Its been a month today

Its been a month today since one of my best friends, let's call her Kate, decided to murder herself. It' s been a strange month. I'm trying to not get overwhelmed by it and I think Fonzie would try his best to stay Fonzie if Richie decided to hang himself in the Cunningham garage, so I too as well have been trying hard to deal with this in the healthiest way possible. Whatever that means. Today that meant I went to my first Suicide Survivors group. It was kind of a surrealistic trip, because I went to a group that was in the same town that me and Kate first lived in when we moved to the Portland area in 2007. It's called Gresham.

When we first moved there I thought it was like paradise except with loud neighbors that fought all the time. I lived like a block from a Taco Bell/Long John Silvers!!!! Our experience together has been complicated and interesting and I won't tell all of it now but I moved to Portland because Kate wanted to move to Portland for some reason she couldn't explain and led me here where we suffered together through intense poverty and intense co-dependance but where I finally felt free from the crushing anxiety and depression that defined who I was for so many years before. Our Oregon adventure peaked with her suicide attempt the week before Thanksgiving 2007. The church where the group was tonight is the same church I took her parents to for mass after we found out that she was relatively ok after not knowing for more than a day whether she was going to make it out of the coma she was in. I counted that survival as a miracle. She regarded it as another failure of hers. I didn't pray to God to save her really when she was in the coma but I'm sure I probably did at some point ( In crisis I drop my aloof agnosticism and pick up where my intense Irish-Catholic childhood left off) but I do remember a moment of clarity when I just asked God to be with me during this intense time of suffering. It was refreshing and quite wonderful to feel God's presence as an accompanying force of love instead of as a Father you beg for help when you're in deep shit. I felt double blessed that I felt that connection as well as received the miracle of her waking up from the coma and pretty much having no side effects from the poisons she ingested. Her first words were," I'm not supposed to be here, I can't even kill myself right". It broke my heart but I was happy she had another chance at this thing we call life.

Anyway, the group tonight was okay I guess, and I'm not allowed to say much but it was pretty much me, a strapping young Fonzie like man with four older women and another man (not as Fonzie-like) who was the facilitator. The trippy thing about suicide is that you can drive yourself insane thinking about the would've, could've, should'ves. Most people in the group could relate to that and most of the suffering still felt seems to be about that and the intense anger about someone you love deeply choosing to take themselves away from you when you still need and want them around. The thoughts of, "There is no reason for you to go and things will change. They always do. You are needed and wanted and loved beyond measure by everyone that knows you. But we're all imperfect. We can't make you feel everything you need all the time. I can't babysit you! Take care of your shit. I can't believe you let those bullshit lies win! Why didn't you ever take care of yourself? Your job is to be here and you can't do that?  Fuck you. What the fuck? I thought we had a deal?" As you can see there are mixed emotions that take place.

To be in the church where I sat and thanked God for the miracle of her survival four years earlier but now be there with others to share our lack of hope of ever seeing our loved ones ever again felt strange but also kind of good. I rode my bike from the church in the cold night air through the vast strip malls that define Gresham to me. I felt okay as I rode past the sidewalk where we quit our jobs together over the phone to our inept boss and laughed hysterically for hours as we berated him and made fun of our fucked up situation; 2,000 miles from home, no money, no jobs, but in a strip mall like anywhere else in the country watching kids trick or treat at the Dress Barn and then on to Fashion Bug. I felt okay as I waited for the Max near the Lane Bryant where she was offered a job right before her suicide attempt. A place that I stared at in 2007 as she lay in a coma and saw a vision of her, happy, waiting for me to pick her up from work during Christmas time. She was wearing a red sweater and smiled her perfect smile as I opened the door. A vision so real I swear I could see with my eyes every detail created by my mind. I cried in the sidewalk that day, not knowing what I would do if I lost her and at her lost potential as shoppers walked by on that November day. I thought that vision didn't mean anything anymore since she survived and was doing alright up until a month ago. Now its reality. She has no more hope. No more potential. She will never get better. She will never get a seasonal job at Lane Bryant. Maybe that's a good thing. And I guess she will never suffer with depression anymore either.

As the Max pulled up I got on and felt okay. Happy to get inside to the warmth and out of the cold. Happy to travel back to the future of my current life. I tried to look out the window but all I saw was my own reflection on the window and the darkness of night beyond it. I looked old in the window and my hair looked like a cat had been sitting on my head for days (No more bike helmets). I watched a young drugged out looking couple as they entered the train together, sat down, and then got off at Rockwood station. They were talking to each other the whole time. Lost in their little world together. After they left I tried to look out the window but again only saw my reflection looking back at me. Suddenly I felt very alone and knew I was no longer ok.