no longer write nor draw as effectively as before. 

Reality lies and Metaphorical truths
Who knows. It would later come to haunt me these memories. 
Misery follows those who gripe the loudest about it, misery follows the paranoid, misfortune follows those who seem to want to avoid it yet yearn for it. At the time, this fact was not known to me, doing things I would not normally do, running out to places I would not, stepping away. Not only did it come to me. I went out to find it. That is why that year was the worst. What many would not face when sitting alone at home, I would face running out. I remember that year. I tell people he’s not real, but he was very much real, the only face I had hoped to see. I think you’ve seen in the character archives before arriving in this world a name called Charles, only the picture was blank.

I have, a series of other names as well, Zen, Tyce, Mai, Steppy, Jess, there are quite a number of them, although the odd thing was his frame had a cross 

That only meant two things, I either lost him as a friend or he’s dead, for me, there’s not much of a difference to losing a friend and when that friend dies. The only factor that’s different, when you lose a friend metaphorically you can bring them back to life. However, Charles is dead. 
He died in winter or was it spring, summer, fall? Must be winter, ah I’ve lost track of his death once again. It must be his curse, his endless torment, my secret torment. If he hadn’t met me, he wouldn’t have met that man at the club, he wouldn’t have contracted HIV, he would’ve lived. I regret that his death was my fault, I blame myself entirely. The only thing I would blame myself for. It agonized me, remembering it. It took a while to accept it. The one man that offered his hand to me, in complete faith and trust where I returned it, receiving what I was giving. That’s the only time I remember someone doing that for me. He died. 
I have no idea what it was that did him in, he had HIV which ruined his immune system and something hereditary. 

I miss him sometimes. I really miss him. That time, I was reminded of the lady that died when jumping off that bridge. 

I wonder why you’re completely willing to tell me this. 

Because I feel as if no one else will listen to me. It’s that feeling I’ve been feeling for the past 5 years. The only ones that listen are my characters, my books and my own thoughts that reverberate within my mind. I was perfectly fine with it. People pitied me, but they could never imagine being me, it would be as if they were in hell. 
Did I ever tell you after 8th grade, I never held an interest in either sexes, I simply put up a facade that I did, so that they would not suspect such a thing, I felt no need for a partner who would take away from me what was mine. I didn’t like sharing things that were exclusive. It was probably the same case for people. That the moment they talk about others I immediately feel as if I’m not interesting enough to talk with and they have to bring other people into it. Such a hypocrite, doing the exact same thing because I’m surrounded by individuals who do such. Maybe that’s possibly why I’ve cut myself off from them. Such a hypocrite. Recalling that I also loved animals. All sorts. I really did, often going to the shelter to look at them, smiling. Such innocent creatures. 

I don’t recall too much that happened. Events happened and once again, the cat became a stray. Kindred folk, we find each other after a while. Not exactly sure if it was the same black cat or not, but I do remember it would follow me around. What I wouldn’t know. Last year it would die. Someone would run it over, and it would die. Or was it this year. My sense of time is losing itself once again, I apologize Peter. 

No it’s quite an interesting story. 

Stories, ha, I have quite an imagination Peter, I’m sure what I’m telling you is my imagination, we can always deny it 

I would doubt that, despite being young, my sense of judgment is unblemished at this moment and thus, I feel as if you are telling me the truth. 

I need to fix that. People that feel they are being told the truth, most likely are being told the truth, until they tell others about it. Then those opinions will warp it into lies. I can’t have you guessing what are my truths and lies Peter. Do you know the disadvantages of living next door to a Criminal Justice Lawyer. The dangers and fear of receiving a phone call to shut the windows and lock the doors because they’re working on a case. It teaches you deep fear Peter. It teaches you your worst enemy fear in the worst respect, that your enemies, you don’t know them, you really don’t know why, you don’t know when, they’re there, everywhere, it’s a paradox. Your enemies. They don’t become clear anymore. That’s why I fear the words goodbye, that’s why I hate the color pink, this is why I am perturbed by the scent of perfume. These things associated with things that could kill me. I hated it. 

Perfume? 

I can’t stand perfume, female body odors of flowers and strawberries and artificial scents meant in its attempt to replace the scents of existing pleasant smells. Into a bottle. 

