Don't Give Up.

"And we tried, oh how we cried.
We lost ourselves, the love has died.
And oh, we tried, you can't deny,
We're left as shells, we lost the fight."

I have this friend. I call him a friend rather than an aquaintance, because that's what I hope we can be. And I don't want to lose him.

Him. Let's just call him LJ for the time being. And those aren't his initials, so don't even think about stalking my facebook friends in an attempt to find him. 

Now LJ, has been feeling a bit...down lately.

Ha, lately. He's been feeling a bit depressed for a while actually. But last night, was the worst I'd ever seen him. The worst his best friend had ever seen him.

And I know he wants us to butt out. Well, at least me to butt out. And not worry. And let him deal with it on his own. He doesn't feel like he knows me enough for me to interfere like I am. And he has a point. 
 

And it makes me wonder. How close do you need to be to someone before you can start calling the shots, claiming that you have the right to know how they are, to know if they're okay? To know if they're still alive? Is it merely the resident best friend's job? Or can other people intrude rudely and ask questions?

Personally, the answers change depending on the situation. 

If you were the one who was doubting your own life, who was thinking of giving up - the answer would be that it's only your business to know, and yes maybe the best friend's, and no one elses.

But if you were the random who cared for said person, then you'd want the answer to be that they'll at least keep you updated. Or talk to you conversationally, rather than a simple "Hi" or "I'm fine" and that's it.

"We all love you."

I know you don't want to talk to me right now. Heck, you don't really want to talk to anyone right now.
But hopefully you'll at least take the time to read this.
You have so much talent.
You have so many friends.
You are smart and unique and just need to apply yourself and you'll be excellent at everything and anything you attempt.
I care about you.
I'm here for you.
No matter how much I'm shunned, or pushed away, I will wait here - quietly or with hoarding questions - I'll still be waiting.

And I feel like I really need you.
I need someone to look after me when I'm crazy and not thinking.
I need someone to learn from, to discover the secrets of the HSC with - the good and the bad, the pressure, stess, and the celebratory eventual ease.
I need someone to breathe out in my face, and tell me not to walk up the driveway - no matter how consistant I am that I'm safe to walk.
I need you to tell me everything's okay - in a calm tone - when I'm breaking down and crumpling in a stairwell - an hour before I'm meant to be on stage - simply fearing for you.

You can use me as an extra friend on Facebook, a warm hug on an icy day, a passing-by wave or nod, or just someone to sit with silently at lunch times. You don't have to talk, you don't have to tell me anything. You don't have to even acknowledge I exist. But you should know - always - that I'm here to listen, and I'm here to comfort or cry, or spill secrets. I'm here for a laugh or a smile or a sit through serious jamming. I'm here to recount good times - and bad times.


But most of all, I'm here.
And that's really what I wanted to say.
We all love you.

"Don't give up,
You still have us.
We're proud of who you are.
You know it's never been easy.
Don't give up,
'Cause I believe there's the a place,
There's a place where we belong."

The Number Nine.

"And a house is not a home,
When there's no one there to hold you tight,
And no one there you can kiss good night."

A stitch in time, saves nine.

There are nine major planets in our solar system.

A cat is said to have nine lives.

There is a limit of nine innings in a baseball game.

A human pregnancy approximately lasts nine months.

I have a very small, very perfect number nine, etched into my skin where a bird bit me today.

And this last nine, actually really annoys me for two reasons.
One, because it is on the side of my right hand, at the bottom of my index finger, so that whenever I look down at what I'm typing, or holding - I see it there. 

And two - it makes me wonder. Because this small incision in my skin, this small mark where that bird's beak pierced my hand - it's too perfect to be an accident.

And I know it sounds stupid, and seems like complete superficial nonsense - but I think this symbol might mean something.

Whether it's something to make me remember that I am brave enough to grab two wild Rainbow Lorikeets and throw them out the window in maths class, or whether it's a sign for something about to happen - I don't know. I mean, tomorrow is the ninth - perhaps it means that'll be a good day for me. But whatever it is, the mysteriousness about this mark on my hand really intrigues me. A little too much.

And all this research on the number nine makes me think I know why.

"I have a very small, very perfect number nine, etched into my skin."

I've been having a lot of emotional relapses lately.

The kind where I think I'm over you, then something will happen, and I'll remember a certain memory, and then everything will come back and I will suddenly be the obsessive, young child you constantly accuse me of being. The obsessive, young child that I probably am.

But as of a few days ago, I looked back at those "relapse memories" with a sigh and a smile, rather than a sense of longing.
Kind of like the final acceptance of a deceased childhood pet. I'll remember those times we had, and honour them, but I'll accept that I'll never get them back.

So now, this genuine feeling of finally "getting over you" - well, it feels real. It feels like birds flying. Like hopping back into bed after turning off your nagging, annoying alarm in the morning. Like a compliment on a bad hair day. Like a fresh start.

Like freedom.

I'm beginning to think the number nine on my hand could mean a new beginning.

In many languages, nine and new are similar words. For instance, in Spanish nine and new are nueve and nuevo. In French the word neuf means both nine and new. 

So it could be that. 

Or it could just be a cut in my skin, caused by a frenzied bird.

"So rather than trying to protect you,
I'm going to cover my bases first.
So rather than trying to open my heart,
I'm going to lock it with a key.
So that only the special ones,
Can ever get through to me."

Stay Strong.

 "So I walked under a bus,
I got hit by a train.
Keep falling in love,
Which is kinda the same."

I have this friend.

She is beautiful, she is confident, and she is the strongest person I know.

Of course, I don't mean strong physically with the decked out muscles, but strong in that she never gives up. She keeps on fighting.
She has her ups and downs, but with the amount of shit she goes through - it's amazing that she is able to keep on smiling, and keep making me so happy.

Her best friend was going through a really hard time today, and called her during rehearsals. And my friend, had said this sentence, while trying her hardest to calm her bestie down.
"Please, please, listen to me, we said we would always be in this together."

And what my friend was talking about, was life.

And a little part of me died just then.

Because I wish I had a friend, who I'd sealed some kind of binding promise with, bounding me to stick in there, if not for my sake - for the other person's sake. 

"A kind of, you jump; I jump, sort of thing."

A friendship like that, is something to really admire and respect. A kind of, you jump; I jump, sort of thing. And I know I feel that way about many of my close friends, I just don't think it'd be entirely reciprocated back to me if push came to shove.


Now this friend of mine, is actually a fair bit younger than me. And it makes me think about just how quickly the years below us are growing up.
I mean, when I was fourteen, I was calmly content with cutesy hand holding with that person who I'd called my "boyfriend", and a kiss on the lips was a pretty big deal.
But with my friend - she's facing things so much bigger than I am even now. Some problems very similiar, yet hers always seem to be on a higher magnitude than mine. 
I'm just hoping that by the time she's my age, she'll have worked out some of the shit and it'll all just be a thing of the past.
Because she is such an inspiration to anyone who's ever been depressed. And she's always the first person i go to for those kind of chats. It just helps having someone who "gets you" - you know?


Stick in there my sexy woman. 
I'll always catch you. You know that.

"All these walls are caving in,
I can't stop my suffering.
I hate to show that I've lost control,
'Cause I, I keep going right back
To the one thing that I need to walk away from."