These Words

there is no “appropriate” way to grieve
light things on fire
or don’t

– Whitney Hanson

…played by the madman, for the sadman.

The hardest part of this was losing you, obviously.

The second hardest part was losing everyone else.

There’s been a few exceptions. My sister, and a very, very small hand full of friends. But everyone else just disappeared. Those who were “our” friends. And the worst part of that is, I don’t know why, and my mind runs wild with trying to figure it out. 

Is it just awkward being around the bereaved?
Is it because I remind them too much of you, and that is painful?
Were they actually just your friends, and not “ours”?
Do they blame me for your death, the same way I blame myself?

The thing is, I needed them. I needed them all more than ever.

I don’t know if you exist. I don’t know if I am ready for you to exist. What I do know, is that you will be unlikely.

You will know that my heart wasn’t broken, but that it was split. That a piece of it is now missing. That it’s busy healing, but incomplete. And always will be.

You will understand that my heart isn’t a finite resource to be shared. But rather, when I say “with all of my heart” it is a level of intensity, as opposed to capacity. That I could love you both with all of it.

You will often hear her name on my lips, and be ok with it. You too will learn to love her.

If you exist.

Yes, I’m well aware that the majority of these written pieces are broken and incoherent.

There’s a saying in Afrikaans, “waarvan die hart vol is, rol uit by die mond”

After the first time, I thought it was a one-time thing. You were just being over dramatic. Seeking the attention which I should have given you.

After the second time, I knew this was serious. That it will happen again, and I might not get to you in time. That I’ll need to watch you constantly.

But, you promised me “never again”.

By the third time, it had been so long since the previous incident. Your illness, hidden well and kept to yourself. I finally believed your promise. I let my guard down.

And then you were gone.

I used to think there was no such place as “hell”. I was wrong. This is it; a perpetual and acute awareness of you not being here anymore.

These were the last “messages” between Zinia and me. 

I was working late, struggling to get the website for our new side hustle up and running, and she was watching TV, relaxing with the doggos. In between lapses of concentration, we’d send each other funny videos. When I had given up on work for the night, hearing the TV still sounding away with whatever show she was watching, I went to bed without checking in on her. A decision I will forever regret. 

A little over 2 hours after the last message I got from her, she had unalived herself.

I recall the video that Chester Bennington’s widow shared a few years earlier after he had done the same, about “what depression looked like to us”: 

In the same way, these then inconsequential messages between Zinia and I, following a day of swimming, eating, laughing, and playing with dogs, is what depression looked like to us. We never knew when that little dial inside her would crank itself all the way up. It wasn’t Zinia’s first time getting to such a low emotional state. The methods she used the previous two times allowed me to get to her in time for medical intervention. The last time, I had failed her.

Words written by Iain S. Thomas (I Wrote This for You: 2007-2017)

… but that becons the question: “Why keep going?”. There is nothing left here. Nothing to look forward to. Nothing to aspire toward. All hope is lost. All dreams, shattered. Nothingness. Why should you be for the sake of being?

Then you realise, you can’t escape. You can’t stop the pain. The pain doesn’t end with you. It simply moves on to the next casualty: Those you love; those you care about.

So this burden is to remain with you. And you know you have to keep on carrying it, until it’s natural conclusion, where you will pull that motherfucker down with you. End it, for good.

Still, you worry. You wonder if you will be strong enough, for long enough. Will you be able to hold on for not-so-dear life?

Sometimes, you still ask: “Why keep going?”