Wednesday, September 23, 2015

This morning, I heard that a friend of mine from the internet had killed herself, and I couldn't do a damn thing.


The title is self-explanatory. I spent nearly the entirety of dance thinking of how I would word this post. This grief for someone I knew but didn't know, to society's standards, still gnaws at my stomach. Unlike all my other blog posts, I won't be sharing this with everyone by notification. If you're reading this, you've seen it on my feed or were browsing my blog one day and came across this blog post you never knew existed. Right now I have something from AP government to work on that might very well take all my time in the first place, but I don't care (I had already asked for an extension and was declined, and having 'forgotten' to mention this event as my excuse, mentioning it afterwards would just seem desperate). For the first time this year, I'll get a bad grade on an assignment, and I won't care. The memory of a self-silenced person is worth more than the judicial branch any day.



Her name was Emilia, and all I can say is that she was my friend.

Her best friend Noah contacted me this morning from her phone, and the words that killed me the most were "she finally did it. She's dead", especially when put into context. At first, jokingly, I thought she had killed her bitch mother, but my dark mirth turned quickly to melancholy as someone other than Emilia answered the chat. Something one can always assume of a teenager is their possessiveness over their phone.

After a brief talk with Noah, the most prominent emotion I felt was survivor's guilt. Crafting a convincing argument for someone to forego the idea of killing themselves for a night is something I can do. The problem is that people don't want a convincing argument, someone who's overcome with emotion doesn't want reason. A person who's leaning closer to the razor blade or bottle of bleach on the counter doesn't want to hear the words, "oh it'll be alright", "you'll be fine", or anything along those lines, because according to them, none of that is true. A suicidal person will more often than not always see the negative, and will always feel alone. You can't just tell someone that their life will improve, because if it was that fucking easy, they wouldn't be depressed.

The problem with consoling a suicidal person on the internet is that in the end, you'll be words on a screen. You can put meaning behind those words, and most of the time, that meaning will be understood on the other side, but for someone who is at that point where they're ready to go, you can't be there for them. You're forced to watch as they do it and yours words fall on deaf ears, but at the very least you're doing something. When you find out it's been done without your knowledge, no chance to save your friend.

The worst part is how lonely she must've felt. As someone who goes to a high school full of enlightened, decent people, I have no shortage of friends. Everyone is friendly, unlike when one goes to a normal high school, a distinct apathy hovering over the heads of all those normal students. Not everyone is friendly to everyone. There one must truly find out who are real friends.

All I can say is, I found one in her.