A friend called me yesterday. Most times in my life, depending on the name on my call display, a phone call only means bad. Bad news, sad feelings, heart break, harsh experiences, relapse, assault, loss, hurt, pain, struggle.
This time it was death.
“He’s dead” my friend said.
“Do you know where he is? What happened?!”
“No, I just know he’s dead, I haven’t responded to the message yet…” They said.
“Why would he do that?!?” My friend yelled.
I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t know what to say. I had a momentary lapse of time and slipped into my own infinity. I didn’t say anything.
I thought ‘We’re all going to die one day.’
I asked “How?”
“Probably overdosed.” They said.
“Why would he do that!? Why?!?” They yelled again.
I said I was sorry. I said I didn’t know what to say.
We hung up the phone and I walked the few blocks back to Alf House trying to remember how to feel. I could only think about how I don’t want to become my mother. Or my father for that matter.
How I need to find a new way to have emotions and process them.
I have a sick feeling inside my guts and the chaos in my brain feels iced over and unreachable.
I have many feelings living inside of me right now. My past experiences and learned behaviour is telling me it’s safer to not feel.
I hate that part of myself. I want to destroy it.
I want to live.
I want you to live.
I want my friends to be alive and thrive.