And In The End . . .

My heart is broken. I don’t believe in love, because if it’s real, then why can it be turned away from? But I don’t believe in hate, because I can’t hate him. I’m incapable of it.

I just can’t believe he handed me an ultimatum. Deal with him as he is, or not at all? What kind of request is that? I love him. I’ve given him my heart. I’ve given him my trust. I’ve given him my secrets. I’ve told him things I’ve never told anyone else. I care about him more than anyone I’ve ever known . . .

I know how little sense everything that I say in here will make, but . . . My mind isn’t making much sense right now, either. Things about Rusty are whirling in my head, as well as last night’s conversation with Jason where he handed me that ultimatum. I thought things would go well talking yesterday . . . The night before last, he made like he had things to say as well. We were laughing, we were sitting together, I thought things would be okay, if we just talked. I stayed there two hours after I should have left, just trying to . . . I don’t even know what.

It just hurt so much to realize that he wasn’t saying anything because he didn’t feel he needed to, despite what he’d said the previous night. He said that we’d talk. I was actually looking forward to it, to being as honest as possible with one another, and I figured, give it an hour or so, and we’d have this straightened out, and go back to normal.

Normal . . . How could he say that to me? Trying to conform him into a normal member of society?? “Normal??” “Conform??” Yeah, conformity. I’m a real big advocater of normalcy and conformity. Me, the girl who dressed up in a Sgt. Pepper outfit for Halloween. Me, who would randomly dress up as a hippie because I liked how the outfit looked. Me, who decided to take her school spirit color day too far and deck out in not only a white outfit, but white face make up and hair spray. Me, the one who carried a Beanie Baby into school and balanced it on her head.

Oh, on another note, because this is the other situation going on that I’ve been crying over, things with Rusty aren’t looking good. It looks like he has a growth on his leg that could be cancerous. That’s why he’s been limping lately, and why it’s gotten worse. Not to mention that something is apparently blocking his esophagus, so that he can’t breathe right, and he can’t get down solid foods, and that’s why he’s been throwing up so much.

I don’t want him to die . . . I want him to get better. I’m gonna go see him at some point today, because I couldn’t stand it if things are worse than anyone’s saying, and he dies before I can say goodbye.

One thing does get me. That these two situations are happening at the same time. I mean, Jason read my other entry about what was happening with Rusty, yet, that ultimatum was still given to me. The sensitivity I thought he had so much of has gone down a significant notch. Because I have to admit, Mike was right. I haven’t told him any of this, but he knows something is up. He said last night that he couldn’t believe Jason would forge forward with this thing when I was already going through way too much because of worry about Rusty.

He was wrong about one thing. He said that separating from me, while he’d do it if he had to, it would hurt like Hell. He was wrong. The thing with James hurt like Hell. The thing with Will hurt like Hell. “Hurts like Hell” doesn’t even begin to describe this pain . . .

I said a long time ago that my three best friends were Ryan, Mike, and Jason. Mike, I didn’t and don’t think I’ll ever be able to get away from, and I don’t so much consider him a best friend anymore. Ryan is someone who I’ve barely seen lately, but who I can still talk to. But I can see us drifting away from one another in the future, being the kind of friends who always carry fond memories of one another in our hearts, but only occasionally write, or something like that. But Jason . . .

Jason has taken over the place in my heart that Dolly once held. He means more to me than anyone, I trust him more than anyone, I’ve put myself on the line for him, visited him so he’d have company besides that of a cactus, loved him with everything I have . . . I said back then that losing him would hurt worse than losing Dolly. And I was right. And it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours . . .

Arguments I have don’t end that way . . . They don’t end with an “I love you.” They don’t end with “I could never hate you.” They don’t end with “I know, even now, that you won’t betray me.” Arguments I have end with “I hate you.” They end with “Go to Hell.” They end with “I’m sorry I ever trusted you.” But I don’t hate him, he and I have already been to Hell and back, and I’m not sorry I trust him.

Yes, trust, present tense. Trust doesn’t end because a friendship does. A best friendship. Best friends . . .

What am I gonna do? What’s going to happen? How am I gonna make it through caroling with the Youth Group? Will he even be there?