*Content Warning—This post contains content about suicide and depression.*
When Sarah’s sister Jessie called me and told me Sarah had killed herself, the floor dropped out from under me. I remember that the color drained from the living room where I was home alone, and everything got kind of hazy. I had always thought that the idea of color draining was just poetic license, but it’s a real thing that really happens.
I don’t remember my conversation with Jessie, but I remember that after it was over I howled. I mean… I hoooooowwwwwwled like some kind of wounded animal. I couldn’t stop.
At some point, I got in the bathtub and took pictures of my swollen face. I don’t know why, exactly… I think I wanted to somehow record what was happening. I didn’t want to minimize or sweep under the rug how absolutely devastating that day was.
I never showed those pictures to anyone. I didn’t want people to think I was looking for attention, or wanting something from them. I was afraid to talk about it at all… I didn’t know how. At the time, I was an Argentine tango dancer, and I tried to go to one of our regular dances. I made it through maybe an hour before I just couldn’t handle being around people anymore. Everyone kept asking how I was, just casually, like, “Hey! How are you?” and I couldn’t tell them. (This was before I discovered the amazing podcast “Terrible, Thanks for Asking“).
Being at work was difficult. It was like all these people I was around everyday were so distant. They were so far away from what was happening with me, and I realized that I didn’t have any really close friends I could talk to about Sarah. I felt empty. Everything I looked at just got sucked into my empty vacuum eyes. None of it meant a damn thing.
Over time, I processed it somehow. I did weird stuff. Once I wrote her a really long letter at a bar I frequented. I kept that letter in my pocket like a talisman. I listened to Cat Power in my car and drove around a lot. Later, I called up an old friend (and Sarah’s ex-boyfriend) and we got together to reminisce about her. That helped, I think.
Sarah had been one of my closest friends. She is the one who introduced me to the local show scene at places like the Hoedown in Richland. She taught me to look at the world through a critical lens, and she showed me that being subversive could be powerful.
I loved her very, very much. She was funny, and beautiful, and brave, and creative, and loving. Sarah was wonderful.
And now she’s gone forever. And it fucking sucks.