In Shock
i have no idea what to say right now. I have no idea what to think. I'm retty much in sck at the moment. Thursday, I got about the worst call a person could possibly get. One of my friends is dead. She hung herself Wednesday. I have no idea why or any details other than that. I just saw her Tuesday and she seemed fine. We went shopping for our zombie hunter costues for Otakon and we were having fun getting all kinds of looks and comments on our way there and back, and when she left my house she said she'd see me satuday.
I still can't quite believe it. I keep expecting to get a call from her saying that it's a joke. I keep expecting to get a message from her on my phone or one of the mesage boards we're on. I keep hoping to see her username logged on to Den of Angels or for her to show up at my door. I know none of those things is going to happen, but I still keep hoping.
One of my friends is dead. Maybe if I keep saying it, it will start to sink in.
She's being buried tomorrow, and I'm not going to be there. the service and burial is on the Eastern Shore, where she's from and I have no way to get there. I think I prefer it that way, actually. I don't want to remember her dead, because morticians never fucking get it quite right. The dead always just look dead and nothing else. No amount of makeup can hide that a dead body is a dead body. I bet they aren't even going to do her eyeliner right or put her collar on her. Not that she cares anymore, but still, it's the thought that counts.
I'm surprisingly okay right now. Of course it was a shock and I had a bit of a breakdown yesterday, but today I'm better. I think I'm kind of numb. I had to break the news to a couple of our friends yesterday, which was all kinds of not fun.
One of my friends is dead. Her 18th birthday is next month. We were supposed to go get pierced together,and then she was supposed to drag me to porn shops and a strip club, and I was supposed to grudgingly come along and be amused and immature and pretend I wasn't ogling girls just a teeny bit right along with her. (What? I'm straight, not *blind*.)Then she was supposed to drag me along to all of the 18+ panels at Otakon just because she could finally go, and at some point I was goinig to be contributing to the delinquency of a minor by buying her alcohol. None of that is going to happen now.
I'm trying to understand.I'm trying to figure out what went wrong, or what I missed, or what I could have done. Was I too distracted by Otakon plans or just not paying enough attention? I feel like I should have known something wasn't quite right. Hell. she said that the new mdicine she ws on was messing with her, that should have told me there was a potential for something bad to happen. But I did't think about that. No-one did,I guess. There's nothig we can do about it now, though. All the what-ifs and whys and what did I do wrongs in the world aren't going to make her any less dead, and wallowing in misery isn't going to help anyway.
I have nothing else to say, so I guess I'll just end with a poem. It's Poe (of course it's Poe. He's the master of angsty death poetry and my favourite Gothic author.) and she'd probably laugh at me for being melodramatic or some shit like that (which I probably am, but hey... have a reason to be) but here ya go:
The Conqueror Worm
Lo! 'tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly-
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Woe!
That motley drama- oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!- it writhes!- with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out- out are the lights- out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
-E.A.Poe 1843
(P.S.: I don't have a more appropriate icon, so I picked one that reflects our shared hatred of Twilight.)