permanent solution.

I am a mess. I’m exhausted, as I didn’t sleep last night. I’ve been crying all day.

My friend Becca, hung herself yesterday. She’s fucking dead now.

and I’m reeling, disbelief. Confusion, anger. Feelings feelings feelings. permanence. She’s fucking dead now. She is no longer alive. Her heart has stopped. Her breath has ceased. Her being is no more.

I didn’t sleep last night because my schedule is all fucked. I got a call from Kevin at like, 5:30 in the morning. I was hoping that he wanted to move out here. Nope. Turns out, Rebecca Smith is no longer alive. I was shocked. I didn’t know what to do or to say or anything. I just kind of said ‘thanks for telling me’ and then hung up. And proceeded to fucking lose it as the most beautiful sunrise I have seen in a long time crested the sky and bathed the entirety of Portland in the luminescence of a springtime on the cusp of birth. Flowers were poking their heads trepidly out of the still frosted earth, as the city woke up. Mailmen delivered mail, and Mothers paced strollers down sidewalks. Busses ran on time, and the world moved forward as usual. Except for now, we were one less. I felt things, and cried, and wondered – knowing that my questions would never be answered. Why? Why did she do it? Was she THAT hopeless? Was it on impulse?

I got on the bus – headed for school – fully intending to study for class, but the triviality of everything was too much for me to bear. I had to get off the bus two stops after I got on. Eco-friendly dental hygienists with their Kindles and aspiring retail managers packed the swaying vehicle – replete with normalcy and routine. It was too normal… too… uneventful – I couldn’t reconcile the casual routine of the world with what had happened. I had to get out of there before I cried in front of other people. I got off, and promptly burst into tears. The sun was a little higher. The city a little more awake. But Becca was still dead.

I paced, asking questions to the sky. I put on music that was appropriately sad, and proceeded to grapple with the intangible questions of one’s own existence that can only be manifested through something drastic, catastrophic.

Information, I thought, might make things easier, so I racked my brain and happened upon someone who had mentioned it in vague terms on Facebook the night before, and I, on my phone, proceeded to contact this person. She responded right away. Telling me that Rebecca had hung herself. That her mom and sister had found her. That they didn’t think it was planned – as she had been working on her resume earlier. I asked her about the influence of drugs or alcohol, and there was an answer – Rebecca hadn’t abused any of her prescribed medications, but they were planning on running a toxicology report. I thanked her, and proceeded to have a more gruesome scene in my head to entertain and pose and paint to entertain the sick voyeur that is born from such tragedy.

I managed to SHOVE IT DOWN enough to get on the bus. I somehow was able to take the seat in the far back corner of the bus – I thanked God for looking out for me. I proceeded to vacillate between utter gratitude at my own state of being fucking alive, and absolute incredulity at what was, in essence, a life rent from it’s cradle. She was 27. There is so much more life than just that…

I made it to school, and made it to class. I ate something to mitigate me having an outburst in class, and managed to pass the time by pouring myself into someone else’s train of thought. There was some asylum in that – asylum that I was grateful for.

I spoke with the teacher about some important and erudite aspects of the lecture, whose enthralling nature seemed to pale in comparison to the existential fucking landscape that had been opened up just hours earlier I had, as a semi-directed emotional berserker, managed to reach out to a number of my social contacts and therefore after class, I had a respectable number of people willing to lend support in whichever way they could. I talked to my Dad. I talked to Grant. I talked to Nathaniel.

I called Kevin back with the details of what had happened, and we had a candid talk that was very much cathartic. We cried, and admitted the nature of our emotions – fear, sadness, anger, confusion, — the whole gamut.

I waited until I was in the backyard – a private, intimate, blooming garden to really before the emotions really could flow. It was back in the spotted shade, with the lovely mid-morning sun shining bright – so bright – from millions of miles away – that I just let the sound crest to it’s highest volume. I bawled.

I gathered myself together, and walked inside – Trooper was a welcome reminder to be in the present as he nuzzled my hands and looked at me inquisitively and expectantly. I broke down when I saw Dan.

I then proceeded to play video games all day.

I’m writing about it now.

I think I’m done.

J-