Lamp School

I checked my tags before I started typing and I’ve actually blogged about different suicides a few times.  In some of them I’ve felt quite bad for the people and in others, I just couldn’t get past the amusement inherent to the story to dredge up sympathy.  In at least one, I did feel amusement and sympathy together.  The few that I have known in my life always left me feeling …sobered, but there had been none close enough to really impact me.

As some of you know, I recently learned that someone who used to be very close to me made this choice.   The news caught me incredibly by surprise and kind of left me reeling.  I have been trying to make sense of my feelings since then. The word that comes to mind immediately is “distant.”

I feel all these different things but from a distance, if that makes sense. Like…I’m right here and my emotions are over there.  I’m not saying I wish it to be different, in fact I’m kind of glad. I’m perfectly OK with my sadness and my anger being somewhat removed.  The entire situation had been quite removed for a very long time. So in that, I feel as though it’s only natural.

The sadness comes and goes. The night I found out, I really just continued with what I would normally do on a Saturday night.  But when I went to nap, my thoughts would not settle and it took me a couple of hours to finally drift off and get some sleep. Oddly, these were not sad thoughts.  I kept remembering things. Weird moments, dumb little arguments that strike me now as funny. Good times. Several times, I’d actually laugh from something I was thinking about.  I think, though,  I felt it a bit strange that my brain refused to entertain anything but those things that night.

Then later I got sad. And then angry. As I was driving home tonight, and thinking about wanting to write something, Layla’s head went the other direction and I could not think up anything good. I could only produce the rotten times, the fights that probably won’t ever seem funny to me, the things that were said that can never be taken back.

In all the years since he and I, I’ve never once thought we did the wrong thing by ending. In fact, I’ve always felt that it was very much the right choice. And ever since, when our paths crossed, since the original “cool down” period, we had a strange dynamic. Sometimes we would be totally cool with each other but inevitably, we’d end up sniping and/or bickering.  But I always figured there would be a next round to the unending argument. And right at this moment, as irrational as it is, I’m pissed that to me it’s like “ohh, you HAD to have the last word, huh?”

I actually do not remember which of us flounced off that last time. I never kept score. Eventually, one of us would message the other and we’d just start over.

I’m sad today, too. The person that I shared my early 20’s with is gone. All of those “firsts” … the memories all seem different somehow now that I’m the only one that was ‘there.’  I don’t mean that I see the events different from the way they actually occurred, but more that the “colors” have been tinted just a little bit from the way I saw them before Saturday. The bad memories are now a shade lighter and the happy ones appear a tad darker. I wouldn’t have ever changed them and so therefore right now, I blame him for the grey in my head.

~ by Layla on August 17, 2010.

3 Responses to “Lamp School”

  1. ❤ Bewlove.

    I can't say that I don't know what it's either direction.
    I've had loved ones choose to leave this world, yank their self from *my* world in this permanent manner. I've also been pushed and pulled and bent and twisted by some events that made my understand WHY it would seem a viable alternative to anyone.

    Viable…debatable. But when it actually comes down to choosing that option? No. There is no second chance, there is no *fixing*. It's selfish, selfish in such a way that I cannot even imagine 8actually* giving over to.

    I'm sorry, from the bottom of my heart that this happened. I am also very grateful that it IS distanced enough to soften it.

  2. Here is why dead people piss me off:
    They don’t answer.
    They always have the last word.
    They get turned into murderous zombies.
    You’re always stuck with a mental image of them that, honestly, has little to do with reality.
    The clothes you remember them wearing gets silly as time passes.
    They stay young.
    It really hurts when they’re gone.

    Screw them. Live people smell better. 🙂

  3. We’ve discussed, etc. I hope the grey wanders off soon, because you should have bright or dark. (So says she who prefers clear black and white situations.) ❤

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