Pretty important

I made a promise to my best friend before he died. A promise that I would always take seriously but especially because he's dead and I can never officially rescind it. A promise that has kept me crippled and bound for 8 years. Death does funny things to the living. It elevates sentimentality to unreasonable levels. Living people, like myself, need something to grasp onto because memory is fickle and fleeting and that scares us. I got a tattoo for him, and when I got it, 4 years ago, I could still hear his voice saying the word to me. I don't have that anymore. The sound of his voice is a sound that I can't hear at my caprice anymore. I don't think I'll ever get it back. So, I made him a promise that I've kept all these years because I don't want to do more damage to what is left of his memory.

Today, I live inside the guilt of breaking that promise.

He made me say that no matter what, if I loved someone I would tell them. I would never know how terrible this would turn out to be. It sounds innocuous enough. Sounds very doable.  And I always did. The moment I felt even an inkling of adoration, I let it all come out of me. I had to, at first to keep my promise, to quell the crippling fear of letting it go unsaid unto death, and after a while... just because it was an impulse. I unapologetically expressed love whenever I felt it. You never know when you won't get the chance to tell someone you loved them. He lost his mother, and his biggest regret is that she died without hearing I love you from her son. He didn't want me to know that pain and I wish I didn't understand, but I do.

I am extremely reticent most of the time. I detest vulnerability. I hate telling stories about my life. I try to pare away and abandon all of my burdens which makes me seem rather incomplete. I don't even like to let people watch me eat or sleep. Something about seeming human... I don't know... I haven't thoroughly explored it all yet, but my point is that I find a perverse pride in being difficult to get close to. I don't think it matters any from where it came, all that really counts is that I've built this impregnable wall that even I can't penetrate sometimes. I have spent countless hours in my own head cultivating ways to evade openness at all costs, ways to tiptoe around topics that shed too much light, ways to cower in shame unnoticed. I don't like for anyone to be happy for me or my accomplishments because that means it isn't wholly mine. I don't want to honestly share with people how I am feeling or what my needs are, and I can't communicate about my trauma with anything that remotely resembles emotional honesty. It is not an uncommon demeanor to find, honestly, much of the world closes themselves off and finds solace in discomfort food or finds peace in the chaos of drug addition, or in the solitude of working hard to never be satisfied with their own efforts. I'm not saying I'm uniquely walled off, just that it's my reality today.

Coupled though, with what has effectually been compulsory "I LOVE YOU" outbursts, I've been leaving people in my wake pretty understandably confused.

In the past week or so, a gentleman that I've been seeing for some short amount of time now was talking to me about a book that I bought for him. He read it in its entirety in three days. Books are very important to me. My inability to communicate is supplemented in a way by sharing literature and music with people. It's one of the ways that I effectuate self-expression when all else seems to fail. So it touched me that he bothered to read it. It's annoyingly uncommon for someone to promptly read a book that I give them, if ever at all. He took from the story exactly what I wanted him to take and he told me about a similar book that he read when he was in college. We talked about it for a few hours and I felt heard. I started to get this familiar unsettled feeling when we went to sleep that night. I wasn't upset with him but I knew my feelings for him were starting to change and deepen and that made me wildly uncomfortable.

About 3 weeks ago, I went for a run with him in my favorite park, we raced up my favorite hill, and sat by my favorite reservoir, and breathed heavily together. When we were finished, he kissed my sweaty forehead. He laughed at all of my jokes that day. On Saturday he drove for a few hours with me to visit my best friend at school.  She and I are very annoying together, suffice it to say we've been friends for a lot of years and have a lot of jokes and voices. When we left he was nothing but pleasant, said he had a great time and liked her a lot. (Is this a low bar? Probably, but I digress.) We listened to my strange brand of Swedish Folk Music and he started to learn the words.

Some time later, when he had a few too many drinks he got embarrassingly open and emotional with me.  He always wakes up early on the days of my races to wish me luck, he's so loving and supportive about everything. He told me I could do anything and that he believes in me and it sounds so fucking corny and I made fun of him for saying it but when he wasn't looking anymore I cried because most of my life I didn't have that sort of encouragement and support and it overwhelmed me. His first language was Spanish so he can't pronounce the 'th' sound very well and he says things in a really roundabout way using circumlocution sometimes to express what he means and I think it's the most endearing thing. I don't know why I don't hate it but when he uses the wrong word it just sounds right.

He always tries to tell me about his crazy alien theories, he talks about politics and discrimination, and addiction, and science. We have controversial conversations and openly debate. Most of the time, though, we agree.

He told me a story in Spanish to help me fall asleep the other day, he knows me so well and isn't scared of what baggage I may have let on that I'm lugging. I guess the crux of all this is that I'm starting to think that I love him.


I don't remember the moment that I knew but I know I didn't tell him.

Despite my promise, I felt like it was too soon and even though we've known each other for a few years, we've only been seeing one another for a few months and I don't want to scare him off or come on too strong or, or, or... the truth is, I'm scared.

I just want to not fuck this one up. It feels like it could be pretty important.

So I broke my promise.

I didn't tell him.

But it kept gnawing at me, I kept thinking of Chris, I kept hearing his stupid voice laying on a stupid guilt trip. I love you was on the tip of my tongue for days and whenever I saw him I had to stifle myself and order my tongue to sleep. SAY LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE! I'd caution myself. I didn't want to be the vulnerable one. I didn't want to put it all out there. I didn't want to tell him.

The story doesn't end with him dying, don't worry.


We drove home in the rain a few nights ago, it was dark and we got lost. Drove for an hour in the wrong direction adding quite a bit of time to our already long trip. When we got back I sat on my bed and he was standing over me, holding my face. He was telling me that it surprised him that I didn't get angry at him for driving the wrong way, he was surprised at how patient... "I love you," I said.


I couldn't help myself, it wasn't a thought, it wasn't an impulse, it never went through my brain it just came out of my mouth without my permission. This had never happened to me before, not once had I felt compelled to bare my heart without some qualified derision.

If I believed in supernatural things I'd say it was Chris himself, forcing it off my tongue and into the air. I've never really been on this side of things. I've never felt brave enough, I mean courageous enough; he would correct me. I tried to take it back, to say I didn't mean it, to cover my eyes... it was too late. It was toothpaste and I'd never get it to go back inside. I felt a bit relieved kind of but then so, so, panicked.

I'm going to omit the part about what he said in response because I want the point to be about how critical that moment was for me in my development. I didn't care what he was going to say. I didn't care that it might hurt. I didn't care that it might not be the perfect moment. I took a chance anyway. It was so scary. It's like jumping out of a plane and then all the way down thinking: "Holy fuck, why did I just do that?" It was rewarding before he even said anything. It was a rush, vulnerability swallowed me whole and I felt more naked than I ever have before but I knew that I was going to be okay.


I'm proud of myself. I feel something I've never felt before and I'm embracing it. It's pretty terrifying but I'm going to walk through it because... it feels pretty important.