I've been thinking down lately. Just disconnected and alone. You know? Where the only friends you feel close enough to to feel connected are so far away and an email just isn't gonna cut it. There's nothing to replace in person. Not email, not texting, not facebook, not phone calls, not blogging.
There's nothing like a hike or a walk or coffee or beers with a good friend.
When I was young. Like real young. I fell in love with this boy. He was older and nicer than me. We stayed up late nights talking and talking and talking. He was the single most intersting person I'd ever met. We went camping together. His family were friends of my mom's and so they invited me too. I fell in love with camping and canoeing and being out in the woods for days on end. And I fell in love with him.
A little over a year later, he was killed in a freak accident. A tree literally fell on him. It was awful.
It affected me for a long, long time. I remember freaking out the first time I had an (ahem) intimate moment with another boy. I had never done the things I was doing with this boy with my boy. It crept up. I lost it and started crying and left the room without explanation. I stopped dated that guy.
I had a lot of other problems as an adolescent. Problems I won't get into. They're ancient history and not all that interesting. Divorce, depression, mental health problems in my family, isolation, blah blah blah. I was parentified and out of my league.
And one day it was just too much. I'd been depressed for so long. I just ran out of ideas. I felt disconnected. Unlike everyone, unlikable by everyone. Teenaged and awful. There were precipitating events, but they're not all that worth mentioning either. Point was I was without hope.
I was found in the bathroom at the school, overdosed on migraine medicine and anything else I could find. I went to a hospital. They fed me activated charcoal. I was scolded firmly by nurses and family.
It could've been different.
Today I found out a guy we work with, the boyfriend of a girl I really like, killed himself over the weekend. Its crazy. They've been so happy. By all appearances he's a chipper, upbeat, fun guy. A guy in love.
I'm that way. Chipper. Upbeat. Fun. No one ever knows when things aren't going well. I'm suprised this guy killed himself. But kind of not. You never know. No one knew I was going to kill myself. I didn't leave signs. I didn't hand away all my belongings or say my goodbyes. I didn't reach out for help and get rejected. I just did it.
You just can't know what someone feels like inside. Hearing about him makes me feel so guilty. Like its my fault somehow. Like I should know why people do this because I did. But the thing is, you don't know. You don't know more than what someone else shows you, what they tell you, what they let you know.
This guy let people know mental health is a priority. He was working on gaining more access and grants and things for his clients to access mental health. I'd been applying to colleges and study abroad programs. He'd been planning for a future with this gal he was so crazy about. I'd been making plans to be sure my mom wasn't the one who found me.
I wish there was something to be said or done to fix it. I wish I could corner him in a hallway and tell him I know what it is to make plans. To make those kind of plans. To tell him not to do it.
But I can't.
All I can do is make sure I never get to that place again. And I can do that. I can make the efforts to connect, to reconnect. I didn't tell her I attempted suicide. I just told her I was around if she wanted to run or watch movies or something, you know I'm around. Sometimes its just the best you can do.