Where Did All My Friends Go?

I talk to very few people from my high school – when I was going through that torture, I thought I would love all those misfits forever and here we are at half of nothing and the phone does not ring. Everyone goes their separate ways for their separate reasons and some just want to forget, to wash away the past and start as a new person. I had that opportunity at sixteen. Older kids at my school had found that I was attackable and had made up a story of me masturbating at football camp – they literally made the story up in front of me while I was on the toilet. The older boys on my football team got a great kick out of getting a rise out of me – they would slap their belly’s whenever they passed me in the halls. It was terrifying. One evening at my home, ten to twenty boys came to my home just to ring the doorbell and all slap their belly’s at the same time – unbelievably mean and coordinated bullying. It was just a laugh to them – a hazing of sorts to their underclassman quarterback – they were definitely trying to knock me down a peg. I was a cocky fucker that probably deserved it, but it scarred me for life. I moved three thousand miles away to a much worse situation to start over and left my father when he could have used the support he deserved – I also left my best friend without an upperclassman quarterback when the next year came and it would have been my turn to run the show.

I moved from Washington state to Florida because my parents were splitting up and I took the opportunity to run away from the upperclassman that had turned my life into a never-ending joke. I was the new kid in Florida and I was angry which boded well for the football field. The females bit into the fresh meat and I began my sex life in earnest. I was something in this new community, but I did not strive to fit in with the elites as I had always done in the past, I drifted towards the freest spirits – the kids that had no oversite as I had found myself in the same situation. We lived as sixteen and seventeen year old’s would live in an orphanage ran by the orphans. We were a group of boys with very little moral code, a desire to laugh with most of our breaths and constant hard-ons poking into any female companion that would let us rub up against them. We had a point system for sexual conquests, drank most every night and smoked weed whenever we could find some. During this eighteen month period I learned what it was to love your brother and I became more caring of others, but I was still concerned with my own objectives 98% of my waking moments – I surely didn’t apply any humility to my daily actions and looking back thirty some years later the word narcissism comes to mind. There are many women that I wish I could apologize to now, but Facebook requests are not accepted to even begin the conversation. When you are surrounded by toxicity it is hard to come out pure – I have learned at this stage of my life that the container you build around yourself to ferment in, has to have all the ingredients that you want to be.

I had a core group of friends in my own grade that did not participate in the torture even though they knew, and observed it. This was my tribe and I connected with them after running away for a year-and-a-half when I came back for half of my senior year. My best friend stood by my side during the hard years and as we matured into adults. Our frontal cortexes were certainly not developed yet, so we made a slew of bad decisions together, many of them may develop into future blog posts, stories that built the foundation for wealth, health and connection – the building blocks of our lives. Brian was his name, and I use the past tense as he is no longer with us. We lived at a blurring pace and we embraced others, and I always believed that the connections we were experiencing were genuine and deep. I am trying to resurrect one of these beautiful relationships now, but at least ten have died and I morn them. There was so much love built into those never-ending nights where dreams and wishes were expressed like popcorn that never stopped bubbling up – there were limitless possibilities as we graduated high school and worked our way through college sharing perfect summer after perfect summer. The bonds that were built felt like hugs and I want them back, but I have simply lost touch and when I try to reconnect I am shunned. This says something about me, I am sure, and at fifty I am still evolving into a man that old friends won’t want to let go of.

I have built a new container as an adult father, husband, and community member. When I was a teenager I was surrounded by others that I didn’t choose – a bipolar mother that destroyed every valuable relationship she ever had – an aunt and uncle that drank from sunrise to sundown, the uncle dripped green ooze and any contact with him made me feel slimy – and a chosen caretaker that groomed me from adolescence to partake in cocaine, tequila and contact that did not feel natural. These were my building blocks for relationships with other humans and it was a straw house built on a sandy slope sliding into oblivion. I am pretty sure that God sent me an angel to show me what it is to love – I met my wife when I was deep in the oblivion, but she found something to love and it may have taken her twenty-three years but she helped us find some solid ground and some bricks. I now attend a men’s group that is filled with quality humans doing life – I go to church each week with my wife and children and enjoy the connection with my community and I am on the board of directors of a recovery center in Athens Georgia where I have chosen to give back instead of take. My container is built with friends who are loving parents, co-workers, chosen business partners and caring neighbors – these are the ingredients for a healthy fermentation. I have the power to invite joy in and leave the toxic green sludge where it lies.