Today marks the 10th anniversary of one of the worst days of my life. March 1, 2003, I found out that my cousin, Pat, the first best friend I ever had, committed suicide. It seems like a long time ago, but only if you measure it in terms of years. That day and the few days after are still unmistakably vivid. So vivid that sometimes after reflecting on them, I'm shocked to look in the mirror and find that I'm not fifteen anymore. Surely something that I still remember so strongly couldn't have happened ten years ago.
That event has always been the one that drew the line in the sand. My life changed. I started to grow up, become more sensitive, recognize what was really happening in the world around me. Looking back at those ten years, I see everything in my life that stems from that day. But its a little blurred now. Sometimes its hard to tease apart what resulted from trauma and how my fifteen-year-old self would have changed anyway.
One thing that I do know these last ten year have taught me is the difference between celebrating life and memorializing tragedy. Pat died on February 28, which is also my dad's birthday. For the first few years after, I felt an inner emotional struggle when we celebrated. It was hard to be happy when I wanted to hide in my room and cry. I didn't realize that I was slowing changing until last year. I remembered my dad's birthday, but didn't remember what else that day stood for until late that night. I was upset with myself. I thought it meant that I was forgetting Pat all together. But what I was subconsciously learning was that I don't need a day to mark when I should feel sad. I can pick a day to be sad whenever I want. I only have a finite number of birthdays left to celebrate with my dad.
Some people say that time heals all. But I don't know if I agree. Maybe accepting and coping with reality have gotten easier, but the wound is still there and it still hurts. At Pat's funeral, his sister read the lyrics to "Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life)" by Green Day. The minute my dad started the car to go home, that song game on the radio from the first notes. To this day, I can't hear it without feeling tense and filled with anxiety, and if I leave it on for too long, I almost always break down.
I think I've finally forgiven Pat and grown passed my anger. But it doesn't lessen the sadness that I feel sometimes. I'll always wonder how things would have been different, who he would have grown up to be. He was wickedly smart and insightful, and I have no doubt that he deprived the world something amazing. That's the hardest part, all the questions that I'll never have answers to. Sometimes the only thing I can do is keep breathing.
I wasn't sure if I should publish this post. I almost didn't. I felt vulnerable thinking about clicking "Publish". This is one of the most personal stories that I have to share. But I decided it was important. I think most people have experienced tragedy, and its healthy to reevaluate how we deal with our grief. While this experience isn't something that I regularly broadcast about myself, it isn't something that I can pretend didn't happen either. It isn't how I define myself, although I think for a while I tried to.
And for the love of god... If you're even thinking about hurting yourself, please find help. Even message me if you want to. I'll listen to anything you have to say. The world needs you more than you know.
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