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Description

It’s been almost a year since I said I wouldn’t make any more art, and a little more than two months since I broke my own pledge. I can only give two reasons.

For one, my 4-month-old son is fairly low-maintenance compared to what I imagined. My free time is still extremely minimal, but I manage to find some time, mostly due to the other reason; because things like this aren’t supposed to happen. Whenever they do, it always happens to someone else. When it finally happens to you, no amount of planning or anticipation will ever prepare you for it. Afterward, it destroys you in ways you didn’t think possible, ushering in feelings you didn’t think you could feel, and giving you an experience you only hoped you’d never have.

But what exactly is tougher to swallow? That someone who was such a close friend for over half your life kills himself? Or that death claimed two good friends your own age by the time you were just 34 years old? Or possibly that one passed away slowly in pain while the other died instantaneously by maiming themselves in a way that would terrify and traumatize you if you ever thought about the details?

While I say with relative certainty that this piece will be seen and acknowledged, let alone understood, by very few people, my only goal of creating this - and taking so much longer to do so than any piece I made before this - was to make at least just one more person somewhere in the world aware of my friend’s existence in some way. To make someone aware of the fact that genuinely wonderful people exist, but that these same people can struggle and fall, and sometimes you will be powerless to stop it despite all your best efforts. But certainly not least, to make someone - anyone - aware of what actually happened just a few weeks ago, with as much accuracy as I’m willing to divulge.

These days life has been rough. I’m trying to raise a child while taking on more duties at work and putting in overtime of my own volition just so I don’t stress out the next day. The former is rewarding, the latter destructive. Somewhere within that balance is the constant reminder that someone who meant so much to me is no longer here. My only respites have been sleeping, watching TV before sleeping, and unwinding with an occasional song. For a moment, I can almost forget everything happening in the world and let myself be entranced in a deep state of emotional high.

I probably wouldn’t have finished making this if it weren’t for the album “I Don’t Live Here Anymore” from The War on Drugs. As I sat at my computer these past few weeks, cramming this piece together, with the songs “Old Skin” and “Occasional Rain” playing in a continuous loop, I found myself becoming inspired and elevated to make or do something more than I ever had been inspired by anything before - at least enough to finish making this, through all the emotional scars it gave me. Both songs have been playing feverishly in the car, on my computer, and in my head for a couple of weeks now, reminding me of him and our long-running friendship, making me feel like someone is listening to me. But nevertheless, these emotional highs are only temporary. A box near my bed with some of his shirts, video games, and movies from when his apartment was cleaned out serves as a constant reminder that he’s gone.

Should I leave on this note if it's not a happy one? I thought it would be easier to heal by now, but every passing day I remember more and more things we did and experiences we shared together, and still all I can feel is a deep, dark void filled with hurt. I miss him so much.

Description

It’s been almost a year since I said I wouldn’t make any more art, and a little more than two months since I broke my own pledge. I can only give two reasons.

For one, my 4-month-old son is fairly low-maintenance compared to what I imagined. My free time is still extremely minimal, but I manage to find some time, mostly due to the other reason; because things like this aren’t supposed to happen. Whenever they do, it always happens to someone else. When it finally happens to you, no amount of planning or anticipation will ever prepare you for it. Afterward, it destroys you in ways you didn’t think possible, ushering in feelings you didn’t think you could feel, and giving you an experience you only hoped you’d never have.

But what exactly is tougher to swallow? That someone who was such a close friend for over half your life kills himself? Or that death claimed two good friends your own age by the time you were just 34 years old? Or possibly that one passed away slowly in pain while the other died instantaneously by maiming themselves in a way that would terrify and traumatize you if you ever thought about the details?

While I say with relative certainty that this piece will be seen and acknowledged, let alone understood, by very few people, my only goal of creating this - and taking so much longer to do so than any piece I made before this - was to make at least just one more person somewhere in the world aware of my friend’s existence in some way. To make someone aware of the fact that genuinely wonderful people exist, but that these same people can struggle and fall, and sometimes you will be powerless to stop it despite all your best efforts. But certainly not least, to make someone - anyone - aware of what actually happened just a few weeks ago, with as much accuracy as I’m willing to divulge.

These days life has been rough. I’m trying to raise a child while taking on more duties at work and putting in overtime of my own volition just so I don’t stress out the next day. The former is rewarding, the latter destructive. Somewhere within that balance is the constant reminder that someone who meant so much to me is no longer here. My only respites have been sleeping, watching TV before sleeping, and unwinding with an occasional song. For a moment, I can almost forget everything happening in the world and let myself be entranced in a deep state of emotional high.

I probably wouldn’t have finished making this if it weren’t for the album “I Don’t Live Here Anymore” from The War on Drugs. As I sat at my computer these past few weeks, cramming this piece together, with the songs “Old Skin” and “Occasional Rain” playing in a continuous loop, I found myself becoming inspired and elevated to make or do something more than I ever had been inspired by anything before - at least enough to finish making this, through all the emotional scars it gave me. Both songs have been playing feverishly in the car, on my computer, and in my head for a couple of weeks now, reminding me of him and our long-running friendship, making me feel like someone is listening to me. But nevertheless, these emotional highs are only temporary. A box near my bed with some of his shirts, video games, and movies from when his apartment was cleaned out serves as a constant reminder that he’s gone.

Should I leave on this note if it's not a happy one? I thought it would be easier to heal by now, but every passing day I remember more and more things we did and experiences we shared together, and still all I can feel is a deep, dark void filled with hurt. I miss him so much.