Andrew

Last night, in the middle of an exuberant mood and while talking to a friend I hadn't spoken in depth with for the last week, I am delivered the news of suicide amongst us.

Now I am falling and the walls are twisting in that macabre Dali-esq way they do, when your world tilts oh so slightly, and the colors slip out of focus. Because suddenly there is no air in my lungs and my child is too far away from me...because suddenly I am 21 and I can't seem to register the brain all over our doberman is my mother's brain...

The news was only the first, as it seems my absent unwillingness to participate in all things social, organized, or spiritual the last two months, cost me the privilege of being at his memorial service on Sunday...I did not know.

What makes us choose, as is rightfully ours, the grand exit, the final bow of our own making? What divine turn of conscience drives our inner knowing, and leads us through that tunnel of sacrifice alone? How bad is bad, when we come to a place so isolated, so disconnected from our true selves that we stand alone and choose, by right?

I can't say one more word, one more fucking word that would make it any different for him. God damnit...when we suffer alone, when we exist in turmoil, in pain so excruciatingly difficult to bear...but we don't reach out, don't say a word...because we are so brilliantly accomplished at hiding ourselves from each other.