Rita was that friend that understood the language of loneliness.
. . .
The days away from now stretched on for months. Communication from Rita was a beacon of change with promises of highs and lows.
Not many know and understand the fire in my brain; this want-to-be debilitating fire chokes me with attempts of control. Surrendering and giving into the fire is a sacrifice, and involuntarily, myself is complacent simply for relief. Here in my brain, I harbor highs and lows I’ve had to educate myself for understanding. Rita never needed me to explain myself, she seemed to know and understand. My highs were her vicarious journeys and my lows were her personal explorations.
What separated our friendship was a personal exploration she needed to see through.
At my BOXED sculpture exhibition, Rita absolutely hated my work and verbally tore into why she hated it… the emotional evocative… “This hate is of self-hatred and all I have buried and relentlessly worked to hide, your exhibition is slapping me to awareness and stripping me of this pain, leaving me vulnerable and naked…” This honest outwardly exclamation to herself and to me, was the moment I knew our friendship was branching out in separation.
. . .
Rita had been sentenced to death… Rhabdoid Tumors have taken hold of her brain and she needed a hug. This trip is all about her… in a year (as told), she’ll be out of my living existence; that loneliness, will be crushing.
Joy Jane June
31st short 05.27.2019 emotional evocative