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Black Sabbath was playing in the background. The record player needle gliding across the old vinyl, playing the sounds of years gone by. I was sitting on my front porch, lighting a cigarette. The air was humid; summer was soon to come.
My boyfriend, Skipp, was gone to town, playing Magic with some guys he met at the game shop. He was everything I wanted. He had piercings, tattoos, and could play the guitar. The man of my dreams. I was sure that our relationship was unmovable. I had never loved anyone the way I did Skipp.
I heard a buzzing and noticed I had gotten a Facebook message. I glanced at my phone and saw the name "Michael". My heart stopped for a second. "Michael?" I thought. "Must be some game invitation or something". I brushed it off, not thinking too much about it. There was no way that he intentionally messaged me.
Michael had sent me a friend request a year ago. He often popped up in my newsfeed. He was definitely unique. He was some tall, red-haired man with dark glasses. He often posted pictures he had taken in town or from hiking trips. Beautiful photos of flowers, nature and the city flooded his page. He seemed like an eclectic man. A hipster if you will. Surely much more interesting than anyone I'd known. I admired his post from afar. I was intrigued and intimidated by him.
I took a long drag off my cigarette and placed it in the ashtray. I wandered back into the living room, where the record had stopped playing and white noise had filled the room. I remembered the message and reluctantly looked at my phone.
"Hey, would you like to hang out downtown?" The glow of the phone filled the dim room as I stared in disbelief. Was this really happening? The fear subsided and an overwhelming feeling of joy and anxiety took over.
During my adult years, I never had a friend. For someone such as Michael to reach out to me and ask me if I wanted to hang out was close to the odds of winning the lottery. I hesitated to respond.
What would Skipp say? I had no interest in Michael other than I thought he was interesting. I convinced myself that Skipp would be okay with it.
"That would be awesome! When?" I messaged back.
"Tomorrow night? :)"
"Bet. I'll see you then."
I dropped off Skipp and headed downtown. I walked down the sidewalk, dressed in my usual black attire. I saw him sitting against the rock wall. What was I supposed to say? Was that really him? I walked a bit closer, hoping he'd say something first.
Michael glanced up and smiled. "Hey! It's good to meet you!" He walked over towards me.
I gave a shy "Hello" and we went on our way.
We walked for hours. Talking about anything and everything. He was so knowledgeable and truly acted like a gentleman. I was awestruck that such a person wanted to hang out with me.
He seemed like such a good guy...
A few weeks had passed. Michael and I were meeting more often for coffee and lunch. Skipp didn't care much for Michael, but he never said anything to me. I could just tell by his body language that he wasn't happy. Jealousy? Or did he see something I didn't?
One night later, Skipp and I got into an argument. A month before I was admitted to the Emergency Room for suicidal thoughts, I had told my boss that it took everything in me the night before to not kill myself. Depression was a battle I was barely winning, but Skipp wasn't taking it.
"Have your dad die, then talk to me. Your depression is bullshit," He said.
We went to bed mad at each other that night. I woke up early the next morning, grabbed my bag and I headed to Michael's house. He listened to my story and agreed that he was a jerk. He took me downtown for breakfast. When we got there, he had asked me what I wanted, then scoffed and told me I would get whatever he had. That I had no choice.
I was a little confused and taken back by his tone, but I didn't think anything of it at the time. We sat down by the window, watching the morning sunlight shine onto the city streets.
"You need to leave him. Now. Fuck that guy," Michael said between bites.
Honestly, I had played with the thought recently. I had put so much of my life on hold for Skipp. With his severe epilepsy, he couldn't work and I couldn't have my kids with me. We had dealt with so much already and it was starting to seem worthless. I truly loved him, but maybe Michael was right.
Michael convinced me to leave him in a matter of minutes. He said to threaten him with holding his belongings hostage and a court case. He had a way of making it seem so easy.
A text came through that said "I'm sorry about last night, I love you. Please come home". My heart sank. Skipp and I had shared so many memories together. I loved him. But the way Michael was talking, he made it seem like it was my only choice.
I texted him back. I did as Michael said. I threatened him. I taunted him. I told him to leave until he finally did. Inside my heart was breaking. This didn't feel right. This isn't what I wanted, but it was Michael. The incredible person I had admired for so long. He knew so much, so he must be right about this too. At least, I convinced myself that he was.
I was completely heartbroken, but I couldn't cry. Not in front of Michael.
He said, "Well now you can just date me". It upset me to hear that from him after what had just happened. Did he make me do this for him? I had no interest in him as a partner. All of these horrible things I had told Skipp, that I couldn't take back; was it for him? I talked myself out of it though. "Michael wouldn't do that", I told myself. He's not a bad person...
