On Death: Part 2

The strange effect of suicide.

I have never been one to mourn suicide. I don’t mourn the way other people do, in general. And it’s not because of anger, or confusion. I think your life is your’s to end. I will almost undoubtably choose my time to die, if I make it that far.

But today, I learned that a person I knew, and I won’t even say I knew him well, but had many excellent conversations with, whom always treated me with joy and respect whenever I saw him, took his life, in no uncertain terms.

I had been in a strange mood as it was, in another situation, eating my feelings literally and figuratively, swallowing my emotions, figuratively only. That paired with having had almost zero sleep the night before, the news hit me hard, forming a deep, sinking ball in my stomach.

I realized I didn’t really know anything about him, now or then. I just knew the person who was in our videos, always smiling (off camera), joking with everyone, who I saw at shows, who was clearly liked by all. I remember loving his work, I remember him and I pairing off at a party one night, and I’ll be damned if I remembered one word of our conversation, if there was one, save laughter. I remember the huge deal he made one night over how I had cut my hair and he hadn’t recognized me at first, his reaction, priceless.

I can’t count him as my friend the way I do others. But I can count him as a person I knew, an artist I respected, a smiling and witty man who only ever brought me happiness and respect.

A person I can say I am less for, now gone.