the old-school guestbook archives
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ain't no thang ~ July 18, 2004 - 11:45 p.m. things are feeling eminently possible at the moment. that's a good thing. now it's just a question of Making Things Happen. like the writing thing, which I badly know i need to be doing. today was good, though. i got a lot of stuff done. still not as much as i would have liked. but. i got into a heavy IM chat with a dear friend out in cali, and he started talking about suicide in those dead-cold chilling tones that always make me shake. and i don't think i handled it well. it made me angry. it brought up so much for me, especially since the last time i went through this was ozone, that horrible day when he made me weep as i tried to talk him down via cell phone while sitting on the steps of cafe pergolesi. and then didn't come home. and didn't call. all night long. yes, i am still angry. and it's a fact that suicide always makes me angry. not that i've never felt suicidal, but i've grown past the point where i believe that pain, even severe pain, is neverending. it always ends. things always get better. it's a question of weathering the storm. and it's so difficult when you're talking to someone in that space, and nothing seems to penetrate. i tried about a dozen different approaches. like sailing an unweildy sunfish through the murky depths of his self-absorption, changing direction again and again and never seeming to get anywhere. i railed at him, i cursed him, i empathized with him, i professed my love for him. i logicked him from ten directions at once. and nothing seemed to be any good. and i was doing my damndest to be compassionate. but i was so angry that he could even think of tearing apart the lives of so many people. and angry that he was putting me in this position of helplessness and terror, and not even giving a shit. and then something shifted, something lightened. and i mentioned that he shouldn't think about this right now, in the midst of recovering from an asthma attack. recover first,i told him, and think about it some more later. and that, somehow, was the right thing. he changed the subject, apologized for bringing it up, told me not to worry. i won't worry if you won't kill yourself, i told him. how's that for a deal? i won't kill myself, he said. alright? not alright. but right enough. and later, after the conversation had turned to a friend who's apparently joined a cult, he suddenly messaged you're right-- i've got asthma. i shouldn't be thinking about anything right now. and i breathed a sigh, hearing him finally, his gentle voice breaking through the dead cold he gets. when he gets like this. it's me you call when you're tired of this world knowing i'll talk you off the ledge it's not the first time we've done this dance. he tears my chest open and then acts like it's nothing. i'm sorry i brought it up, he says. forget i mentioned it, he says. ain't no thang, he says. oh, but it is. it IS a thang.
(((rings))) |