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Hiding the Fact You’re Dead Again

Listening to The Shins is difficult. You gave me their album for one of my birthdays and I wasn’t sure that I liked them at first. You can’t throw on their music in the background while you do other activities. Their songs are the kind that you put on and then lie down on the floor so you can stare at the ceiling while you listen. That’s the best way to categorize The Shins. Songs you stare at the ceiling to.

I was watching Stuck in Love earlier. That movie has so many things that I like: writing, Stephen King, love. I’m not sure if you ever saw this movie, but I think that if you had, you would have liked it. One of the characters struggles with substance addiction. In the end, she realizes that the only person who can help her recover is herself and checks into rehab. It serves as a painful reminder that because of the way our world is – the way our healthcare system is, the way we look at addiction – you weren’t able to get the help that you needed and deserved. It makes me angry. I’m so angry.

How can it be coming up on two years since we lost you and I’m still in the stages of mourning?

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Better Late

It’s quite unknown to me how more than a year has gone by since I last sat down to write to you. I’m not sure how to articulate what the year 2020 has looked like for me, but I will try to explain what I’ve been going through.

While the world has been getting sicker and sicker in more of a metaphorical sense rather than a physical one, we finally got the pandemic that we deserved. So many lives have been lost and so many people will never be the same after this year in the worst way imaginable. If someone had told me that I would be alive through a pandemic, I’m not sure that I would have believed them. After this year though, there isn’t a lot now that I wouldn’t believe.

I still visit your Facebook page from time to time, mainly to see if anyone else from your life has been thinking of you lately. It’s comforting to see that I am not the only one still in mourning after over a year and a half since the world lost you. Much like this pandemic, if someone had told me a decade ago that I would lose you to addiction, I would not have believed. I’m not sure if you would have believed. So much of my time has been spent thinking about you and how I should have done things differently. Is it survivor’s guilt? Somehow, that doesn’t sound right.

Back in August, after months of anxiety and lost sleep, I got the virus that has been spreading around like fire throughout the world. It terrified me. The what-ifs weighed heavily on my mind and in my heart as I stayed home recovering my symptoms. Through this process, inevitably I thought about you and what your last moments looked like on Earth; such pain and trauma culminating in what I imagine to be such a horrible death. It makes places inside of me hurt. As one of your friends so eloquently articulated online, you “deserved so much fucking more than the stigma and shame you felt for using drugs.” So much more has to be done when it comes to drug use and mental health.

We’re working on it though. I saw a commercial while watching television with my husband and mother-in-law in our new house. Well, it was more of a public announcement given the subject matter. It was about asking someone how they are, instead of sitting in silence, knowing the other person is suffering. Reaching out could be all it takes to save someone from that dark place inside of them. I’m glad that this kind of issue is being talked about more openly. It’s a shame that the message was received too late.

But, it’s better late than never. Merry Christmas.

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Trying

Your mom reached out to me last month. I was lying in my bed at 11:00 pm and I heard my phone’s notification sound. She misses you so much; she feels like she failed you. I told her that whenever she needed to talk, I was here. I miss you just as much.

I know it’s not the same; losing a friend is different than losing a child. But loss is loss and when you lose someone you really care about, talking to someone who loved them too is really helpful. So I hope your mom does reach out to me when she wants a reminder that you won’t be forgotten. I could use the reminder too.

She also told me that you stopped talking to me because you were ashamed of your addiction and you thought I hated you. I know that you were sick and your thoughts were clouded by substance abuse and mental illness, but I really hope – I have to – that you knew somehow, however deep down, I could never hate you. No matter what life choices you made, no matter who you surrounded yourself with, no matter who you loved, no matter what you did, I always cared about you. I could and would forgive you for anything and everything because you were my friend.

I wish you were still around to talk to. Our late night whispers over instant message will always be a memory I cherish. I miss you more than I could ever articulate in writing or out loud, but I will always continue to try.

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Identity

Nighttime. This is always when I think about you the most. We would stay up so late, talking about anything and everything until I was forced to accept the need for sleep. Even though somehow I knew I wasn’t the only one you sent late night messages too, I felt like it was only us up late, the rest of the room dark, only lit by the bright screens of our computers, typing, typing, typing. Like everything and everyone else was asleep and we could say anything we wanted and no one would know. Not that we talked about anything important. But it was special to me and I miss our midnight conversations.

I read an email you sent to a treatment facility today. It made my heart hurt to hear that your life was stressful, exhausting, and painful because of your addiction to heroin. It made me angry that there wasn’t anyone willing to accept you into a treatment program. It made me even sadder that the email you wrote sounded so you, so normal, like you never changed. I know you must have changed, though. We all do. And I haven’t spoken to you in four years. But, I need to hold on to the you that I know.

From reading comments online, it looks like you started going by your middle name. I see people who I have never heard of call you by that name in comments missing you, loving you, wondering why you had to leave so soon. I don’t know why you chose to stop going by your first name, but I liked to see that you signed your name to this email as Kelsey. This other name, this other identity, I like to think of as a separate entity. Someone that I don’t know. Someone I don’t have to mourn. Someone that doesn’t matter.

