[LJ Idol 8: Week 3] Fossilized pain
1995
My girlfriend had just dumped me. For a guy. Worse still, for one of my best guy friends. I'd spent a lot of time commiserating with my friend Tina, whose on and off relationship with my friend Dan was "off again" because Dan was dating someone new, but still showed odd signs of wanting to get back together with Tina anyway.
Then Tina came out to me over e-mail. And well, she was pretty, and I was rebounding. And as I got ready to head out to yet another shindig held by the co-ed fraternity I was part of, there was this weird instinct to stop by Tina's room first. Just because.
Come on, AJ. You don't want to be that annoying girl with a crush, do you? Besides, they're expecting you at the house. This can wait!
Little did I know that it couldn't.
***
"Well, I guess you'll have to come visit me in the hospital, won't you?"
Last words, a parting shot, a pile of it's all your fault you shithead left to solidify in Dan's memory, to remain there years after.
She walked into the ambulance like nothing was wrong, like she hadn't just swallowed a lethal cocktail. It was the last time any of us saw her alive.
***
"Well, that's what happens when you screw around with drugs, kid. I hope you learned something from -"
"MOM. She took HER OWN PRESCRIPTION. Three months worth. That is NOT an ACCIDENTAL overdose."
"All I'm saying is that you can't be too careful..."
"You know what? I don't need this shit from you."
I hung up. We didn't speak for quite some time after that.
***
"ON FUCKING EASTER?!" It would have been a scream, except Steve's voice broke and cracked like he was still going through puberty.
One of his suitemates wandered in and failed to mind the 30-second rule. "Who's fucking on Easter?"
"Shut up. Just...shut up."
***
"I need to be excused from class so I can go to Tina's funeral."
"Why? Would your friend REALLY have wanted you to MISS MY CLASS?"
***
The head of the student counseling center had something to say to our dorm:
"I know it can be very difficult to lose a friend because she made the decision to take her own life. You may be feeling guilty, or like there was something you could have done to stop her, or even like you're responsible. And I want you to know that's not valid..."
My hands clenched into fists, relieved that my fingernails were still sharp enough to hurt my palms. Fuck you, you pompous asshole! If I'm feeling it, it fucking well IS valid for me! Thought, but unsaid. I didn't have the energy.
***
I looked around the room, catching the eyes that were as bloodshot as my own. NOT from smoking joints, thank you very fucking much, but from crying the endless useless tears that wouldn't do a damn thing to bring her back, until even the tears were gone and only the cliched bullshit about pain and emptiness was left.
Roger and Me was playing in the background. This was, theoretically, an official movie viewing put on by the Geneseo chapter of Democratic Socialists of America. It was actually a circle of heartsick survivors wondering what the fuck the point was anymore in working towards that better world when our comrade wouldn't be there to share it with us, and going through the motions of keeping the chapter together so that maybe someday it would be worth our while to do something other than mourn.
***
I just wanted some fucking privacy. And for the concerned friends to stop shadowing me.
"Leave me the fuck alone!"
"No."
"Damn it, Johanna, stop following me!"
"No!"
Sigh. Deep breath. And quieter.
"...I'm not going to follow her, you know. I wouldn't put you through that."
"Promise?"
"I promise. I love you more than I hate myself."
***
It made sense at the time, because I didn't want to go through this hell ever again, let alone so soon.
I couldn't sleep, and I happened to see Steve sitting on the front porch next door with a jug of red wine at his feet.
"What's up, Steve?"
"Oh...just wondering if tonight's the right time for suicide attempt number eight."
My mind froze into terrified NO, and for some reason it seemed like the only thing to do was to start drinking up that wine so he couldn't. So I stayed up all night drinking, and went on stage the next evening sleepless and hung over.
Doonesbury: The Musical was the show. I was Honey. Duke came in yelling "Well, SHIT." And somehow I managed to deliver the line about being concerned about his mood swings without just going to pieces myself.
***
There were nine of us left, loosely gathered. We'd been friends of Tina's. We were all girls who liked girls or boys who liked boys. And we'd all tried to kill ourselves over it.
But after losing her, we all knew we couldn't. The vague idea that suicide is a really shitty thing to do to other people had solidified, crystallized, fossilized into a tangible object lesson in just what that meant, and just what is lost when someone deliberately takes herself out of the world.
1995. I was 17. It still feels like yesterday, sometimes.