Tw:: suicide
Apologize for formatting,on mobile and all that good stuff.
My therapist said it was a good idea to write down the events as I saw them. She doesn’t believe me that this really happened… I don’t think I would believe me either. I originally wanted it to be just for me but now I feel he demands an audience. It started when those fucking billionaires got on that stupid submarine. Before the names were released I had a deep gut feeling.
“Eric is dead.”
I texted you. Messaged you on all platforms. Called you. Nothing. The only reason I didn’t go by your house is you were across the country. I made peace that you passed on but nothing prepared me for the all consuming void that came with the news.
She said,
“I have bad news, but you may want to wait until you come back from your trip.”
I said,
“Eric is dead.”
No question, just a casual fact because I knew it deep in my heart a week prior.
She said,
“I’m so sorry.”
Then because I’m awful in these situations I said.
“Was he murdered?”
No, he wasn’t…sometimes I wish he was. That’d be better to me than the alternative. I wouldn’t be so angry. So bitter. The next few days were a certain numbness, that feeling of ‘who am I if you’re not tied to me?’ Then I’d feel selfish. I wasn’t family, I didn’t know you for years like others did…. But you were my special person. Then there was how I just knew you were gone…. But you weren’t the only person this has happened with. My aunt, great grandparents…. But this felt different. This felt less like a… I don’t know…like it came directly from you. I spent so much money on a fiver psychic. You always hated psychics, said they preyed on grieving people; I used to think that too, until she sent her first response. Some of it was vague blanket statements, but some were incredibly specific. I wish I hadn’t opened that door.
First, I saw you. Everywhere. I told myself that it was Ireland. You looked like a “Great Value” Irishman. I didn’t have my glasses. I was consumed by grief, a hunger to talk to you again.
Second. I kept a diary by messaging you again. Fuck. If your partner ever saw those I’d feel so stupid. I’ll hold back. Stupid! Stupid! God can’t I do anything right? All of those thoughts haunted me almost more than you did…… do. You… do.
Third, I started talking to you. Provoking you. Demanding signs which I got a few of, nothing major, something that was easily chalked up to be synchronicity. You had better things to do than to talk to me. If you didn’t get into heaven what chance do any of us have….. but you don’t believe in heaven.
Fourth. I did one of those dumb Reddit rituals. I was desperate, I needed answers.
The supplies were the usual suspects, salt, a personal item, a candle, matches, a mirror, a marker, a photo of a loved one and a church. Luckily for me I work in a church, it’s within walking distance and I had 24/7 access. My grief outweighed my ability to think logically. My ability to sit down and just fucking cry. I know now if I was comfortable with my uncomfortable feelings maybe I wouldn’t be in this pickle.
“Magic mirror. How to see a loved one.”
Eric. I have questions
“First with the marker write the name of your loved one on the photo. The photo has to be the one person. If it’s a group photo it confuses the others and you don’t want that to happen, the janitors don’t want this to happen.”
I didn’t do that. It was a failsafe for shity friends, if anything goes wrong, you attempt to sell the other person’s soul. If it goes wrong you’ll have a month to pull that person to the others. I could never do that.
“Next set the mirror roughly six feet from where you sit, make a path from the mirror to you with the ribbon, make a salt line on all possible entrances and exits, again if someone disrupts you… and you’re talking to an ‘other’…. Those poor janitors.”
All I had a vibrant rainbow ribbon, but I feel that was fitting.
“Hold the lit candle and do not let it go…Think about your person. Picture them, maybe even say their name. Pray if you believe in one. You need to tell the difference between an other and your loved one. Others hold themselves just differently enough to notice if you’re looking for it, eyes slightly darker, they’re more cunning, more……. Persuasive.. to end simply say Goodbye, but if you don’t catch the other before you goodbye….. it leaves with your soul. If you catch it, very slowly take the ribbon back, blow out your candle and say goodbye. If you think after you’ve said Goodbye without taking the ribbon, call them back. Make a deal.”
I think back to how I found this article, I can’t honestly remember… I think it was just there one day, just like you were just gone one day.
I did everything to a T but it didn’t work. I close my eyes, pray, say your name… nothing.I open my eyes and groan, of course it didn’t work. I stood cursing whatever asshole gave me false hope until,
“Sam?”
“Eric?” My voice shook, turning back to the mirror.
“Sam no…. No, why are you doing this?” He seemed deeply sad I was doing this ritual.
“To talk to you.”
I sounded so whiny.
“Oh Sam.” He said eyes cast downward then slowly to me, I could have sworn he was smirking, “Sam I’d never want you to risk-“
“Bullshit!” I shaped. My rage coming out again, “you choose to leave you don’t choose my coping mechanisms.”
“I guess not.” He said softly, “so? What are your questions? I’m guessing why is a big one.”
“It is.” I sighed softly.
“You’ve attempted before, you get it.”
“But you had it all together.”
“Did I?” He raised an eyebrow.
“I just miss you.”
“I miss you too kid.”
He was still looking down.
“Anything you want me to say to Jay?”
Eric looked excited,
“Just, go visit him.” He said softly.
“I….. are you happy?”
“Very” he said.
“….. goodbye.” I said softly, and I could have sworn he laughed as I blew the candle out.
The next months was a blur. My depression and anger were gone but so was my passion. My drive, I was on autopilot. Get up. Get ready. Work. Repeat. I was finally able to fly back to see Jay, who seemed excited I was coming. It was off putting how he was so ok. Eric was dead. Gone and…… whatever.
We sat and chatted, and then Eric walked through the door. His face fell and all he could do was whisper,
“Who’s photo?”