Everyone is blaming themselves. For not answering your calls, for not responding to messages, for leaving you behind when they were all moving forward, as life expects of them. I suppose it’s natural to feel this way. I’d like for you to know that I’m consoling them to best of my ability, but survivor’s guilt stays with a person, you know?
A few people have been blaming your mother. Did you guys argue like they say? I wish I’d known how you were living, forced into the gazebo out back by your own parents, only allowed in the house twice a week to shower. I would’ve let you stay in my room while you struggled to fight your way out of the fog that had swallowed you like those pills. They weren’t for that kind of pain, you know.
I haven’t told anyone that. The heroin is enough. The truth of the matter is that it’s difficult for people to watch a loved one destroy himself. People are calling your parents cold, but I know your mother’s heart must be breaking, despite your last encounter. They kicked you out in hopes that you’d wake up, but they’d gotten so used to you falling that they couldn’t believe you’d picked yourself up. The chill between you, it was all reverse psychology, you know?
But your foothold wasn’t yet strong enough to withstand any seemingly hateful words from the person you loved the most, who should’ve loved you the most, who you wanted to prove wrong and make proud the most. I keep telling people that you must’ve overestimated your tolerance. You were clean, your body couldn’t handle what it used to. The fact is that you were lost and lonely and fragile minds do stupid things. If it’s true, in your shoes, my heart would’ve been imploding. But only you know.
Cars made your engine roar, adrenaline fueling your desire to feel the rush of life. You were kind, sweet, you loved dogs, especially your “baby girl.” M said you died like a dog, found 5 hours later in the backyard, scavengers already circling your body. She’s really pissed at your mom. But nothing could’ve saved you from yourself. That’s the thing. That’s what I know.
John, in death, may you find the peace that so eluded you in life. I’ll try to make them see the bright side, though it’s difficult to open myself up to it. Everything happens for a reason. Perhaps your death will be a wake up call to those who try to numb themselves as you did. You have to maintain your senses if you’re to feel your way out of the darkness. Everything happens for a reason. Maybe this will be the neon sign that people seem to need as a reminder. Covered ears can’t hear a cry for help. Everything happens for a reason. Someone dies, we realize we shouldn’t take each other for granted, but time passes and so does any hint of enlightenment that we might’ve taken away during the grieving process, until someone else dies. Everything happens for a reason. God couldn’t bear to see His child in such anguish for so long, and He finally took pity on you. Everything happens for a reason. Only He knows.
You could have lived. You should have lived. But it wasn’t up to anyone else to rescue you. I’ll be reminding them of that. Ultimately we’re all on our own, responsible for vanquishing our own demons, being our own heroes. Still, I wish we’d been closer. I would’ve recognized in you what so many people often fail to recognize in me. I would’ve helped shoulder the pain. That’s the least a fellow human being can do for another. Rest in peace now, John. The world can’t hurt you anymore, and heaven…well, you know.
In your loving memory,
i killed myself last night.
the part of me that wasn’t good.
it was attached to the rest of me.
to remove it, i had to remove myself.
it was painful and i suffered; but,
i won’t suffer anymore.
i won’t hurt anymore.
by the time you read this,
the person who wrote this will be gone.
We all have flaws and people who love them, just as much as our good intentions. Reach out if you’re overwhelmed. I beg you.