A post earlier today reminded me that I still haven't really shared all of my story here, but that i really wanted to. It was such an inspiring post to read, it said our messages here helped to convince them to keep living. Anyway i decided it was time. It's a long story, so thanks in advance if you decide to read it. Empathy is healing and I'm grateful for yours.

TL;DR: I lost three friends to suicide.

I was in college when Aaron died. He was troubled. He had already tried to kill himself a few times before he succeeded. One time he tried on my birthday. Wrote me a letter telling me he loved me and that he thought it was tragic that I would never really let anyone love me. He came to my apartment to give it to me with a birthday present, then he went home and took a bottle of pills. I woke up the morning of my 20th birthday with his mother screaming in my phone, asking what we took last night. Nothing, I told her. That turned out to be more true than I understood. I went to visit him in a surreal trip to the hospital, but i started distancing myself, I was taking a full 21 units that semester and I didn't share his feelings. He seemed like he was doing better, he sounded normal when he left the last voicemail on my phone. He told me we had made plans but he didn't think I remembered, that I should call him to find out. But I knew. Every spring we had a tradition to drive through the Berkeley hills, absorbing the season through our skin. He had a convertible and we'd put the top down and feel the air all around us, it was always so lovely, the scent of roses and new life swirling in the air. But I didn't call him back. A week or two after that he drove his car to the opposite side of his apartment complex where no one would think to find him, took a fistful of pills, and went to sleep in the backseat. When I heard I called his phone, I didn't believe it. This part was so surreal to me, but a police officer answered. All I could muster was "is it true?" He said yes. Nothing more. It was enough. I pulled it together enough to graduate college, somehow, I have no idea how what with all the alcohol and the drugs. The self loathing.

One year after graduation Greg died. He was my best girl friend's brother, he was ten years older than us and he was dreamy. Whenever he came into town we would live at her house, trying to soak up any time we could with him. I learned how to paint in order to impress him, I would have done anything for even one second of his attention. He was so beautiful, dark and mysterious. He played the guitar and wrote poetry. He was funny too, did I say that? God we could not stop laughing when he was around. He was so special, you felt it when you were with him. I thought he was going to be the next Kurt Cobain, oh the irony. He changed my whole foundation of music and I am an artist to this day because he thought my handwriting was artistic. That comment started it all for me. Then one day he shot himself while he sat on a bench in a park. I don't think he wanted to be alone for his last moments. The funeral was so strange. A catholic ceremony, for a suicide, in a casino, no joke. It was for his mother more than anyone and that's where she was working so it was convenient. His dad wasn't even there. My friend and I were very close in middle and high school but we went to college across the county from each other, we had drifted apart. But I didn't think twice and got in my car to drive the 8 hours to be by her side. All these years later she's the godmother to my daughter, we're bonded in this history together, my sad and beautiful adopted sister.

This is where my story should end! But instead because I'm bad at learning lessons it gets worse. My best friend Brian died three and a half years ago now. We met when I was 13, he had a friend who lived in the same apartment complex as one of my friends. I thought his friend was cute but was too embarrassed to kiss him when Brian dared me to later that day. I was so relieved when he volunteered for the next dare, to run down the street screaming that the devil was chasing him. We couldn't stop laughing, the boy knew how to commit to a part if you know what I mean. He was so intense. And hilarious. He ended up moving to my city and coming to my high school and I was the only one he knew there. He became part of my everyday life for so long, we even went to junior prom together. We went to our first raves together and did our first drugs together. He tried to teach me to surf and we used to have the most epic movie marathons. Freeway was our favorite, we must have rented that one ten times at least. He took me to Mexico for my first time, he was so full of life we had so many firsts together. I loved him so much. He stayed in San Diego for college so I saw him every time I came home and eventually, after teaching English in Korea for a year, eventually he moved in with me in Oakland. Gosh to even try to tell our story, it's impossible. We had over 15 years of friendship, of daily existentialist crises, of laughter, of tears. We buried his mother together. He carried me to the car when I sprained my ankle after my first real art show. Picked me up like I was a rag doll and carried me all the way down the path. I was so impressed with what a man he had become, somewhere in the back of my head he was still that scrawny 13 year old. We changed a hundred times together, he was and still is the best friend I ever had. After his mom died his little brother and sister were thrown into chaos. Eventually his sister begged to live with me, and long long story short, she ripped right through our friendship like she did most things. He didn't think my husband is good enough for me, and was really rude to him the last time we were together. Depression was descending upon me, and I didn't have the energy to keep up with him anymore. We said some pretty horrible things to each other, I still have them in my old email account, enshrined for me to go back and torture myself with. We talked on google chat almost daily so I have pages and pages of our conversations, jokes and tears and all. He was so funny. He became the way I processed the world, through conversations with him. He was the best person in the whole world to tell a story to, a captive and participating audience, all the way to the end. Whenever something bad happened I comforted myself with the knowledge it was going to make an epic story for Brian. But when i felt like he was judging me and the man who would become my husband, I just couldn't handle that. I couldn't be honest and tell him how much I missed him because I was too proud. Because I thought he'd come back to me anyway, he needed me or he would get dark. I knew that. I felt so satisfied with that knowledge, that he had to come back to me when he got that way. What a twisted thing to think.

The last time I ever saw him was in downtown Oakland. We were both working there at the time, I saw him in one of the places we liked to eat for lunch and I ducked out of the way, trying to avoid him. I don't know if he saw me. I think about how sad that is sometimes. A few months later I emailed him that I wanted closure, to say goodbye. What I meant was I missed him and I wanted him to tell me he missed me too. I didn't say it and he didn't say it, just a bunch of cold nonsense that still makes me cringe every time I think of it, so horrible. I guess he didn't get the job he wanted so he traveled the world for a little while before going to our friend's house in Hawaii. Then one morning he hung himself near a secluded beach. I know he waited until after sunrise. I know he would have wanted to see it one last time. Ironically both him and Aaron have ashes in Yosemite, though Brian was spread all over the world too. He traveled a lot, and had so many friends to scatter his ashes in so many beautiful places. He was so loved.

He was so fundamental for me that everything still reminds me of him, I miss him every single day. I consider it my most expensive lesson and I keep the pain of it close to me, to never forget. You can't ever walk away from someone you love, not for a second, and expect them to be there when you come back. You have to stay present in the lives of the people you love because danger could be closer than you ever imagine. And it's not hard, just to love them. Not anymore anyway, not since all of my precious pride has been shattered.

Gosh I wonder if anyone got to the bottom of this. Thank you if you did, genuinely, it means a lot to me. I left so much out trying to be brief, always my struggle since I lost Brian. I think I miss our messages most of all.

If you're considering suicide please know that it is possible to get better. Please talk to someone, empathy heals, don't believe you are beyond help. You aren't, crazy people are brought back to health all the time, I know because I am one of them.

Love to you all.