Autobiography · Relationships

Pieces of Kyle and Me

Ruby Pipes
“shards of a past life” © jejoenjeM, 2007. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

The first apartment I ever had to myself was a tiny basement studio in Portland. The carpet was purple and the kitchen had red and white checkered linoleum. The walk-in closet had two stairs going up into it and was just big enough for a twin-sized bed and a dresser. Everything about that apartment was tiny and ridiculous. We called it The Dollhouse.

My upstairs neighbor was Kyle. I had just turned twenty-one when I moved in and he was forty-something. Fast friends. We’d hang out by the dumpster and smoke cigarettes every day. He’d come over to my place for beers. Watered my plants when I left town. When the weather was good we’d sit on the curb and drink booze until four in the morning. We talked about everything. I was his date to weddings. He met everyone I dated and my entire family. Our friendship ran deep and I loved him unconditionally.

Kyle was brash and unapologetic. One of those people who took up a ton of space without being a large person. He hugged hard and talked loud and had a ridiculous story about every situation. He’d get sloppy drunk, pick a fight, then spill his guts to me in an alley. He’d climb on top of dumpsters, get kicked out of a bar, and bring three or four guys younger than me home with him.

He had a rule that you could only tell him what he’d done while drunk if you satisfied three requirements. One, it’d been at least three days since he did whatever you were about to tell him. Two, he had a drink in his hand—preferably one you provided for him. And three, you referred to him as “this guy I know” instead of “you” or “Kyle”. He’d shake his head and belt out, “That guy is crazy! Who does stuff like that?!” Smile big and chuckle. Complete detachment from “that guy” being him. Because it wasn’t.

Once he showed up at my apartment around 11 PM with his right ring finger wrapped in a tissue. “I got a paper cut. Do you have a Band-Aid?” he asked as he walked by me, settling onto my futon. Kyle didn’t wait for invitations. He knew he was always welcome.

I dug through my medicine cabinet then sat down next to him. He removed the Kleenex from his finger and held it out. I grinned and he became tiny, fragile in front of me. Suddenly he was just a little kid. Our gaze locked as I wrapped the rubbery fabric around his fingertip, his eyes watering.

And that wasn’t Kyle either. That was a different guy entirely. That was the man who had found out a few years earlier he’s HIV positive. The guy who didn’t know if he’s was going to have someone to take care of him should the medication not be enough. Should his whole life slip away pound by pound. Should it all just fade out into nothing.

Every few months he’d disappear for a week or so. Show back up all road-worn and frazzled. I never asked where he’d been. I knew he’d lost his footing. Crawled back into some squat and started smoking crack again. I’d cook him dinner and he’d fall asleep on my shoulder watching something mindless on Netflix. My heart ached for him, but I never blamed him. It was another person inhabiting his body. It wasn’t the Kyle I called my friend.

It was so easy to be gentle with him. Simple to understand that there were lots of people who looked just like him, pulling in every direction. All trying to take care of him even if their ideas of how to do that were damaging and dangerous.

They were trying. I knew they were all trying to get his needs met.

And every so often I remember I’m different people, too. That when the depression takes hold, it’s not me it’s holding on to. It’s claws are in someone who is terrified of everything. Unsure and unstable. She is not me. That girl is shaking. She considers herself unlovable and fragile, weak and unworthy. She believes that everyone in her life would be better off if she slipped out of existence.

But that girl is not me.

I can feel sympathy for her. Understand how scary it is. But I don’t have to own that pain. I don’t have to be afraid. She’s a different girl than me. She doesn’t get to grab the wheel unless I grant her permission.

My therapists always had me name those women who inhabit my body when I’m having trouble staying on the surface. Describe them. The angry ones, the scared ones. The ones who are always panicking. The drunks. The drug addicts. The ones who pick up on girls at bars. Who go home with strangers. The ones who can’t get off the couch for weeks at a time. Women who are sure their friends, their family are only still around out of obligation or guilt. All of them are separate pieces.

Yes, we can talk about how they make up the whole. How they all need the same thing, are trying to solve the same problems, meet the same needs. They all have my best interests in mind, but different ideas of how to serve them. I know I have to listen to all of them. They all have valid voices. They all have stories, but they do not all get pens. They do not all get to decide where this is going. They don’t all get equal say in who this woman is.

Like the sixteen-year-old me who needed someone to absorb the screaming, but also needed someone to say, “No.”

“Yes. I understand you are hurting. Yes. I understand this is what you think you need. Yes. I know. I know. But no. Give me your keys.”

301 thoughts on “Pieces of Kyle and Me”

  1. “I have to listen to all of them. They all have valid voices. They all have stories, but they do not all get pens. ”

    that is beautifully said..and will be my “thought ” for the day, probably longer than that. The idea of who writes the story is just so clear; who writes the end..
    And I want to know more about Kyle…..

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  2. Aaaaagh Ruby. This is so good. I also want to know more about Kyle, but I really want to know about you. When you had a paradigm shift, when you decided to be the one to pick up the pen.

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    1. Knowing I want to hold the pen and actually feeling like I’m capable of it are such very different things. Some days I’m very successful in reminding myself that it just takes constant practice. Other days… How did I ever think I could do this?

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  3. This. This is so good, Ruby.
    I hurt that you had to live through it all in order to write it, but I thank god that you lived through it all so you could write it.

    (I’m sure you read Dry by Augusten Burroughs? If not, add it to your list.)

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  6. I really love your writing. I’m so glad I stumbled across your blog. So many of your lines hit me the same way it did to many of the other commenters here. I can relate to a lot of this, the depression, the friends we make that make us see ourselves differently too. Thanks so much for sharing your journey. I look forward to reading you more often.