I sat in an empty house. All I could see was the memories of us. Where his belongings were. I slowly walked through all of the rooms, screaming inside for him to come home, hoping that he would be around the next corner, but he wasn't there. It was over and he was gone. I sat on the baron floor and sang Things Ain't Like They Used To Be by The Black Keys. I sang and cried until I had no voice left. What have I done?
I thought to myself, "At least Michael was here for me". That was the only comfort I had at the time. It was hard to find solace in my children. He was all I had left to lean on.
The summer went by and Michael and I grew closer as friends. Every day I would show up at his apartment. We'd walk trails, eat junk food and watch raunchy TV. I found in him the feeling of freedom I was missing for so long. I relished every moment we had.
Through our friendship, there were things about him that should have been a red flag, but I had learned to ignore them. The man I had originally seen as a classy, smart man was far from the truth.Â
His apartment was littered with empty beer cans and boxes of wine. His sink was full of dishes. Trash was piled up in different corners of the house. He claimed he had a brain injury that kept him from having the ability to clean up after himself, and I naively believed him. His hygiene was that of a homeless man. His clothes often had stains and food on them. The man I knew from social media was not the man I had become friends with, but still, I didn't let it bother me.
It was on a hot August day that I had taken the first step down a dark road. I found out that Michael had a prescription for Ritalin, but often didn't take many himself. Instead, he sold it. Still, I disregarded this behavior because it was Michael. In my mind, he could do no wrong.Â
He had offered me one. I hesitated. I was terrified of taking pills. He told me all the good things about it and how it makes you feel. I trusted him. I trusted him with my life, so I accepted the pill.
Only minutes later, I felt like I was on top of the world. We had long conversations about the world and the universe. We walked downtown, seemingly faster than everyone else. He gave me another one. Then another. I had never felt so carefree. I never wanted to stop feeling this way.
Later that night, I started coming down. I no longer felt the joy and happiness Ritalin had given me. I was taken over by disgust, despair, and suicidal thoughts. I got angry. I didn't understand what was happening. I started crying. I was swallowed by the pain I was feeling. I wanted to die, and so I tried to find a way to do so. At this point, Michael was drunk, as usual, and turned the tables on me. Suddenly, it was he who was suicidal. He started sobbing. He was telling me everything I did wrong, and that if I had left him, he would shoot himself. He said it would be all my fault.
He had an old gun and some bullets. He sat in the bedroom crying and inconsolable. I no longer felt the pain of my own guilt and sadness. It was all about him.Â
I ended up staying there until 4 that following morning when he finally passed out. I had work in two hours, but there was no way I was going to be able to make it. He had drained me of every ounce of energy and will I had. I quietly left, taking slow steps, watching behind me to make sure he didn't realize that I was gone.
This episode happened more than once in the following weeks. Once he had chased me, with pure rage in his eyes. I had never been so scared. I was barely able to make it into my car and locked the doors as he tried to open it, yelling and screaming. He was saying he didn't understand why I was leaving. That I was overreacting.
We had made amends just days later, as usual, and went back to our daily schedule of Tosh.0 and shit talking, but now it included getting high. I would crush up the pills on his table and snort them. He'd get mad and say I would ruin the lining of my nose. He hated when I did anything differently than he wanted.
I had stayed over again that night, but was exhausted after crashing. I was sitting on his bed watching TV, begging to go to sleep. It was 5 minutes until midnight. He asked me to stay up at least until 12:00. He said he had a friend coming over he wanted me to meet. Of course, I did as he asked and waited. 12:00 hit and I told him I was laying down. As I grabbed my blanket, I heard a knock on the door.
"Hey Toast, I want you to meet my friend..."
To be continued...
After note:
"Michael" was great at gaslighting. I didn't learn this term until years later. He was a master manipulator. Nothing was ever his fault, but it was always mine. I was so young and naive. I longed for friendship though. We had so much in common and it was a relief to share my world with someone, without commitment. I dealt with everything because I thought I was desperate. Once we had cut off our friendship, just a few months ago, he told me I was always a terrible friend. That he didn't need me and he never did.
Although I was the one who saved him from killing himself time after time. I was the one who lost my job more than once for him. I gave up my relationship and my home because he told me to. I cleaned his house for him because he was "incapable" of doing it himself. I spent hours, sometimes even days making it into a livable condition. I listened to him when he was sloppy drunk and depressed. I gave him so much, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that I was wrong, and he was right every time. If I didn't know something he did, even the littlest of things, he scolded me. He told me I was stupid, then tried to play it off that he was joking and that I shouldn't be so sensitive. I wanted to tell him that this is the reason no one ever stayed in his life, but it would do no good.
I have since learned what a true friend is, and am more aware of when someone is lying, manipulating or gas-lighting. I have grown from the situation, although I still have negative emotions surrounding it.
Next Saturday's story will begin the night I met his friend, "Matthew".