That does sound odd, but I am young. 

Asian parents, there’s a term, spare the stick spoil the child, they never believed in that, they never will, they grew up with it, but I grew up with positive reinforcement. Until that year, something snapped in all of us. Everything snapped that year. Ah it was after I started roleplaying, how odd. Haha. Odd indeed. What a pity. If something was wrong with me, no one knew. 
Absolutely no one knew, it was my battle, a battle I never voiced until it was over. Such a sad thing. 

Why didn’t you tell them? 

….Why should I, they’re my friends, they to my knowledge were people who could barely tolerate me when I was acting odd, do you think I’d expect them to take on the responsibility of my uglier side? 

… Still, they’re your friends. 

They only said that. To make me feel terrible. That’s what I hated. I don’t ask them for what’s wrong. I just simply know. I’m sure I’ve gotten protests about you don’t know the entire story. The problem is. I do. The problem is. I hide it, the problem is, no one wants to figure out how much of it I do know. . . I don’t think they really thought too much of what I knew. I just simply did. Family issues, friend issues, one that tormented, one that torments, I know the stories. However, they are not my stories. I just keep the books to remind them. 
I knew long before asking that question, how it happened, I simply asked it to give the idea of a clean slate, I wanted to be nonjudgmental in asking them, that’s what I wanted to show, chances are, when I asked, I knew a head of time, what it was about. So I guess. It was a lie. When I said I didn’t know why those two broke up. I knew from the start. Why. That’s what hurt. This entire time I knew. Who told me does not matter anymore. Someone did tell me. I found out. Whether or not I liked to, I did. Kept quiet for such a long time. It hurt. Maybe this particular chapter did not occur in my worst year, but it was a pretty bad experience. 

Are you simply repeating this over and over to yourself because you blame yourself for it? Are you trying to not blame yourself for it? 

The problem, I know it wasn’t entirely my fault. How these friendships fall apart. It wasn’t, but that never stops people from feeling responsible for their part, I wanted to blame them so I didn’t feel alone, I did, but couldn’t bring my heart into it. Found it counterproductive. I simply chose to suffer alone and succeed alone. After a while. I simply stopped feeling terrible. It took a month, of posts like this, posts like this that made me think. I kept thinking, I had a brain, of my own. I could use it right? 

I need to step away from this year, after all, despite the short comings of this year I enjoyed it, jobs, experience, my best friend had a baby in August the 3rd, he named him Bryan. Haha, such a cute kid. 

Should I tell you to stop? 

You should. I’m getting tired. Sorry, but I really can’t focus 

Can you answer a few more questions for me. 

That’s one and yes. 

What are friends. 

Do you want the dictionary definition, or do you want my definition.

Yours. 

…. That’s simply what they are, friends. You’ll know them when you see them Peter. You’ll know them when you would willingly give up your time and energy to go see them, you’ll know who they are when on a rainy day, your drama gets pretty awkward and the best response is either their attempts at consoling you, or their attempts at making you laugh, and frankly I would like the latter. They are people. Something, you just can’t predict or expect the normal from, you shouldn’t push your values upon them, you shouldn’t let past experience affect how you treat them, chances are, they sense it. You will break their hearts. 

If you do that to them. Just like how they broke mine, and how I broke theirs. I’m sure we didn’t mean to but it happened. Neither of us is willing to fix that, one from pride, self-justification, self-loathing, sadness, and unreasonable denial, the other. The exact same. 

It brings us to those feelings and we just altogether don’t want to think about them, pretend it never happened and ignore it. Sometimes I just wait. Patiently. 

I know exactly why they’re my friend. 

but when they can’t find the reason why I was their friend to them, you start to wonder if any of the moments you shared were relevant. You don’t forget the sadness of what happened, you don’t forget the other things, I must be some masochist. Waiting like this. 

When right now. 

I just want them to wake up. 

Will they wake up. 

When they’re old, when they have a steady other to copulate with, when they’ve gotten themselves a life that’s worth living, they’ll probably wake up, think on this, move on after such a long time. 

But you want them to wake up now. 

They won’t. 

What makes you different?