But I know you’re one in the same. And you’re gone. And I’ll never have you back.

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Lunch Thoughts

Remember in seventh grade when we would eat lunch in our English teacher’s classroom instead of the cafeteria? We were learning about irony so our teacher was always playing “Ironic” by Alanis Morissette, which isn’t a good example of irony at all. I didn’t really understand that until much later.

That song came on the radio today while I was driving home from work. It’s not really a strange or rare occurrence. I hear that song occasionally while listening to that particular station, but I just happened to remember our middle school days together today. Such lovely days. If I knew how much adulting would completely suck, I would have never wanted to grow up. So much of our generation shares that sentiment and I’m not sure if it’s just something unique to us or if everyone feels like that.

Maybe it’s the internet. The internet has provided a way to share how you’re feeling with a lot of people and I think it’s a profoundly beautiful thing. No matter how you’re feeling, you can guarantee that if you search enough, you’ll find someone else somewhere in the world who feels just like you.

Growing up, I was always told that computers, technology, the internet, were all very isolating. My parents were always bitching at me to get off of the computer in order to socialize and be “a part of the world.” The funny thing is that I was a participating in the world. It just wasn’t the world that our parents’ generation understood so they felt left out and isolated.

Our lives are governed so much by fear these days. I would love to talk to you about this. If only I could have lunch one more time with you.

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Lonely Wishes

For the past two days, I was alone in my house. My mother-in-law has moved in with us you see, so she and my husband went back to get the rest of her stuff. It was strange. Since we moved in, I had not had the house to myself. It was nice. Sure, I missed my husband, but I didn’t miss him as much as I thought. And I think that’s okay.

I’ve always liked being alone. It gives me time to recharge, to think, get things done. My sister is the complete opposite. She always like someone around, to be entertained, to be taken care of. I guess that’s the difference between older and younger siblings. My sister, from the time she entered this world, has never been alone. She always had me. I came into the world alone and got used to it before my sister was born. Psychology: nothing special, nothing new.

Did you like to be alone? You had a step-brother. Whenever I was over growing up, he was never home. Or if he was, he was in his room with the door closed. I don’t think I even saw his face. Just in pictures, in frames, around your parents’ house. Did that make you an only child? I know you loved attention. I know you liked talking to friends at all hours of the night. I wasn’t the only one who would message you at 1:00 am on a school night to share secrets and mundane details of our silly lives. Were you lonely? I wish I had asked these questions.

I wish a lot of things. So many things. We all do.

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Small

I have returned to obsessively watching Criminal Minds again. I love the first season. It has such unrealistic poetic justice. It’s great seeing the original cast in all of their original glory. The new seasons are so disappointing. Rewatching the old just reinforces how far the show has fallen. But here I am again, watching Mandy Patinkin take down an unsub by insulting the size of his penis. And I’ve never been prouder.

Here I am again, talking to you about my small life. I’ve always felt like my life was pretty small. I don’t know if I ever expressed this to you. I don’t think I have. Whenever you would talk about your life, my life seemed even smaller. That was okay; I’ve been content. I still am content.

The differences between us were so vast in a way. I was perfectly fine living my small life, with my small experiences, with my small mind. You wanted adventure and experiences. So, you moved to DC and became a stripper. We always talked about that future. I guess I always knew of your quiet desperation to escape. I was just young and ignorant and didn’t fully understand what you were running away from. Now I get it.

I’m sorry it took me so long.

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Strangers

One of your self professed favorite pastimes was stalking yourself on social media. Like most people, I think. I know that when I get bored of scrolling through my timeline on Facebook of my usual suspects’ pictures and memes and links, I go to my own page and look at my own pictures and memes and links. It’s very nostalgic and sometimes a little cringey, but I do it all the time. I’m assuming you found the same.

Now that you’re gone, I’ve taken on the task for you, stalking you on social media. Can you stalk someone after they’re gone? I don’t know. I looked at your Instagram for the thousandth time today. This time, I looked at the comments. So many business pages reaching out for brand deals and modeling opportunities. You are so beautiful. You were so beautiful. And your Instagram served as a resume for your appearance. A lot of thirsty individuals were there as well, quenching your desire for flattery but also unsettling at the same time. So many strangers.

But everyone who commented on your posts are strangers to me. What struck me most is how little I knew you at the end. The people you spoke to, the places you went, the job you worked – who was I to you anymore? Nothing. I was nothing. Seeing the people you called friends comment on your pictures, expressing sorrow at your loss and gratitude for having known you made me feel so tiny and insignificant.

It’s weird to be mourning the loss of a friendship that died so long ago, but also mourning the person who that friendship was with who left so recently. And mourning the loss of any reason for the death of that friendship. I can speculate forever and still never know for sure, but I do know that I wish that I could fix it.

I’ll never be able to fix it. And that’s the real tragedy of your loss.