In memory of Ethan.
I wish I had been a better friend for you.
In the passing week, I’ve compartmentalized your death into a tiny package, and I stuffed it deep in the crevices of my mind. I wrote a 6 page document and titled it “July Sucks.” You earned a solid page or two in that. I don’t want to look back to check. I sent it to my therapist, who I met with yesterday. We talked about you a bit. We did not dive too deep. I’m not sure I have the capacity, at this current, to handle that depth. The waves thrash a little too much. It’s a little too much to bare.
I feel my chest tighten, my throat swells up while the floodgates in my sockets seemingly collect the water which holds all the drowning weight. Well, I suppose you must have felt drowned as well. I suppose that’s why you did it, thinking, perhaps, no one would care. We left you there. Figuratively. But pretty literally, no one was there. And all I can think about is this menacing voice in my head, reminding me: Someone should have been there.
We should have been there for you. I wish we had been there for you. I wasn’t there for you.
I’m sorry. I failed you, friend.
It’ll come out now, I’m thinking of how I’ve suppressed these feelings for an entire week now. I wonder if you had the same thought: “It’ll come out now,” as you pulled the trigger.
“The bullet will come out, the blood will come out, the truth will come out. How I can’t do anything right. It’ll all unleash and they’ll all know. They’ll find a way without me. It’ll come out now, how easy it will be.”
You see, friend, I don’t feel this way about you. I am not affirming these things. I just know from personal experience, that this probably crossed your mind. And it angers me to know - you had these thoughts, and not a single soul was present to banish them.
“I can’t drown my demons, they know how to swim.” - BMTH
I haven’t wanted to tell anyone, but I can’t help but wonder. What if I had? Would you still be here? Would you have heard my story, and would you have remembered the story and had a change of heart?
What if I had not burned our bridge? I banished you from my life because of a pesky argument. I ended years of friendship on the premise you were being an arrogant asshole.
And you were always our beloved, arrogant asshole. We loved you so, like a pesky puppy. You were adored. But I suppose it doesn’t matter now
- because you’re dead.
We were supposed to love you through it. We were supposed to love you even when you were wrong. We were supposed to allow you redemption. And months later when you reached out to me, I was dry. I was distant. I could have been kinder.
I failed you, friend. In life and in death, I’ve failed you.
And still I wonder, how your fate might have been changed had I been kinder.
Had I not been caught up in my life. Had I responded more fervently, more attentively to you. Had I extended an ounce of kindness to you when you reached out months ago - perhaps you’d be alive and I wouldn’t be typing this.
If only I had asked how you were. You could have told me you’d been down. We could have talked about depression. We could have talked about hard times.
I would have talked to you. I would have reassured you that you are going to come out on top.
I would have told you what I’ve been hiding from everyone -
To anyone reading this, if you have any menacing thoughts that occasionally eat you alive, please stay sober.
It’s the most bitter of pills to swallow, and it’s a lesson that can only be learned by experience, but I wish I had talked to Ethan about it - because maybe he would still be here.
I’m not interested in telling everyone, but if you feel the shuddering weight of a self-loathing, convincing mindstate sober, please reach out to me and ask me to tell you a story illustrating why you absolutely cannot get intoxicated. You can’t allow yourself to be consumed by that intimate menace.
Please allow me to remind you, you are worthy. You are kind, and you are loved. So what if you were our arrogant asshole? You were ours, and we want you here. We want your dry humor and your raunchy taste in women. We want your sass. We want your difficultness. Because we want you breathing. We want your laughter. We want your heavy hugs with those dolling puppy dog eyes.
Your soul. Your beautiful soul.
We wanted you here, friend. Among the living.
I wish you had stayed.
Whatever problems or predicament weigh you down, I wish I had been there to lift them, even for a moment. I have so much remorse. You were loved, and valued, of course.
Why didn’t we do enough? Why couldn’t you have stayed with us?