suicide and the soul

one of the most beautiful people i've ever met hung himself with a wire coat hanger in his closet a little over a week ago. the scars that his corpse carried to the grave were hideous, vulgar, and the reason that some darkness overcame him enough that he had to end his life.

he left his mum, his sister, his grandmothers, his girlfriend of two years that wanted to marry him, his friends, his cousins, uncles, aunts, schoolpals, everyone in a state of disbelief. but one look at the fucked up way the wire cut into his neck and you knew.

i feel pity for him- he never saw how important or good that he was, and whatever depression took him to that level, those visions were evermasked from his eyes. i also am angry at him- angry that he could be so selfish in dealing this blow to us all, that he could be so self-involved and that he would go out on such a big 'fuckyou' note.

i'm exhausted. i'm fighting with my boyfriend, ignoring my girlfriend, trying to help out my grandma, visit with the rest of my family, do homework, pay my bills, ride my motorcycle, work 40 hours a week in a job that is constantly frustrating, see my friends and let them know that i love them, finish up research projects, find time to practice my music, battle the amerikan politikal system from assfuck hell, be spiritual, go hiking, nurse my stray kitty to health, and live life. but yet, i don't feel like offing myself.

i know where my friend was- i'd been there 15 years ago. it hardly seems that long ago. some little thing inside of me said to get help. that, or it was forced on me when i acted stupid- i can't remember exactly what happend. anyway.... i'm still here, still chuggin' along.

roger suicided on me in 1998. was one of the coolest, closest people i've known.

i'm sick of my soul getting bruised from these folks that do themselves in. it's the survivors that carry the burden of the depression that the committers can't get out from underneath, ever. and those problems that the committers had? the person is dead, so they don't have to deal, but those energies and those forces that acted on them are definitively still there.

yet we carry on.

maybe if i was very old, had lived my life, terminally ill, and the only things left functioning were my heart and my brain and the emotional and physical struggle was making them slow, i would consider an assisted suicide. it is after all, my body and i reserve the right to do with it as i see best. culling yourself from the herd before 30 and 35 when you have so much going for you is irresponsible.

'couse they aren't hurting now, so maybe that's good? fuck if i know.