It seems like recently abandonment has been a theme in my life.
I am remembering, learning and writing more about Isaiah’s story each day. One of his primary traumatic issues was being abandoned repeatedly in Guatemala. This quite seriously messed up his head, as anyone can see now. It affected every relationship he had in some way, shape or form. It was this abandonment that then lead him to abandon us.
I go through phases of different emotions related to Isaiah’s suicide. Today and the past few days, I’ve been heavily focused on the idea of him “leaving” me. I know that’s kind of a self-centered way to look at it, and I just need to explain this selfishly for a moment. I feel very abandoned. I feel unloved. I feel unimportant. A while ago, Isaiah wrote me this letter for an assignment I had to do for a therapy group I was in. It was explaining to me why I shouldn’t hurt or kill myself. The most meaningful thing he wrote in it was “You wouldn’t leave your best friend.” What he did, in his words, was leave his best friend. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to heal from that.
I’ve been particularly irrational about abandonment this week too. For example, my therapist hasn’t been readily available to talk to me the past couple of days. This is unusual and upsetting. I know that she was busy with other things obviously. People do have lives outside of me. Again, I’m being self-centered, but I took it very personally. On Sunday night, I got really upset, and it only spiraled further out of hand when my therapist couldn’t talk to me. And then last night, she was pretty busy and talked to me for a little bit about how I was feeling related to her “avoiding me” (she wasn’t, but it felt that way). However, just when I was starting to sink further, she had to leave. Of course in my head this was blown way out of proportion, and I took it as her leaving me. Abandoning me. I freaked out and just sobbed in bed. Looking back, I was kind of a jerk to her. I feel pretty bad about it, but I still can’t seem to shake the feeling that I’m a burden, that she left, and doesn’t want me anymore.
Today, my guidance counselor wasn’t at school, and I desperately needed her. Rationally, I know that this had absolutely nothing to do with me, but my mind corrupted reality once again and I perceived it as just one more person abandoning me.
I don’t know how to explain what it feels like to feel abandoned. It’s a pain unlike any other. It’s a state that you’re constantly living in. It is all-consuming, and all-destroying. It shakes your entire body and tears apart your mind.
I know I really don’t have it that bad, especially with my life next to Isaiah’s. Ever since I was younger, I’ve felt it though. It started with my dad, who was a constant source of judgement and rejection. That relationship ended with him leaving and not really putting that much effort into looking back. Maybe he doesn’t want to upset me by initiating contact, but I never really felt like he was trying terribly hard to even slightly get me back. Then Isaiah left, and now I can’t stop thinking that even more people are leaving me.
I feel so hurt and alone. I feel like my support system is falling apart even though nothing has happened. I feel like I’m crashing, hurdling through the air in flames and smoke. Self-destruction feels more and more unavoidable as I come closer and closer to the ground.
Isaiah couldn’t survive his abandonment.
How am I supposed to survive mine?
This is my tree, the Isaiah Tree. Isaiah’s dad and I planted it on Tuesday. Wednesday was exactly one year since Isaiah ended his life. Last night, I went out and talked to my tree. Well, I tried to. It was hard to form any words, so I mostly just sat in the dark in silence. Isaiah and I used to do that too sometimes, so it was okay. We would just sit in his basement or on the curb outside my house saying nothing. Sometimes we would listen to music too, but sometimes it was complete silence. I don’t know why we would decide to hang out and then literally not do anything, including speak to each other. I always appreciated those moments though. I think it just showed a lot about our friendship. We enjoyed simply being together regardless of any other factors.
I thought that maybe once the one year mark passed, things would get easier. So far, I’ve been proven incorrect. My feelings are slightly less intense, but there are still many spikes that overtake me. I have a lot of support. Logically I can acknowledge that, but I feel so alone. I don’t know how to explain the pain that I experience every day.
I feel inadequate and weak. I feel like I somehow wasn’t good enough for Isaiah. I feel like I wasn’t a good enough friend, I wasn’t a good enough person. I’m a failure. The darkest parts of my mind tell me that I should have been able to stop him. There’s something that I missed. I fucked up big time and now he’s dead. A real friend would have caught on to something so extreme. I feel like if I only would have been good enough, maybe he would have seen me as something worth living for. But unfortunately he got stuck with a best friend that isn’t worth anything. He died without me, and now I deserve to die without him.
I realize that most of what I just said is completely irrational, but those are the thoughts that constantly run through my mind. I replay the final days over and over again. I scream at myself for not asking him to hang out that day one year and five days ago. The first thing I could think of to say to him was “I’m sorry.” I’m still sorry. I will always be sorry.
I feel like Isaiah didn’t care about me, he didn’t want me. I don’t feel like anyone cares about me, and nobody wants me. I know this is wrong, but it doesn’t change the feeling. I feel insignificant. Do I really matter? I mean, come on now, I’m an emotionally unstable, scarred, pitiful excuse for an eighteen-year-old girl.
