crying in the arcade

What the fuck is it about friendship breakups that tear your heart up so badly? 

I think about all of our cherished moments. Sharing spliffs on the patio. Talking about our futures and what we want out of life. Helping each other make plans to take the necessary steps to get there. Pouring glasses of cheap wine and switching records on the turntable. This once was an abundant friendship. We had made it a safe space. 

I let this eat at me for months, underneath the surface of course. I replay everything that happened in my head, trying to find holes in the situation that I could fill with a conversation, or a text. I lean on my boyfriend for support, but find myself falling into nothing. I have to figure this out on my own. 

The thought of stepping into the arcade knowing that I would be met with the eyes of people who had their own versions of the story made my heart drop. But simultaneously, I wanted to be there to see the show. Turns out, what I wanted wasn't enough. 

I walked in, one high heel in front of the other. Bought a beer, and some tokens, then bought my ticket to the show. I walked around, analyzing the room like an undercover spy. There he was. Same as I remember him, but a completely different energy. I couldn't believe I was there. I stood in front of the first act, nodding my head to the music, and taking long swigs of my beer. I wanted it to hit my liver immediately. The second I think, maybe I could enjoy myself, there’s a combative voice in my head telling me to get the fuck out of there. 

When I really think about this I start to analyze this person’s relationships with women, at least the ones i’ve experienced with them. I befriend these women, I listen to them and include them. In their relationships, women come and go, and become disposable, although obviously there's some level of hurt with that that I empathize with. In their friendships, when a woman comes to them with a concern or is hurt by something they did and wants to talk about it, they are met with deaf ears. They might want to listen but there is no getting through to a man who is made of concrete. No, let me rephrase, there is no getting through to a man who believes that this woman coming to him is a threat of some kind to his ego. And when a woman hurts a man's fragile ego, he will make sure she knows it. 

Boy, did I know it in that arcade. And yet I missed him. I missed my friend. Was I just another one of those women? 

I gave my tokens away, and fled. I walked toward the exit, and slid my sunglasses on to hide the tears welling and pouring from my eyes. What is heartbreaking the most is that I have never felt this way in the punk scene. I have never left a show that's just started because I thought people were judging me. This night was very different. 

I got in the car and laid my head on the steering wheel. I stared at the setting sun and debated going back in, but my body wasn’t letting me. 

I just wanted to see the show.

I drove and drove and drove, on the phone with my best friend Persia as she talked me off a cliff. She told me I was brave for going and even braver for leaving. I knew that being at the show was going to be hard but fuck, I wasn’t expecting that. I hang up, and wipe the tears from my face. I drive into heavy traffic, sweating & swerving. The tears in my eyes blurred the headlights. I rolled my windows down and felt the humid air hit my face. All at once, I became nothing, and everything. 

I didn't belong there anymore. 

I spent most of the night crying and throwing up in the bathroom of my studio apartment. The only place I felt safe that night was under those fluorescent lights. I wish that on no one. 

To ANY woman who's ever felt this way because of a man, I'm so, so sorry, love. There’s so much more out there. So much more better connections to come. For you and me both. Losing a friend isn’t easy. But who said anything was? And do I still believe in second chances? 

Yes. Always. 

xo, zo