amandacrackle

Okay kids, it's time to stop asking "Whatever happened with amanda?" I'll sum up.
After i arrived in FL, she described me to someone as her "oldest friend".
...
In that moment, i knew i was probably fucked.
I was also honored, but knew that she straddled a precipice, with one foot still in the vortex of demons that had made a happy meal of her life. I knew that anything she built up or put on a pedestal, she would be hard-pressed to not burn down.
Crackle crackle?
Of course, that image is a bit misleading, as it's too much about me. From day 1, i knew that any attempt at genuine friendship stood a very good chance of ending badly. Even if i did everything right.
And please don't take that to mean she's so much more fucked up than most. In the big picture, she's not. But in the small picture, her damage can be terrifying. Yet on a certain level, that actually puts her ahead in the game. With your damage out in the open, you're almost forced to deal with it. Whereas the people who are always "okay", are often the most lost. And somewhere inside, she knows where she wants to go, and is actually closer to self-love than most ever get.
It's been over a year since we've had any communication other than the occasional stilted e-mail. At this point, i'm mostly just looking to have my next note be my last, otherwise it feels like this relationship will officially end on the day i send a note that comes back "address no longer valid".
And may i tell you how pissed off i am that i've had to refer to amanda in this essay TWELVE times thus far with either "she" or "her"? This barbaric fucking language, with our moronic gender-specific personal pronouns! I'm reminded of this because a couple of you wonder whether some romantic or sexual element has been at the core of my devotion to her. No. Please don't measure my spirit by the limits of your own. From the first, i just knew that i was profoundly qualified to help her escape the broken, angry child inside her (and that i might use our other attractions as a tool in the service of that).
But twelve (oops, now seventeen) pronoun reminders that she's got a vagina, as opposed to just being a human?? You know, just a...person? Don't tell me it's not important. Don't tell me i've fallen out of my tree. We need to replace these words. The history of human language the past ten thousand years has been about concretizing "male" as the norm. There's not one single aspect of our culture which this idea doesn't pervade.
MALE is the norm.
Norm male.
Normal.
What, i'm reaching? Are you quite certain? Then you and i must meet for a wager after the essay. I'll be in the conservatory.
This pronoun nonsense makes me almost as sick to my stomach as her shitstorm of hurtfulness. It would be pointless to offer details - at the risk of an epic undersell, it's the same callous brutality we've all come to accept as normal. Nor am i saying that i haven't wanted to puke simply for my own sake...that anyone who offers selflessness and unconditional acceptance could be crucified like i have, but...i try to focus on the fact that how we treat others is a reflection of how we treat ourselves. By that measure, she is in a mind-warping world of hurt. She says she'll come back to our friendship...but she says things she doesn't mean. I suspect she burned us because she couldn't deal with being seen for who she is. The fact that i saw, and still offered nothing but love, is irrelevant. She's not ready to stop running from herself.
And none of that takes into account the unhealthy relationships in her life, ever pulling her in one direction or another. So i don't think she called me to Florida with the conscious intent of finishing us.
But don't be sad. What i'll remember most is that one single moment she truly opened herself up, very possibly for the first time in her life. For the briefest blink of an eye, she stood in her doorway looking out at me, and whispered that she'd never really let anyone in.
I know, i know...it's a touch obvious, but how maudlinly, hysterically revealing is it that she was standing in a doorway as she said those words?
We gallows humorists live for that kind of shit.
If i had that moment again, before she turned around and closed her door, i'd say "No kidding. Why do you think i've been standing here for fourteen years?"
I love you all.