Love Dad

August 12, 2014

Life

Joel Frieders | August 13, 2014

Death is weird for me to begin with. I'm constantly reminding myself of the feelings I held after the last friend of mine killed himself. I was dismissive of any other explanation besides it being his fucking fault.

I hurt from every fucking angle.

When people talked about the best parts about him, I almost fucking Matrix dodged that shit in an attempt to forget about the things that made him so important to me. I wanted to forget what I loved about him just to shut down the memory of him that hit me first every time I thought about him.

I wanted what hurt me the most about the general topic of suicide to hurt less than the specific memory of the one friend of mine I never imagined would do it. I wanted the ability to say or think his name and it not fucking hurt.

I just wanted to remember the person before the act and not fucking hurt.

And then Robin Williams kills himself.

The guy himself is an energy that I learned to fully embrace as a source of not just inspiration, but a full on personification of what your imagination's power can create. I sometimes catch myself improvising or making believe to myself or just my wife, a scene that isn't reality or anything even remotely close to reality, but the riffing my imagination dips into is fucking exercise I guess. My trip into my own bullshit imagination is both cleansing and rewarding. Knowing that I have the freedom to traipse into my own make believe and earn no judgement, no scorn, no insult, that shit is important to me as a fucking human.

Understanding that fucking off is therapeutic to me is valuable to me.

Knowing that thinking about my friend killing himself all the fucking time isn't going to somehow stop just because I want it to is valuable to me.

I remember sitting in silence with a few of my friends after my last friend killed himself. The taste in my mouth hasn't changed or anything, but I'm starting to think I'm never going to be able to stand up perfectly straight when the thought of any of my friends who decided killing themselves was a better option passes in front of me.

I haven't ever stopped imagining what life would be like if my asshole friends who killed themselves were still here, but the one thing I can't do is keep holding it against them.

There's something I don't get that I'm positive I will never fucking get.

I am fucking angry.

And I have no excuse for not knowing why I'm still so fucking angry.

Robin Williams might be trying to tell me, but I'm hurting and I don't really care to look up or pay attention.

I knew growing up was going to suck at some point, but I didn't think the shit that hurt me when I was so fucking young would still hurt so fucking bad.

Either way, I fucking love life. I'll promise myself to appreciate what's in front of me as long as you remember to keep those in mind who have the potential to be the most forgotten.