MY friends...

I haven't written a blog in a while! The truth is, logging onto this, seeing my post about Matt and being reminded of that day, forced a huge lump into my throat and into my chest where it sat heavily, altering my breathing and making me slightly panicked.

I was sad.

I'm still sad, however...

His passing has opened my eyes in a way.

He was such a good friend. He had his faults, like all of us, but ultimately, I've never known someone who wanted to so badly to be good. He'd stay up late with you just chatting if you were bored or if you made a comment on Facebook that he deemed somewhat negative, he'd be the first to send you a message, asking if everything was ok. He struggled with social anxiety but he'd be damned if he didn't at least try to hang out with the crowd once in a while. He loved his friends and family and it disappointed him to no end when he thought he'd upset or hurt them.

The day we found out that he was gone, all of our old gang reconnected in a huge group message on Facebook and it made me realize that regardless of how much time has passed, what goings-on have happened in your life, or how much you've spoken over the last few years, real friends are there. They always are. You can pick up with each other as if a single days hasn't passed since you'd last hung out. I'm not sure if I'm a minority here when I say that my friends in particular are amazing at this. I live on the other side of the country from the ones I grew up with. We are from a small community (Shea Heights, St. John's, Newfoundland) that prides itself not only on our rough and tough reputation, but on your ability to help each other out in  times of needs. When a house burns down, Shea Heights residents chip in and help the family rebuild. There are dances and bottle drives and fundraisers All. The. Time. For Matt alone, a gofundme account was set up to help his family out with the funeral costs and whatnot and they raised nearly $15, 500 in two days! I think that maybe because of the people my friends were raised with, the need to reach out and help people who need it, or to just be a decent person is strong.

It sucks being this far away from everyone and I find that in the bigger cities, its harder to make lasting friendships. Despite that, I realize now that there really is no excuse for losing contact with the people who matter most to you. It takes three seconds to text someone and say, "How are you doing?" I HATE talking on the phone but that shouldn't stop me from reaching out. Matt helped me, and a few of his other friends with that. Assuming that someone is ok, confident or happy is selfish. Tell people you love them. Your friends, your family, your husband, your wife... They all need to hear it.

I'm lucky enough to be surrounded with people who do this.

With that being said, those of you who are reading this, Thank you. For being my friend and for caring about me. For reaching out when you think I am down or sick. And simply for making me laugh and asking about my day, my books, my kids and husband. You're my whole world and I love you all.

Especially Niki... who encouraged me to write this today. I lalalalove you Lola. ;)

Dear Matt...

Dear Matt,

Can you even read this? Where are you? I imagine its kind of like another dimension, not a destination. I think you're still here, you can see us, hear us. Its just your body that's gone.

I have so many questions.

Was it worth it? Do you feel better? Are you still you? Was this your plan all along or was it a spur of the moment kind of thing. You didn't write me back on Thursday. Did you finish that poem you were telling me about?

Can you see how much you are loved now? Did we tell you enough when you were here? Did we tell you how smart you are were? How happy you make made us? How funny, amazing, talented and handsome you are  were? My god, you are were handsome.

Did you change your mind just as it was too late? Did it hurt?

Do you think its possible to become dehydrated from crying? Am I an asshole for writing this? Am I too sad? Not sad enough?

I miss you today.

Was there anything I could have done differently that would have kept you here? Did you see the group conversation on Facebook yesterday with all of our old gang? I'm grateful that that happened.

I'm grateful to you for a lot of things. Your ability to crack me up with your disgusting, offensive jokes. You are were a bad bastard.

Your listening skills.

For opening my eyes to the fact that depression and addiction doesn't have a single face. There are no characteristics. You were funny. You laughed. You were in great shape and athletic. You were a great friend and wouldn't hurt a mouse. You prayed. You loved your family. You cared about your appearance.

For New years. Staying up and chatting and keeping me company.

For walking out of your house when you saw me last September and hugging me.

For that night with your brothers Jeep. I promise, I'll never tell him how it really got beat up.

For introducing me to Root beer and Rum. So good.

For always messaging me. Texting me. Opening up to me with your deepest, darkest secrets. For sharing your journal with me and your poems. Did I tell you how talented you are were?

For being honest when I knew it was hard for you. I'm glad you trusted me enough to show me the worst.

I hope wherever you are you feel relieved. I don't know anyone who struggled like you did. I hope nobody is saying anything bad about you.

How's your pop handling this?

I didn't give you that drawing you wanted. You didn't get the tattoo.

Did I tell you about the dream I had of you as an old man, terrorizing the retirement home in a custom wheel-chair that you built to reach speeds of over 100km/hour with those shitty, ugly matte rims you wanted to put on your car?

I wanted you to get married, have kids. I wanted you to do the public speaking like we talked about, to finish your books like we talked about.

I wanted you to finally be happy. I hope that wherever you are now, you are.

I'll miss you forever...

Why you DON'T want to write romance/ adult novels.

My favorite books always include a boy and a girl, a few good 'love' scenes and a happy ending (Not that kind...) where none of the main characters die. I love getting whisked away into this other world where I can have all the feels of a new relationship, of falling in love, being flirted with, seduced without having to feel guilty about cheating on my husband.

When I decided to start writing, romance was the obvious choice. You write what you know, right? Altering Authority had been kind of an on-going daydream for me. I was proud of its twists and turns and thought, this would make a great book. And so I did! I spent MONTHS doing jot notes, writing, editing, re-reading, stressing over characters, losing characters, adding characters, thinking of the perfect love scenes. Those are the parts that draw you in! I read even more books, gained knowledge on how they presented their 'sexy parts' (giggidy). My life was this story. I was so wrapped up in getting it finished, writing those amazing scenes that gave me butterflies. I didn't think of anything else besides the end product. Once it was written, I wrapped myself up in publishing. That became my world, until it happened.

Everyone was so proud. My friends were calling and congratulating me. My neighbors and family were sending flowers. It was amazing... Until they asked to read it.

My mom, who, despite having two grandchildren from me and knowing I've been with my husband for sixteen years still thinks I'm a virgin. My Muslim neighbor who thinks hugging your partner in public is risqué. The moms of the kids I look after before and after school, my great aunts and my husbands grandmother who'd worked in a convent up until retirement, all want to read my book. My book that is about prostitutes, strippers, bikers. My book with... how do I put this because I KNOW these people will also read this blog post(?) ...We will just call it 'Australian kissing scenes'. My daughters best friends mother, whom is thee sweetest lady you'll ever meet, texted me last night to tell me she ordered my book.

Sigh. How do I tell them that my book is NOT autobiographical? How many times do I have to assure them that those parts are NOT based on real life events, How many times do I have to assure them that I'm not a pervert but that I just read, a lot, before I'm comfortable with them reading it?

I'm pretty sure the answer is never. I should have gone with a male pen name. How does Mike Litoris Sound? Jack Mehoof? Ben Mehover?