Joey

I've never written about this before. I've really never spoken much about it, either, except right after the initial shock.

Anyway, a good friend of mine committed suicide in December. We met a couple years ago at this little gay bar in Macon, Georgia. I remember he was standing by himself, dancing to some random 80s song that was playing on the jukebox. He didn't look like any of the other trendy fags there. He had crazy hair and a punk rocker outfit. He was very androgynous and obviously a little high. My kind of guy.

We ended up just being friends. I'm not sure why nothing ever happened between us. He made it well-known that he had feelings for me, but I just never reciprocated. Anyway, it was probably a good thing I didn't, because we ended up having a long friendship.

He was the kind of guy I could call up whenever I was lonely, any time of the night or day, and know that he would be eager to hang out with me. On several occasions I'd call him up, crying for some ridiculous reason, and half an hour later he'd be at my door in his pajamas and carrying a stack of cheesy ass movies. I'd always go to bed smiling.

Joey changed a lot in the last couple months. He had brain surgery and was in a lot of pain, which he masked with plenty of pharmaceuticals. The last time he came over, he confessed to me that he was becoming a woman. I'm not sure if it was the drugs talking, but he sincerely believed that he actually had female parts inside of him, and that it could someday be possible for him to bear children. I should have known that something wasn't right.

He called me several times during the last couple weeks of his life, wanting to hang out. But I had a full-time job and a brand new boyfriend, so I always made excuses about why I couldn't see him. He was also very sad. Who wants to hang out with someone depressing when they're living the high life?

Now I think I understand how he felt. And I HATE myself because of it. I should have been there for him. I want someone to be there for me now. But I understand why they're not knocking at my door or blowing up my phone, because I was the same damn way. Why are we like that? Why are we so fucking selfish?

Maybe it's karma. I know I deserve it. God, I miss him. I've had the urge to call him up so bad over the past few days. But then I remember that he's not going to pick up the phone.