I woke up the other morning thinking about how I stood in front of a church full of people talking about satan and the depths of hell when I read out my best friend’s eulogy at her funeral. It was an inside joke, and I remember standing there talking about it and wondering if the Vicar had passed out or not yet. That was 6 years ago, and I don’t know why I woke up thinking about it just the other day.
It made me make a note to myself to get the eulogy (or speech, as I called it) back out and read it again sometime. I have a folder under my bed full of my best friend’s things, and I get it out and look through it from time to time when I’m missing her, or when I feel like I need to get back to myself.
I haven’t read the speech in at least 5 years, maybe 6. There’s no reason for that, I’m not scared or anything, it’s just generally something I haven’t done. That day I got up on the stand, I was 15. I was wearing a yellow dress, because the dress code for the funeral was that we had to wear something bright, and I wore wedge suede shoes with white frilly socks. I stood in front of a church full of people and read out a 12 page speech I’d written about my best friend, and in it I mentioned satan and the depths of hell, which was an inside joke we had between us, and I imagined her stood in the corner of the church laughing so hard she was crying and it made me laugh too.
This memory was already in my head as I woke up the other morning, it was the first thing I was thinking about when my brain became awake and conscious. I don’t know where it came from, or why, but it was there. A reminder. Something to make me smile, and it did.
I forgot to get the folder out and read the speech that day, and then a few days later I woke up with it on my mind again and made another reminder to myself that I must get it out and read it, because it had been over a week now since I’d first thought of it and I only kept forgetting.
Which brings us to today, when I was in the shower singing Celine Dion pretending a million people had showed up to see my shower show, and the thought once again crossed my mind. The first thing I did when I got out of the shower was find the folder, and find the folded up speech within it that had remained untouched for 6 years.
I sat at my desk and read it, aloud, to myself. Or to her. To anyone that was listening. Maybe she was there, maybe she wasn’t. I read it aloud anyway, just to hear myself. As I was reading it, the memories of course all came flooding back, and 6 years later I ended up still getting choked up at the same exact lines I had that day when I stood up there reading it on the stand. I cried at the same parts and I had to take a break at the same parts, and as I was reading it it didn’t feel like something that a 15 year old had written, it didn’t feel like something that a younger me, or the old me, had written. It felt like something that I had written, something that I could’ve written a minute ago, or a week ago, or 6 years ago. It made me realise that I hadn’t changed, because I didn’t feel disconnected from the person who had written that speech, I felt exactly the same. And that was when I realised that I still was her, even though for 6 years I’d felt like I wasn’t.
Of course I’m different now, I’m forever changed. But reading that speech made me realise that whether I wrote it 6 years ago or 6 minutes ago it didn’t matter, because the outcome would’ve been the same. My thoughts and feelings were still the same, my writing was still the same, I was still the same. I would’ve still written the same thing. Not a single word or line would’ve changed. I was still me, deep down. And she was still her, she still would’ve been, had she been here right now to prove it.
I cried, as I was reading it. That ugly crying you do as your bottom lip crumbles in on itself and you’re trying not to bawl like a baby. But I got through it. Just like I did the first time. And then I folded it back up, put it back in the folder and now I’m sat here, writing this.
There’s no point to this post, but then again there doesn’t have to be. I just wanted to document it. I like documenting moments, because I feel like without doing so they may not exist. That’s the reason I created this blog, so I could document myself. I felt like if I didn’t document myself I wouldn’t exist. I felt like I didn’t exist for a long time. I still do, but not so much now. I felt like no one ever knew about me, you know? And I wanted someone to know about me. I wanted and wished for someone to know about me for the longest time, because I wanted someone to tell me that I existed. Over the years, I’ve realised that I don’t need anyone to know about me, because I know about me, and that’s enough. Everything that I want is already within me, my dream person is myself. Or at least, it will be. One day. Everything I need is already here.
“singing long live all the mountains we moved,
I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you,
and long, long live the look on your face,
and bring on all the pretenders
we will be remembered”
All my love,