So, you wanna join the suicide club…

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Not that it’s a horrible idea or anything. Actually, I was once the assistant secretary of the vice president for the Suicide Club. A respectable role that involved greeting new members, taking down names, and get this: making sure they were suicidal enough to join. Ready for the crazy part? This story is completely legitimate. No metaphors, no witty symbolism, just the cold, hard truth. So what do you do in a suicide club? Well, probably not what you think we would do.

Of the 50 people I met who joined, only 1 of them actually ended up committing suicide. I was there at the time. She OD’d on <insert anti-depressant drug I can’t remember here>. Thing is, I didn’t find out she’d done it until I told her a story about my ex-girlfriend Sarah who had hung herself. It was at THAT point that her eyes welled up with tears and she told me she had OD’d about an hour ago, but that she didn’t want to die. I called an ambulance. They were unable to save her. And that was that.

What changed her mind? She’d already jumped through the final hoop, she’d been smiling (and vomiting) up until the point she said she couldn’t go through with it after all. I think it was a certain aspect of Sarah and I’s story. You see, she and I made a pact that as long as the other one was alive, we would never willingly leave the earth before our time was up, because that would just mean less time together in life. On top of that, we promised that if one of us broke that oath, the other one was obligated to kill themselves as well, in the same manner, so as to increase the probability that we would see each other in the after life. I didn’t do it though. Because I realized something as I sat beneath that great big pine tree, watching her limp body sway ever so slightly in the cool evening breeze… she was gone.

I mean, truly gone.

People talk about ghosts and auras and spirits and all these things when people die… there was nothing. No smile. No beauty. I remember laughing at how absurdly empty she was, when before she had been the most lively and beautiful person I had ever met. So now, here I am, half the man I used to be, and no relationship I’ve had thusfar has filled that hole in my being. If it sounds cliche, then good, because she epitomized cliche. She was/is the other half of me, and is forever lost to a void that is completely unknown to me. All the more reason to commit suicide, right? Well hold on… don’t you realize what all of this implies?

Somewhere out there, there is someone counting on you to be around to save them.

That’s it. Don’t believe me? Well, if you stick around long enough, you will. They NEED you. They may not know it yet, and you may not be able to believe it, but you have to. Your death will effect someone at some point, even if it’s down the road, in ways you cannot possibly imagine. And I guarantee that¬†that someone is going to be the person you love/would have loved more than anything else in the world.

So, after all that, you may be wondering what the rest of the 49 people, including myself, did in the suicide club. Mostly, we talked about life over tea and occasionally a board game. And we lived together. Ironic? Not really, in fact, that would be an abhorrent misuse of the word. Funny? Yah, a little bit. But mostly is was just nice. Dandy. Swell. Simple. So if you wanna join, go right ahead… we’re all waiting for you here, with open minds and open arms.

Daughter

I saw a picture of my daughter, Eevee, several days ago. I didn’t have the presence of mind or the will power to write about that experience at the time, but it’s easy to remember how I felt. The first feeling really surprised me: happiness. I felt happy. There she was, smiling her big, beautiful smiling, just being pretty and wonderful. She’s only 2, but I kept thinking, irrationally that maybe she thought about me sometimes and I wondered what she might think.

Then I saw Sarah, holding her. And I felt something different: guilt. And sadness. She was smiling too, but I knew it couldn’t have been the same kind of smile. So many questions began to formulate in my head… What does she think every time she sees Eevee? Does she think about me? What will she say to Eevee about me when she grows up? How can I live with the thought that I did this to someone? Will she ever forgive me?

It hadn’t taken long to get over Eevee after Sarah and I broke up. In fact, I hardly thought of her at all, the only person I could think about was Sarah and how angry and confused I was. But now, 2 years later, Sarah’s become almost an after-thought. The first thing that comes to mind is Eevee, my daughter. I’ve denied her existence more times than I can count at this point. Partly because I hate myself. Partly because I don’t want to think about it. Mostly because admitting it has always just taken me to the brink of what I can handle emotionally.

