RIP Liz

The first time we really talked, she asked if I would share my pineapple. See, in the salad bar section of the lunch line had pineapple and I loaded two whole compartments of my tray with it. I knew I probably wouldn't eat all of it, so I gave her the spoon, I took the fork, and we split the pineapple. I admit, I had ulterior motives to sharing those golden bits of deliciousness.. See, most spectrum kids started in 3rd grade, and stayed with the same classmates until 6th. I had entered that year in fifth grade and knew one other person. I wanted a friend.
Fortunately for me, we were instant friends! We read the same books, and with the same voracious speed. We both enjoyed sneaking into the woodlet behind the school and pretending we were elves or wood sprites. We even tried making acorn-bread once, from the small nuts from the scrub oak. We shared everything: secrets, dreams, goals, study time, birthday parties, (our birthdays are 16 days apart), we even shared our crush. I remember having a competition to see who could write the tiniest and still be legible. As it turns out, we were both limited only by the thickness of the pencil lead. For a week after we completed all of our school work in tiny handwriting and had to correct each-others' work because we were the only ones who could read it as well.
All throughout 5th and 6th we were inseparable. Even when I left spectrum part way through the year, we e-mailed constantly, called often, and drove our parents mad with request to be driven to the other's house. Jr. high posed more difficult problems. We went to different schools, got involved in choir and orchestra, met new people, formed friendships, and gradually lost dependency on our friendship. High school sealed the deal, with my venture to nerd school, and we lost track of each other...
Fast-forward to July 3rd. It's the middle of the summer, Stephanie and I are preparing for a crazy-relaxing weekend because the coming week is family camp. This is the single most stressful, chaotic, and freaking crazy week in the whole summer. Looking back to the family camps I had endured under Gary's reign, I was expecting to be treated like dirt or dogs by family camp staff, to have absolutely no free time cooking for 800ish people, and to have to bite the head off of anyone dumb enough to cross me. For all my tough act, I was terrified. I had no idea what it would be like with Jeremy, and we had a new cook yet again, and I was already so tired, and how was I supposed to fix all the little things when Everyone was Always in the kitchen?? So for the weekend.. Oh yes, I was going to relax while I could.
We had just started dinner. James had been in a mood and it began to manifest itself again at the table. As usual, it escalated to a full blown screaming match between mom and him. All at once, I couldn't take it any more. I ran, bawling, to the tent John kept set up in the backyard. I couldn't handle the anger and the violence, and the noise for a moment longer. Twenty minutes later, Mom came outside and stubbornly I ignored her called until she said Stephanie was on the phone. I tried to compose myself, and answered.
She had news, and she didn't sound composed either. Deanne had called from work. Stephanie Green, also from spectrum had called in sick, because her best friend, Liz Harris had died. She'd passed away that morning. It was liver failure, from all the chemo, she'd been struggling with melanoma, did I know that? I felt sick. I knew it was true.
How do you describe that moment? That moment that you know you'll never see someone's smile again.. that moment when you realize her time here is done, over, ceased, gone... when you remember hearing she'd had skin cancer and calling her worried, only to be brushed off with a laugh "Simple operation, haha, don't worry, it's gone now." And that moment that you know how alone she must have felt sometimes, knowing it was getting worse, knowing she would die... But wait! Her fiance! You received the wedding invitation just that afternoon from your parents, it came weeks ago! Wasn't the wedding.. yes... Friday... How many of the flower ordered for a wedding will now grace a casket? She's 19! How could this happen!
Please Father, not another death! Not another funeral, not after so many...

Stephanie picked me up minutes after she called and took me to her house. I hadn't bothered to unpack anything anyway. We cried and cried. Stephanie knew her from Madrigals and they had been good friends as well...

Excuse me... I'll finish this later... I just can't yet.

Too much

I'm having fun desensitizing myself. I listen to certain songs on repeat. I make myself pass by specific places. I do things over and over until the memories associated with them fade, and ignore the pain until it goes away. I'm sure it's not healthy, but is avoidance healthy either?
I'm realizing more and more that I am a highly emotional person. I try to act and think logically, and most of the time do well. I just seem to have to Feel so much about everything. Almost every thought and action has an emotion tagging along with it.
Is it that I am really such a rollercoaster of emotion, or is it all synthetic fabrication based on some subconsious misconception? I almost lean towards the latter, simply because of how malleable my moods can be. Music in particular has a strong influence. Words and phrases, chords and cadence, they layer me in thoughts and feelings. Does music touch every soul that way though? "Books can be beaten down with reason, but with all my knowledge and skepticism, I have never been able to argue with a one-hundred-piece symphony orchestra...." Farenheit 451 Hm.. maybe.
Here lies the other part of my struggle: disorganization. There is a glass inside of me where I have been keeping thoughts and feelings. I keep putting more and more into the glass, rather than speak or express. They now spill over the edges, with no more space to fill. There is too much there to arrange anything coherantly before it comes out.
At other times, I have delt with this glass by pouring it's contents into glass mason jars which I then seal tightly and carefully slide onto the old oak shelf where I keep such things. Eventually though, this shelf fills, breaks, or get jostled just so, and the jars shatter.
Consider for a moment the contents spilling and mixing and leaking out of me.. Let me assure you, it is Not a pretty thing.
Is there counselling for this sort of thing?
Would I use it if there were?