Trust or a Lack Of

by Richie Ashton about a year ago in sad poetry

My Struggle with My Best Friend

Trust or a Lack Of

when we were younger we were perfect for each other. we were 16 when we started dating.

i felt free with you, honest with you, and i felt like myself with you.

as your parents allowed us to share a bed together we would share such tender moments together. playing with each others hands through the night.

holding each other tightly in a way where we felt safe. we felt like our pasts couldnt get us in those moments.

now 17 years old. we are use to each others quirks. im not use to you going out so often with friends compared to before.

ill be alright.

you dont call me when you miss me anymore. you just continued drinking with your buddies.

no update that youre safe for two days.

finally you call me and ask me to spend the night. im excited to feel safe again. im excited to be in the arms i trust.

laying there with you was a bittersweet feeling this time. something was off with you. the way you kept touching me in persistent ways.

needily, but with a harder grip than usual. i asked you to stop; you continued.

i asked you to just cuddle me and fall asleep with me. but you still continued.

instead of playing with my hands you were playing with the waistline of my pajama pants.

i didnt want to continue, however, you continued.

i didnt know what i was thinking at that moment. i blacked out until your hands were no longer on me.

i recall curling up and crying. feeling like this was a one time thing. you were just relieving stress.

we were 17 when you first hurt me.

we were 17 when i started to hurt you back.

the more you put your hands on me. the more you continued, the more i cried after each time.

the more i believed this is all i am good for.

each night we were away from each other you would drink. i would call you with anger in my heart.

you would tell me to calm down, but i continued. i would scream my heart out at you about only god knows what.

but i would never mention your hands and body that continued too far.

we were 17 when i started to hit you. when i started to wish you were the person you were before, but i mostly wished for myself to be dead.

we were 18 when we broke up. a whole year of wandering hands on my skin, and brusies on yours.

we were 19 when we started talking again.

you were on your way to a party, and as a social experiment i decided to go.

you were high off ketamine. i watched as that white line disappeared into a straw as you inhaled.

i thought it was a one time thing.

later that evening, as i waited for you, my designated driver, to sober up, i watched you.

it was 5:30 in the morning and after the 20th time of telling you i wanted to leave that i watched that line disappear into a straw once more. twice more.

you laid your head in my lap as you went down what you called a "k hole / ketamine hole"

i thought you were only like this at parties. it was halloween, so i assumed it was rare.

but you continued.

i was in denial and thought you would be fine.

we were 22 when we started talking about our feelings again.

we were 22 when you said that you wanted to marry me. i believed you would never touch me again, and you didnt.

we would just say how much we meant to each other.

i was busy showing you that i was better.

i was busy showing you that i dont yell or hit anymore.

i was busy not realizing your substance abuse issue.

too busy to notice you stopped caring about everyone including yourself.

we were 23 when i had a dry birthday. you drove me around for an hour finding things for my potluck.

you seemed sick. constantly sniffing and rubbing your nose.

you were sick. not with a cold. you were sick with replacing your anxiety that morning with half a bottle of tequila and cocaine.

which you later told me after we arrived at my birthday.

i asked you not to drink for the rest of the day.

we were at a public park. illegal where we are to drink or do any drugs on park property.

as i asked you, you pulled out a half full bottle of tequila.

at the time it felt half empty.

you pulled out a pipe and some weed too.

it was 5 pm when you called a stranger over to our table for shots and tokes.

i begged you to stop, but i continued to worry about you.

even if you didnt care about me.

i saw you were putting the bottle away in the bag behind me. i put trust in you since you told me you would stop.

you were my designated driver, but as i looked behind me i found you finishing the bottle. you laughed.

i didnt.

since then ive been getting better.

we were in grade 8 when we first met.

we were in grade 8 when i first fell in love.

we were 23 when we stopped speaking.

we were 23 when i realized i didnt love you.

i have realized that i cant trust you, but i can trust myself to take care of myself. im getting better.

and i will continue.

sad poetry
Read next: I Am A Bullet.
Richie Ashton

someone who is working through their borderline by talking about it and helping others.

See all posts by Richie Ashton