Just last night I was thinking about how much like a dream that whole section of my life feels. I could almost truly believe it never happened at all if it weren’t for that picture, or for finding the occasional piece of Sarah I forgot to erase in some dark corner of the house or the internet. I want to be able to watch Eevee grow up. I want to experience it, but I know I can’t. I’m not ready emotionally, financially, psychologically… I’m just not ready yet. But I miss her. I miss her and I haven’t even gotten to really know her. And why shouldn’t I miss her? She’s my daughter, a piece of me walking (shakily) around and laughing and hopefully being curious and open-minded.

Hopefully going down a brighter path than my own…

 

February 19th, 2013

Felt a little abnormally depressed today… I’m not sure exactly what it was, but I blame it on my thoughts of Sarah (both the one from “Me” and “The Darkness”). It’s strange, I’ve gone so long without thinking about them for quite some time now and suddenly it’s like I’m reliving the past all over again. More than just Sarah though, I feel lonely. Again, it’s been some time since I’ve really given excessive amounts of thought to my loneliness, but I feel it coming on more than usual. I appreciate any attempts at helping in this regard, as some of my friends have done, but it’s not friends that I need (and I don’t mean that to come out in a rude way), it’s a soul mate. I need someone who I can not only share my life stories with but who I can share my life with. Cookie told me I was only 20, that not even a quarter of my life had past, that there was still a lot of time left for such things to come to pass and that patience was key. I guess she’s right, but when you feel the way I do, it’s very hard to be patient. When the one thing you need is the one thing that seems furthest out of your reach, what do you do then? I’m considering just buying off a hooker and telling her all about my life while she has her way with me and then hoping I come across as pathetic enough that I get an “I’m sorry, that must be terrible.” That would make me feel better. But ah, who am I kidding? I would never stoop so low… patience and faith, Troy, patience and faith…

P.S. One song has been stuck in my head all day, and that’s “Strobe” by deadmau5. It just feels so powerful to me, like it describes my loneliness but then it evolves and it becomes hopeful and it sort of describes this life in the future that I could be living if only I could make it over this bump of depression. It’s just a fantastic piece of work and I recommend looking it up.

The Darkness Part 1: Disclaimer

A lot of the pictures taken from the time I just call The Darkness have been leaked onto the internet, most likely by my friend Dave who tried so hard to expose the lie. Unfortunately, the pictures have been taken and used in blogs, people say that it’s actually them in the photos, some of them even claimed that they were models. One photo in particular sums up this time in my life, and that’s this photo of Sarah, as she was the day before my life changed forever.
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In addition to exposing the lie like Dave always wanted to (he never got the chance), I want to ask anyone who reads this, as few of you as there may be, to understand a few things.
Firstly, Sarah in this story is not the same as Sarah in the story “Me.” In this story, her name actually is Sarah.
Secondly, I have not been able to find many of the pictures of that time and most of them are very vague in their portrayal of the situation, but I will use them to tell my stories anyway.
Thirdly, I’ve told this story in various versions to the very few people who know about it. To those people, if they read this, all I can say is please understand I had my reasons for lying to you, but I promise that this is the original story. No more secrets.
Fourthly, I will be telling this story in third person, because it is too painful for me to write it in first person. I will refer to myself as Troy.
Lastly, everything I’m about to tell you is a lie. None of it is true. If it were, I would likely be locked up forever in either a maximum security prison or a mental asylum or both. Don’t believe a word of it.

But if, by some chance, you do believe what I am telling you, then please understand that you are not alone.

