Anja

June 2011

I'm sitting hunched over my desk, looking out at the setting sun in the garden. I get a notification that someone's just followed me on Twitter. I'm excited. I'm desperate for friends. I need someone to talk to. She seemed so cool. We had a lot in common. We talked for a few hours and when she had to go to sleep so she could be up for work, I laid in my own bed, my thoughts racing around our conversation. I felt like there was a sea of shipping peanuts inside me. Here was someone older and cooler wanting me around. She wanted to be my friend. Someone reached out for me. This went on for weeks. Twitter talks turned to emails. Somedays we'd do both. I didn't realise that I was slowly falling for her. I thought this was how friendship should be. I should have realised this is where it was going; after all, that's how things with Paula started out. We added each other randomly on social media, started talking often, then every day and it ended up in me falling in love with her. The only difference this time is this girl, this woman, she wanted me around. She always wanted to hear about me, it was as if she was clawing for my attention, screaming for me to love her. I kept so much inside out of worry, fear and self-hatred. I wasn't really out, I knew what I was but I didn't want to tell her and risk losing her. I could have been wrong about her intent and I didn't want another Paula situation on my hands. 

After online talking, we wanted a physical piece of one another we could touch; make it all seem real. In the world of the internet, it's hard to believe that things are real at times. We exchange addresses. I've always wanted a proper penpal. So has she. We figured we'd start with letters. Casual letters became restless scribbles, late into the night, pouring out our secrets. She understood me in ways no one ever had before. She made me feel weak and lost, but in the best possible way. We exchanged letters every month, sometimes more than one letter a month. We messaged each other every day. Long IM messages, talking about our lives, our hopes, our bipolar depression and suicidal thoughts. We sent each other presents for birthdays and Christmas.
 Friendship became something else. I didn't know what to call it, but she referred to me as her soulmate. I thought of it as something more than friendship. Friends can be soulmates but when she asked me to meet her in person in Heidelberg since I was in Germany, I knew. I didn't hesitate. I said yes. I was curious to meet my best friend in real life. I needed to meet the female that captivated my attention. I felt that seeing her would make her real, that it would show me that it's all just not in my head. I will never forget when I first laid eyes on her. We'd only exchanged photos once, but I knew it was her. as soon as I saw her in the crowded train station. Lisbeth Salander meets Billie Joe Armstrong. That's the only way I could really describe her. Under a mop of dyed jet black hair, were her piercing green eyes heavily lined with black eyeliner. That was the moment I was sure I was in love with her. I wanted to touch her. She just radiated comfort, but at the same time, I was anxious. We were going to her house. I was out of my element. If something went wrong and I acted on something that wasn't real I didn't know where to go. I'd not been to her city before and was unfamiliar with Heidelberg. I knew she loved me, I just wasn't sure it was the same kind of love. It was. I won't forget the way her short slender arms wrapped around me. I was afraid I'd break her if I held on too tight. I didn't want to let go. We talked the entire way to her house and sat together watching Breaking Bad. To this day, whenever I watch the show or its spin-off, I don't think of my time visiting in New Mexico, I think of being curled up next to her, sharing strawberry-rhubarb chocolate watching the show. We watched Deutschland sucht dem Superstar and laughed at the contestants while talking about our own hopes and dreams. 

She turned to me on the second day we were hanging out and she asked me why I'd chosen Anja Absinthe for my pen name (I wasn't out at the time) and I told her because I wanted to include her always in my work. I didn't myself that much or my name, but I thought she was just great so I went with that. Her cheeks glowed a sunset pink and told me that was sweet, that she'd never met anyone like me. I told her that I never met anyone as much as her. We only grew closer that day. I'd visit as often as I could, sometimes going out of my way just to see her. We did trips together, explored the city and each other. She gave me a love, validation and a friendship that I'd always wanted. I thought that we'd have something together forever. We didn't really define our relationship beyond soulmates. This went on for years until one day I stopped hearing from her. She wasn't online. She didn't answer her phone. I thought maybe she just was in a low period and didn't want to worry me. It wasn't that big a deal. Emails went unanswered. 2.3.4.5.6. This was unlike her. Something was wrong. I knew we'd promised each other that if we ever had the impulse to take our own lives we'd reach out and tell the other. I then realised I was alone. She was gone. She had left me. I felt so lost. How could she just leave without telling me? 

I loved an educated, beautiful, witty woman. She was far more than her demons of self-harm, self-hatred. She changed my life and for that, I will always be thankful. I will always wonder why she did what she did; why I wasn't enough for her. I just hope she's in a better place where she has the comfort she couldn't find here. I miss her every day and I think of her often. I take pieces of her, our time together everywhere I go. Maybe things would have been different if I was more of a human being. I still struggle with this, despite 6 years going by. Sometimes I lay awake and wonder what was the breaking point. Why couldn't she tell me? Sometimes when I really miss her I will google her name and address just to prove to myself that she was real. There are times when I will even still write her old email address, just wanting to rekindle something, just have her somewhat in my life again. I know it's stupid and childish, but I think there is a part of me that is scared to let go. I don't want her to be forgotten.I know she didn't do this to hurt me. I'm not angry that she's gone. I've moved past the bitterness that she did it without me, without telling me. 

Sometimes I think about what was and what could have been. How she'd run her fingers through my hair...How I loved the pink of her chewed lips. I find myself missing her more than ever these days, espeically now that I'm out and transitioning. I deeply wish that she could be apart of this. She could have been if I wasn't closeted and afraid. I wasn't afraid of her reaction or rejection, I knew she'd love me no matter what. I was afraid of how I'd be treated, that I'd be beat on again or worse. I let my fear get in the way. I can't do that anymore. I treasure the time that I spent with her and now I take her everywhere I go in spirit.