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    1. I’m so glad you stumbled across it, too! I often catch myself thinking that my story is singular. That people won’t understand what the hell I’m talking about. It’s always so lovely to hear that they do.

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  8. This post really just made my day. I write a lot about inspiration and how I sometimes see the world in a different way (sometimes great, sometimes detrimental.) I think it may be beneficial for me to write more about my hard days as well as my great days.
    Thank you for sharing this very personal post.
    all the best,
    the (esc)ape artist

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    1. Writing about the hard days is really, well, hard. But I like to think it’s helpful. It seems a lot of people are relieved to find they’re not the only ones struggling.

      Writing about the good ones is important, too, though. Lest we forget we are made up of both.

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  9. People assume that with some magic wand u can solve this kind of problems with couple prescriptions which in warning has side effects same as illness itself. For once they were right. So how to get out of something that keeps your ass glued to the bed for six months not being able to take a shower or go outside check your mail every month. They can’t, all medicine in the world and therapy makes it a lot worse and unless you find reason to start your life again or close to what its was before something brought you to the edge of cliff and bottom ov it looks a lot better than that worms in your brain telling you it’s okay, just diversity and everything is hone.Well I tried it many times and had few times actually successful, first thing on your mind was ;shit I’m back; and Rollercoaster starts again.What was game changer for me.I didn’t want to makd people that I care mostly about and havd all happiness in the world, except that shity situation with me,being constantly under watch.I even sit down with my two boys and told them that I rather go down now when everything is okay then when something happens and thst would be mh last thought going away, because life is cruel and somethings sill happen that you not going to be able to handle,or if u believe in God everything is different, which I stopped long time ago, even if he did exist it would be big disagreement between us. I don’t want to ghis to become selfish move from side and take a spot but we all know that only us ourselves can do something and it’s even better when you have love around you.

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  10. I enjoyed your post. I suffer from bouts of depression, so I can understand. I tend to refer to my depression as my ravens. Definitely looking forward to reading more, and definitely want to know more about your friend.

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    1. Thank you. I like to hear that other people have names for their depression, too. I tend to call mine “the crazies”, but I’m starting to think that name makes it pretty hard to think of it kindly.

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      1. I can understand that… it is hard not to feel like you are crazy when going through it. My bouts tend to make me think I am friends with a mean girl and she puts me through the ringer and tromps all over me, and I keep going back because I want her to just accept me. Maybe that is me though

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      1. I have finished it now. I just pawned my last thing (besides the computer and phone) for beer so I can entirely relate to the crack (I have tried it, as well as iv coke) … I don’t have any deadly diseases , though. Someone else keeps me in house and food.. ill have a job in three weeks but will it last? Yes. I can relate. Oops. I shouldn’t say all that in public. I just ruined some bibimbap with too much soy sauce.

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      2. I have read it backwards now too. I however believe all my crazy people and sane people are one and me. But the logic runs through a biochemical and temporal space rather than a sensible financial space

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  12. I’m often stressed these days, but not depressed. Your post has given me an insight into the difference. And you’ve really made Kyle come to life for me.

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    1. It can be such a big difference, but also share so many characteristics. The way they feed each other can be especially terrifying.

      I’m so glad to hear Kyle came to life for you. I don’t write characters often, so I’m glad to hear I did him some justice.

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  14. You have crafted a beautiful story here. I enjoyed every word. Your description of depression is so spot on, yet seen from a victors perspective.

    “when the depression takes hold, it’s not me it’s holding on to. It’s claws are in someone who is terrified of everything. Unsure and unstable.” – inspired writing, just beautiful. Thanks for sharing!

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  24. Another great piece of your life that you’ve shared! Gotta love the amazing people you meet in the various seasons of your life, that change your life. You wrote this beautifully yet again!

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  28. I’ll be honest. I read part of this and exited it thinking it was of no interest to me. When I did, I saw the tag for depression and said, “wait a minute, let me try again.” I picked back up where I left off and finished reading. I completely understand what you were saying, and I hate seeing other people battling one of the same things that haunt more. However, I do enjoy seeing the way others handle it. It gives me drive and hope for my own afflictions. Thanks for the post.

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  29. I love this post! I suffer from depression too and no one really understands it unless you’ve been through it. “Its just a phase” “Just be Happy” is lines ive always heard. I cant wait to read more from you.

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  33. It left an unexplainable sting in my heart. I’ve been in depressing times and wanted to kiss this life goodbye. But i realize that i dont want to die. No! Not dying. I just want to escape from life. I want to live but with the same person i had with me 4 to 5 years ago. The person i used to be not this dreadful person i dont recognize. And yes. What you have said is beautiful.

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    1. It’s certainly difficult to watch ourselves change, especially when we don’t feel like we have any control over the ways we’re changing. But there is always some fight left in you. You can always try.

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      1. I am trying right now Ms. Ruby. It is really hard to bounce back to life. Knowing that at some point in your life, Things may happen again. But i am trying. I am in a cliff hanging in a single rock. There are times that i just want to sway in the breezes of the wind underneath but that wind will bring me to my last breath but now i realize that what i need is the wind above me. The wind that will chill my trembling body. The wind that smells like grasses and where daffodils can fly freely. I need that wind. Thats why im trying to feel it.

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  39. Beautiful words. I came across this post expecting something completely different and by the 2nd paragraph I couldn’t stop till I reached the end. Great job 👍🏽

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  47. I’m new to blogging and this was one of the first posts I’ve read from someone else on here. I really liked it, so interesting I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen. I thought you might like my first post too, check it out if you like.

    -unknownblackgirl

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