God Called In Sick Today
(a.k.a. Said She'd Never Leave Me But As She Said Good Bye...)
There was nothing more that could be done. I had realized that as I stood at her grave. I couldn't do anything about it, if I could, I most certainly would have, no doubt about it, I would have done everything I could to stop what had happened. She told me the inner-demons would eat her alive, they would eventually kill her. I brushed it off, I didn't want to face it, I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to think that her problems would consume her, that by taking on her friends' problems, including my own meaningless ones, would break her. I didn't want to believe she would try it again...and succeed.
I can't say that I blame her at all. She did choose to do this, she did choose to do what drove her to this, all in good will. Like my boyfriend said, too much "good" can turn into something bad. That bad would consume her. She put the problems on herself to take them off of everyone else's shoulders. It led her to this. I don't blame her though. I blame myself. I blame everyone who let her take their problems so they wouldn't worry about it. She put herself into so much shit, but she just said "Better me than my friends to be in this shit." So self-less, so many problems, but no one saw. No one could see the scars inside, beneath the smile, behind the eyes. It really made her happy, to see that by taking her friends' problems made them happy. No one saw the first attempt, she only mentioned it to a few people she knew would never talk about it, including me. I don't blame her at all.
She tried to do some much for everyone. She had her boyfriend, she was there for her friends who had their boyfriend problems. She never bragged about her boyfriend being so caring and loving. She never made out with him or anything like that while around her friends who were going through trouble with their own boyfriends or girlfriends. She was so sensitive, so caring. She had so much to be happy about, but as long as a friend was down, she went out of her way to bring them up, and wasn't happy until they were. She had a smile to comfort, words so wise, I don't think any of her and our friends of the past five years really realized what they had here. I've known her for twenty, I barely even saw, but I had noticed, on the times of our walks in the park, recounting our school days or past times, and something led to a sensitive topic she poured out some of her thoughts. She had a tolerence to people barely anyone could tolerate. No one could realize while she was here how great she was.
So now that I stand here looking at the headstone, her name etched in it, year of birth, year of death, a feather carved into it, with a quote of her that I had selected: "Life isn't about my happiness, life is about my friends' happiness. If I can make them smile, my day is made." I can't recount a time when she ever really said she hated someone. She didn't hate. She never thought anyone deserved to be hated, no matter what. Everyone deserved forgiveness. She was noble...humbly noble.
"So it looks like your inner-demons finally consumed you," I muttered as I set a dozen dark red roses near her headstone. "My friend, you said people will say 'How could she do this to me?' and you were right. I heard them. I didn't utter it though. How could I? I can't stand to think I was part of what drove you to this. I'm sorry I put my problems on you, I'm really sorry I did. I should've just learned after all our talks to draw back. How could I have done this to you?"
I traced the name with a gloved finger. How could I have missed the signs the final night? When you were detatched, said you wanted to be alone the night. You were giving everyone such long hugs, like you'd never see us again, like when we parted ways to college. Tears glistened in your eyes, you must've fought hard not to let them out. You hugged me the longest, you muttered something that sounded like "I'll miss you the most", but you muttered it so silently I barely picked it up and just ignored it. I should've known.
So we left, Karen, Vere, Jamie, Kris, and I. You went to the apartment all of us shared, put in my Sing the Sorrow CD, put it on repeat of ...but home is nowhere. You left a note for each us in separate envelopes that had our names on it. You took the blade, you probably looked in the mirror, you had to have looked in the mirror in order to write what you did. How long did you stare? How long did you think it over? Was it long? Probably not too long since you still did it. Or perhaps it was an hour, and you finally resolved it as an all go. Taking red lipstick and writing: "Inner Demons finally fed."
So what was next? All that was left was to let the blade sing against your skin. I think of it like a violin. The blade is the bow, the arm the violin, and when the bow rubs against the instrument, music is heard. When the blade is slashed against the arm, blood flows, and the calm envelops you. How calm was it? The neighbors said they didn't hear any screams of pain. I wasn't surprised really. You never screamed in pain or frustration. You were so calm, placcid.
Four cuts to each wrist. You probably drew the bath water first then lay in it, fully clothed in your finest red gown. Cut the wrists, then just lay in the water, letting the water incarnadine. I imagine it would've stung, but when we found you, it was as if you were sleeping. Like you fell asleep before dying. I doubt it was that way though. It hurt at first, it did, but it hurt more to me to know I was part of the reason. We all got different letters. Mine stood out, I don't know if it did to the others, so it may have just stood out because it was to me. You wrote everyone such a long letter. I was left with a few lines with tear stains and blood stains, probably from small cuts you did before. Just a few words, few lines:
"Christie-
The last twenty years with you as a friend have been wonderful. I realize what you said is right. It's not hatred, but inner demons in me.
Inner Demons live in everyone.
Some fight it.
I hid it.
You used it.
...It consumed me.
Sorry.
----"
Your name was smudged by the tears and blood. No one could have seen the despair. Why didn't I point it out sooner? Could we have helped though?
So now, my friend, I have just this to say. What you did wasn't weak, you lived a strong life. You took your time out. You chose it. You finalized it. You controlled it. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't prevent it. I wish I hadn't contributed to it. I'm glad though that you were my friend. I'm going to live on, because I will tell everyone else how great of a person you were. I won't twist the ending, I'll just say that you were tired, and lay to rest a well deserved rest. I'm sorry it was so soon though. So my friend, never forget me, wherever you are as I will never forget you. You were a great friend that I could never let go of. You were a friend that went beyond a great friend, the most loyal friend I ever had or ever will have. Thank you so much. Rest now in peace, friend. I will never let go of your memory. I will make sure everyone will honor it and cherish it. You're living forever in my memory.
Adieu.
Dedicated to my very close friend of five years. We've been through a bit. Thank you so much.
Thanks also to the Fall Children for being there, Jaitara for listening, Zack for being my younger brother, Mich for everything she is. A big thanks to Ollie who sent me an intriguing review of the The Masochist.Also thanks to AFI for being a big inspiration, and especially to Little Girl Lost who's music has been a comfort of late as well and being an inspiration to me and encouraging me. Keep writing with passion. (note: the second title for the story is a lyric from "Lost Not Found" off Little Girl Lost's first EP Losing Hope EP)