I was dancing around the house today to a band we both liked and, frankly, I looked like a complete moron. It was ridiculous. So of course, when I was being my most campy, The Fella came in and busted me. I believe I was mid-leap, singing "Taaaaaaaaakkkke meeeeee ouuuuuuut!" when he walked in and my first thought, my literal first thought, was "ohmyGod, wait til I tell Steph."
But I can't tell you. I can't tell you anything. I can't introduce you to The Fella. We can't hang out. You can't teach me to make the perfect Bloody Mary, like you promised, or see my apartment, or scritch Lizzie B because you're gone.
It is so fucking sad.
I remember when I found out that you were gone and my immediate, panicked thought was "That's not right. I just talked to her," because I felt like I should have known if you were in that much pain, or in that much trouble. But I didn't, and I didn't, and you're not here for me to tell stupid stories to and you should be. Dammit, you should be.
Because I still don't know how to make the perfect Bloody Mary, and because a bunch of people loved you.
So I dedicate all of my humiliating dance party moments to you. And every time I hear Atomic Tom I think of you. And every time I reach out to someone who might be having a bad day it's for you.
I wish you had said something, anything. Because then I could forgive you for being gone.
I wish I could forgive myself for not helping you. Maybe someday I'll forgive both of us.
Until then --
Love -- all of the love, and all of the hugs,
If you are in pain, if you are thinking that you need help, call a friend. Call a family member. Or reach out to these guys: http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org
You are important.
You are loved.
You are needed.