I have not self-harmed in 47 days. I have no idea what to do with myself. It seems to get harder the higher that number gets. I find myself growing less and less attached to the idea of not self-harming. My mind turns every object I see turns into a way to hurt myself. I also have the frequent desire to join Isaiah. I know how dramatic that sounds, but I don’t know how else to explain it. I am envious of him. He gets to fall into the vast nothingness of death, to feel nothing at all, to escape while I am left to pick up the pieces of my shattered life.
I don’t know where I’m going with this entry. I’m sorry if this worries you or wastes your time. I figured I should at least be honest somewhere.
These are the last two pictures I ever took of Isaiah.
As I’m writing this, I feel like something inside of me is perpetually breaking. The pain never ends. Each day is harder than the last. I feel as though I am dying. Maybe I am, I don’t know.
In just a few days, it will be exactly a year since my friend, Isaiah, died. As you can tell from my recent posts, this issue has been on my mind nonstop. With each day that ticks by, I become painfully reminded of what I was doing exactly one year ago. I just started to write out my memories of what I was doing last year today, but I couldn’t do it. It’s simply too hard.
I feel like something is exploding inside of me, but it cannot escape. I’m trapped in my own collapse. I don’t know what to do anymore. The people around me don’t either. I know what I need to do to get through the next few days. I just don’t feel like I can. I don’t know how to explain what it’s like to be so immobilized while still conscious. I can’t help but wonder if this is what Isaiah felt like a year ago tonight. He was laughing with us, but he must have been unraveling at the same time.
I just really wish he was here, you know? He’d get it. He’d sit in it with me. He’d help me get up again. Recently, I’ve lost two extremely large supports in my life. One was an unhealthy relationship that I broke off, and the other was probably one of the most positive relationships I had, but it ended in crushing rejection. With these people, I didn’t know how I was going to handle the 23rd of this month. Now I have to face it even more alone than I began.
I’m not going to lie, everything just seems hopeless.
In the past year, I have lost two friends to suicide, I dealt with several other friends’ attempts, and I spent a total of 72 days in a hospital for my own suicidal ideation. It feels as though suicide is consuming my life.
This downward spiral began when my best friend ended his life at age 14. I hadn’t seen it coming. I had spent the whole weekend and day prior with him. After that, things went a little over the edge for me. I isolated myself in my room. I watched hours upon hours of Celebrity Rehab and Family Guy. I didn’t eat, and I only drank Mountain Dew and kiwi-strawberry Snapple. I had multiple therapy sessions a week. Nothing made sense. I wanted to die.
In the next month, I learned that another one of my closest friends had tried to kill themselves only about a week before my one friend succeeded. I was shocked and terrified. I remember that I couldn’t stop shaking after I had found out. How was I so out of touch? I hadn’t seen this coming either. I must have been a terrible friend to miss two things that were so extreme in their lives. Nothing made sense. I wanted to die.
My mind became a darker and darker place to be. My self-harm was getting severe and I was obsessed with my own demise. I was placed in a psychiatric hospital for my own safety. I was put on medication. I was familiar with the system from past experiences. I made friends there. Most of these friends were also there for suicidal ideation, attempts, or self-harm. I hurt myself while I was there. Nothing made sense. I wanted to die.
I went back to public school, but things started getting bad again soon. This time was worse. This time I was scared. I knew that if I wasn’t under constant supervision, I might not make it much longer. I was hospitalized again. During my stay, I kept hurting myself and I ran away. My roommate attempted suicide in the shower. My late friend’s birthday passed by. On that day, I tried to break my foot until I was put on too many sedatives to fight anymore. While I was there, I found out that another one of my friends was in a day-hospital after trying to take her life. Nothing made sense. I wanted to die.
A week or two after my discharge, I saw on Facebook that one of my coolest friends from my first hospitalization had passed away. I read an article about her online and discovered that she had jumped to her death. She had been so fun and full of life. I had talked to her a few days before she did it. Nothing made sense. I wanted to die.
At one point during the summer, I texted my therapist telling her that I wanted to kill myself. I walked to a Turkey Hill near my house and bought razors. My therapist called my mom, but I lied to her about how many razors I had bought. Later in the day, I cut myself and ended up in the ER needing stitches. Everyone was asking me if it was a suicide attempt. I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t meant for it to be. Nothing made sense. I wanted to die.
Another good friend of mine tried to kill herself a few times throughout the year. They were all centered around disputes that we had had. I didn’t know why everyone I cared about couldn’t feel the love I had for them. I blamed myself for this and everything else. I must have been a terrible friend. Nothing made sense. I wanted to die.
Now it’s October. That means that almost a year has passed since all of this began. Suicide has been at the forefront of my mind in a million different forms this past year. It’s been engulfing me and playing a part in everything that I think and do. I just can’t seem to get away. For the past 11 months and 19 days, nothing has made sense. For the past 11 months and 19 days, I’ve wanted for die.
May 15, 1998 – October 23, 2012
October 19, 1994 – April 4, 2013