a room with a view and a velvet painting

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July 26, 2012

Reblog if you’d care if anyone killed themself tonight

Instead of simply reblogging, let’s try to do something.

Give out resources for our friends who are at the end of the rope.
Donate to organizations that raise awareness.
List the names of friends you lost to suicide, and what you remember and miss.

Resources:

U.S. National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
http://www.suicidehotlines.com/
http://suicide.org/

Donate:

Donate to the AFSP (American Society for the Prevention of Suicide)
Donate to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
SAVE: Suicide Awareness Voices of Education

Friends I miss:

Brian, Kevin, Mr. and Mrs. W.

Brian: You were the smartest person I have ever known. We met at an admittedly pretentious college, but you actually knew and understood so much. Language (I think you were on your fourth at the time), mathematics (Euclid, Archimedes, and Newton were your playtoys), music (man, you got me into Mahler, how does anyone get anyone into Mahler?), psychoactives (books and books and books), you knew it all. But you were born gay into a Catholic family, and you never escaped the guilt. I remember talking Plotinus with you, the idea of human souls finally realizing their mistake only to die, but we held together tight, and I never thought you’d actually go until you did. God, when you died, I just knew, and, god, it hurt.

Kevin: We were kids at the dawn of the Internet’s being available to kids. When I got a car, I found out how close you really were. We both went to college (me to pretentious land, you to tech), but then, there were summers at home where we spent days at a time watching Family Guy and just talking about boys and girls and where we would be in ten years. It’s five years since then, and two since you left. I drive past your old neighborhood a lot, and every time, I worry after your mom. She was far from perfect, but she and your dad made you, and, god, that has to count for something. I think about them, and I think about how we were just kids once, and, Jesus, you will always be that sweet, beautiful guy to me.

Mr. W.: I never knew you. One day, my friend U. called me crying. He found you, his uncle, hanging in the guest bedroom of his house. He and I were both 16. The next day, I took off school and we met at the park and just held each other, because he was already a young guy with a whole heap of shit on his plate, recently divorced parents, his depressed mom, his little sister, coming out as gay, and then all of high school. He made it through, with honors, kept growing and surviving, but you burned something into him.

Mrs. W.: Three years after your brother killed himself, you followed him. God, I know there was so much darkness around you, the death of your brother, your divorce from your husband, the endless depression that followed you (and then, your children). My friend U. was halfway through his sophomore year of college when he contacted me, “My mom killed herself.” I can look back and think of you, small, slender, pretty, with dark hair and eyes and two kids who took after you. I can remember you after your brother killed himself, skinny, shrunken, small, with wet, sunken eyes. You gave me a hug, and your son a pat on the shoulder. I’m sorry for what you went through, and, yes, I’ll always blame your genetics, at least a little, but your son is incredible, and I wish you could see him. He’s still doing better than all right. He’s amazing, but I still worry after him.