Trevor

Lately I have been trying to ignore the thoughts I have about the loss of Trevor because they make me angry, and I don’t want to be angry at him. I thought about him for a while last night, and I decided to write him this letter in hopes that I will be able to let some of it go. 

Dear Trev,

I miss you a lot tonight. I miss you a lot all the time. When I see a friend hurting, I miss you. When I laugh with the people I love, I miss you. I give everything I can to the friends I have. I give it when they are happy and when they are suffering. I give it, because I miss you. Sitting with you and being there for you when you were hopeless would have been so much better than sitting here now, imagining what your last moment was like. I try to let it go because there’s no way I’ll ever know, but I can’t. I’m working on it. Some nights, it keeps me up very late and then gives me nightmares. I tell myself that you knew you were loved, but I’m not sure that’s the truth.

For many years I dreamed dark dreams of a bright suicide. And then I got better. And then you died. We talked about it, Trev. The last time we talked, we talked about getting better. We talked about how the fear of life is worth it because of the beauty it gives us. I know you were sick. I know I understood you. Sometimes I don’t think I understand you anymore.

As time passes, I feel further away from you. As time passes, I feel further away from the understanding of suicide. Today, I don’t understand why anyone wouldn’t reach into the corners of their mind and tell another human their fucked up thoughts. It makes me upset with other people, too. Why can’t we all just talk to each other about the weirdness that is life? We all have really weird thoughts (and when we say them out loud, it turns out that they aren’t as weird as we tell ourselves). We all think we’re worthless sometimes, we all do and say stupid things and we all contradict ourselves. Life is so wildly meaningless and so outstandingly beautiful- so live it for the beauty, because who cares about anything else? Look at the weird stuff, and see the beauty in that. My anger towards you is beginning an angsty ramble that I do not want to go into.

Your death solidified the fact that I will look at anything, I will talk about anything, and I will face anything I need to face if that’s what I need to do for myself or for others. When I decided not to die, I didn’t embrace that attitude in my friendships to the extent that I have since your death.

Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for existing so that I could learn to ask questions I’m afraid to hear the answers to. I am sorry I was not persistent or straightforward in addressing my concerns about you. What you did to get rid of that darkness inside of you makes me sad, but it also inspires me to stay out of that dark place. When I acknowledge life’s weirdness and light and uncertainty, I see beauty. I wish you were here to see it, too.

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