I hate that post-fabulous-gig-depression. I loathe it with a burning passion. So, we saw Avenged Sevenfold on Wednesday. And I've got to say (for the millionth time) one of, if not the, best band I've ever seen live. I loved every second. Even when the dickwad behind me kept leaning on me and sticking his dick in my arse. Okay, so maybe I didn't love that bit, since he was drooling and looked like he'd been taking something, but once the cute emo guy in the purple hoodie pushed him away from us, I loved it again. It also got me thinking a little.
So, M Shadows had a tribute to Jimmy. He explained to those that didn't know (I highly doubt there was anyone there that didn't know) that Jimmy had died and that he was in the room right that second and that they were going to continue his legacy by carrying on making music. He thanked everyone for making it all possible and Mike Portnoy and then they played So Far Away. At this point I'm in a state of awe and trying to stay upright. It's only been in the few days after that I've had chance to think about it.
If you know anything about me, you'll know live music is my form of personal therapy. A disgusting amount of my money goes into buying tickets, alcohol whilst I'm there, tshirts and then the cd's. I stick all my ticket stubs to my wall to remind me of the amazing nights I've had. Of course, they've not all been amazing, some were disappointing, but the majority were fantastic. Wednesday night was one of those that stayed with me on Thursday. I went into an agonising lecture with a dreamy look on my face and everything Simon was saying about Greek mythology went in one ear and right out the other. Then Friday, I got the depression.
The words from the tribute have been spinning around in my head. Now, maybe this is me being a drama queen, but they really hit home. My best friend hasn't been that for a while now. I've lost her. Not in the same way they lost Jimmy, but she's gone.
Myself and Liz had a huge chat last Saturday night. We'd had too many cocktails, but we always have a big serious chat in the takeaway after a night out. So, there we were, dressed like a zombie and a fairy, sitting in Chubby's discussing Rachel over a cheeseburger and chips. We've come to the conclusion that my best friend isn't the same person anymore. She's drawn into herself, put up walls ten feet high that none of us can scale. She won't tell us what's wrong, so we can't help her. Even if we try to coax it out of her, we don't get the answer we're looking for. It's painful to think about, sometimes. I make it clear to her that we're here for her, no matter what. We'll try to understand. She just doesn't want it. Beau is in her class at university and has told me she's the same there. Last Saturday, whilst we were partying it up in Embrace, Rachel stayed at home and had a 'party' with her parents and her sister. It speaks volumes to me that she'd rather stay at home than come out with the friends she doesn't see that often as it is.
It was the biggest kick in the teeth when Beau told me she doesn't consider any of us her best friends. I was annoyed at first. So, the past eight years I felt like maybe I wasted my time. I stuck with her through so much rubbish, and she did the same for me. I don't know what's wrong. Liz thinks maybe she's depressed. I can't understand what she has to be depressed about. But maybe that's all it is, I don't understand and she doesn't think I'll understand, ever.
I've lost her, and it fucking hurts.
