Weekends Are Hard

The weekends are the hardest—too much time to think and obsess.  I still obsess a lot.  Am I depressed?  Probably, but I have been worse and on medication.  I don't think the occasional bought of emotions is worth going back on medication.  I do not want to lose myself to them again.

Friday night Tinkerbell and I go out for dinner for my birthday. I drive.  Tinkerbell is wearing a pair of exaggeratedly flared burnt orange pants with a black sweater over a black cami.  I am in my signature jeans and a tee shirt.  It has been a long time since just Tinkerbell and I have been out alone.  It is nice.  We never lack for conversation, but tonight we are talking about Billy.

 I give Tinkerbell the details of my last encounter with Billy and express how disappointed it made me feel. 

"I don't think Billy and I will ever be as good as friends as you and I,"  I say.  " I don't want that.  You will be the only one who will not put me into an old-folks home.  She can barely take care of herself.  She would try, but her habit would always get in the way."

Billy texted me on my birthday.  "Happy birthday.  Hope you have a great day."

Thank you, Billy, is all I replied.  I want to say so much more, but I did not.  What good would it have done?  My head keeps telling me she will come back.  She always comes back.  Then I ask myself, "Do I want her to come back?"

Tinkerbell and I are driving to the Green Lantern restaurant.  Our journey along the surface streets takes us past a grey billboard with stark black and red wording.  "kNOw fentanyl,  know what is in your drugs."  I tell Tinkerbell that I knew exactly when Billy switched from heroin to a fentanyl mixture.  She started nodding out again for a few days.  Nodding is the comical head bounce a tired person does when they are trying to stay awake.  That was shortly after she switched jobs.  Being an electrical apprentice was not paying enough to keep up with her habit.  Her dealer offered up something stronger.  Before we reached the restaurant, we saw three more of the same billboard.  There must be a fentanyl epidemic in Macomb county.

I do not want the same type of relationship with Billy that Tinkerbell and I share. I think Billy is hoping for such a relationship to develop.  I don't want that.  Tinkerbell is special.  Our friendship was forged with a lot of pain.  I am not willing to go through that again.  I went from dating Tinkerbell to raising her like a fourth child, with all the pain and disappointment children bring.  I wouldn't change it.  Tinkerbell is now a responsible adult and a good mother.  She takes care of me now.

Billy is no longer a child. Though ironically, her new twenty-three-year-old boyfriend is a child.  She is an adult.  I have handed her all the tools she needs to turn her life around.  It is up to her now.  There will be no more bailing her out, no more rescues.  It is time for me to move on.  I don't harbor her any ill will.

"No one will ever be as good to me as you,"  she texted me during the break-up. "I would be dead long ago if it was not for you." Loving Billie almost killed me.

Tinkerbell and I get individual pizzas.  She checks in on The T-Rex three times during our evening.  I don't bother telling her he is fourteen and can take care of himself for a few hours.  Our waitress is beautiful and age-appropriate for me.  Age-appropriate is on the list of things I am looking for in a partner.  See, I have grown.  I do not know whether it seems too forward to ask her if she is seeing anyone.  In the end, we decided I should leave her my card with a note to have her text me.

Saturday, I sat for a four-hour tattoo session and continued the work on my back.  I have a good tolerance for pain, but my body was shaking in shock by the end of the four hours, and I could not go on.  It will take one more session to complete the work. I went to bed early and ignored Sam when she called around 9:00 pm.

Sunday, I awoke with Billy on my mind. Weekends seem to have too much time when you are sad and alone.  I need more things to do, but my motivation is not consistent.  Billy and I still share one thing.  My name is on her bank account.  I would not take any of her money, but I did find myself checking her balance.

Part of me wants to see her fail.  I am not sure if it is to rub it in her face or because I want her back.  I do miss being with her.  If someone better for me came along, would it still be true?  I think a somethings I still would miss about her.