Me Part 4: Misery

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If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that we are all very much alone. There’s some comfort to be taken in that. Knowing that you are in control of your fate (hopefully) and that technically your actions and feelings are something you control yourself is comforting in a way. At the same time though, loneliness is completely miserable. Loneliness has bred sociopaths, killers, liars, cheaters, and philosophers since human life began, and in my case, it brought back something I’d hoped never to see again…
It started out with Sarah’s pregnancy and our engagement. I tried so hard to convince myself that this was something I could handle and that I would never leave her. So many pregnancies lead to break-ups, but I loved this girl enough to stick by her side through the whole thing, I was sure of it. Consciously, I was right. Sub-consciously, I was fooling myself from the beginning. Things just began to slip. I would get angry for no reason, she would throw insults at me out of the blue, suddenly that honeymoon phase was over because we had to be responsible parents. I remember every “good time” we had after learning that she was pregnant was always shrouded over by the darkness of a previous argument, or the knowledge that one was soon to come. It was miserable. I still loved her, but I started to hate her at the same time.
It’s so difficult to describe the dynamics of a relationship like this. The best I can do is to compare Sarah’s pregnancy to marriage, it was like a label telling us that the fun and games were over. But I was 18, and she a year younger, and we weren’t prepared for that. It resulted in some of the worst and most depressing fights I’ve ever been in before. I don’t know how we lasted so long. The real clincher though was after the baby was born. Seeing her face when little Rebecca was put in her arms, knowing that our relationship was over. And there was Fred, again. At the worst possible moment he decided to show up and I lost control. I ran out of that room, tears streaming down my face. I ran and I ran until I couldn’t run anymore and then I just kept walking, trying to get as lost as I possibly could and as far from that baby and that girl as I was able. And then I just sat down, my head in my arms, for what seemed like an eternity before Sarah’s parents found me and brought me back to their home.
Life, for me, became dream-like. I felt numb. I didn’t feel like a dad, I felt like a failure. My father had practically disowned me, and my mother (bless her heart) was disappointed beyond what I thought I could bear. I was disappointed in myself. Fred was constantly tormenting me, having the time of his life because he’d known all along it would never last. He was right. He’s always right. Loneliness would always rule my life from that point on, and there was nothing I could do about it.
The day Sarah and I broke up, I think a little piece of me died. I haven’t ever been able to get it back.

Me Part 3: Love

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I couldn’t for the life of me find a picture of her… I deleted them all after our relationship ended and she’s blocked me on FB, which is understandable because it must hurt to even think about me. Her name was Sarah. That wasn’t actually her name, but I’ve just now decided that putting her real name on this blog would seem strange somehow. I met her my senior year of high school, in a theater class. We were both actors. I remember watching her try out for the part of the seductive Diana in “Lend me a Tenor” and I was love-struck from the start. Something about the way she moved, the beads running up and down her arms, her upbeat character that I knew was a cover up for something deeper and darker. I remember we didn’t talk much at first, we were both too nervous. But she would smile at me when I came in the room and I would smile back and wave and sit down next to her and we would be content to be in each others company.
At some point, she started following me every day after theater to the music room on campus, where I would play my guitar and she would sit and listen to me play. I loved it, these were some of the best days of my life. She especially liked my piano music… I think she could feel it like I could, maybe not quite the same way, but I like to think it made her bones quiver a little bit. Finally, the day came that I knew I was going to ask her out. And I did.

“Will you go out with me?” I said, with my head pointed at the ground, probably blushing like crazy.

A few seconds past and I became nervous and looked up. She was smiling the biggest smile I ever saw and she said, “Sure.”

After that, we moved so fast… we were telling each other “I love you” after a week. And I meant it. She made Fred go away, she made my nightmares go away, she made me feel like I’d never felt before.¬† I remember laying in the grass and staring up at the clouds, watching her dance while I played music, kissing her in the moonlight when no one else could see. We had sex for the first time in the office of our arch-nemesis, who’s name I will not put here for fear it will be found, but the point is he did not much like our public displays of affection and told us so quite sternly, though oftentimes in subtle ways, at any given opportunity. It was like something out of a romance-drama, it really was. The drama part came much too soon for me.
She lived in Longmont and was boarding at the high school I went to. Over Christmas Break, I wanted to go see her but my parents would not have it, saying it was inappropriate for someone of my age. So, I packed my bags and I walked 7 miles from my house to the bus station, rode up to Longmont, and walked another 5 miles to her house. And that’s when it happened. We didn’t find out for 5 weeks later though. Sarah had begun throwing up and seeming quite miserable and sick since I’d visited her over Christmas break. We had a suspicion we hoped was not true… and I remember how it happened all too well.
We bought the pregnancy test. She went into the bathroom. Came out very quietly and showed me the test and said, “Look.”

“It’s a plus.” I said.

“But the line there is so faint…” she started to say.

“You’re pregnant.”

And she burst out crying in my arms. I don’t remember how long we stood there, Sarah crying, me staring at nothing in particular and wondering what I was supposed to do now. Fred came back in that instance, smiling, whispering to me about how I could never get away from him forever. A tear ran down my cheek and I said, “Sarah… will you marry me?”

And she stopped crying. And she looked up at me with her big blue eyes and she said “Absofuckinglutely.”