“I will remember you.
Will you remember me?
Don’t let your life pass you by.
Weep not for the memories.”
-Sarah McLachlan (I Will Remember You)
I am most definitely not suicidal. I resent recent accusations that I might be.
Sometimes this life sucks. Sometimes I feel that if this is it, that this here and now, is as good as it gets, then really, what is the point? But even on my lowest days, I suppose there is still a glimmer of hope that this life could be better. I don’t know how to make it better, and I’m a little afraid to try. I am a scientific thinker and someone would have to present me with some seriously strong proof that there is a superior afterlife before I would ever consider it.
Perhaps, I’m just stubborn. I gritted my teeth and pretended I didn’t mind being an outcast in high school. I suffered through a university I thought of dropping out of, and then nearly failed out of. It wasn’t my cup of tea, and my major has proven totally useless in my post-educational adult life. Now I suffer through a job that makes me miserable, and for what? But I’m not a quitter. I’m a survivor of a homogeneous hometown, of an unbearable university, a less-than-pleasing paycheck, and every day I get up, I am a survivor of this life.
Someone I cared about committed suicide at Christmas. I just don’t know why, and his departure has left a void in my life. Nobody saw it coming; he didn’t say goodbye. Apparently his life was so horrible that he didn’t believe it could be better. Sadly, my life is worse off without him in it. He always seemed to be an outgoing happy guy. He had problems (drugs, alcohol, a needy girlfriend), but I guess one never really knows what is going on in someone else’s head. A couple others who knew him have said that he was just some little punk kid living the high life off his drug sales and whatever, who cares that he is gone. Those thoughts don’t make me think less of my lost friend, they make me think less of the people still in my life. This friend meant a lot to me; he understood me in a way that few others ever have. He knew how to push me to open up, and he knew just how to get under my skin. Now he is gone. And I just don’t know why.
Goodbye, T. I’m so sorry I never told you just how important you are to me.