Self-harm is not the only way. There is always hope.
“Here I Go.”
It’s been more than a month since one of my friends took his own life.
That morning will likely be one of the worst mornings not just for me, but for many people who were his family and friends. I remember it vividly: I was replying to some emails, when PJ rings me. Her voice had a strange pitch at the end of every word, a sign that something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. She called to let me know that one of our closest friends has done the unthinkable and has taken his own life.
He also streamed everything, live.
He looked like the rockstar that he was, our friend, in that Facebook Live video. Long wavy hair, strands being blown across his face by a gentle wind. Bright and warm sunlight on his face, glinting off of his aviators. A spotless white button-down shirt; sleeves creased where he folded them and just enough buttons undone to remind anyone watching he doesn’t play by the rules. In the many years we’ve known him, indeed he didn’t.
Then he said three words, and he floated in the air and you just knew – but cannot accept – what he’s done.
I remember falling to my chair, and I remember looking at my shaking hands.
Our friend is gone.
He did it.
He really did it.
It’s been more than a month and still the act makes no sense. I am still confused, and I am still bothered. But I’ve had some time to really think about it, and there were many things I wish I could have said to him.