Three years ago my friend died.
It feels weird typing that so casually. Itâs been this massive thing I could never truly verbalise without the grief catching my tongue and a sob blocking my throat. But for some reason typing it out now doesnât come with that same sensation. I feel sad and like a strange warm and cold wave has passed over me and is going back and forth like Iâm lying in the sand at the edge of the sea.
I found out on my very first day at university. Iâd been so incredibly nervous but my first class was amazing and I was happy. I got lunch on campus with a friend and she so easily and causally dropped the bomb that my friend had taken her own life. To be fair to her, she didnât realise just how close Iâd been to that friend. She felt so horrible afterwards.
I was just numb for a while. I sat on a concrete step eating my terrible cheese toastie while my friend attempted to console me. Another friend came and sat on the other side to me, and when she was told of what happened also attempted to be there for me. It was grounding, sitting between the two of them with my poor choice in lunch in my hands and a cold can of Coke pressing against my thigh.
My friend and I took the bus afterwards. I was heading to work and she took the same bus to get home. On the bus I felt that same numbness and deep sadness but I hadnât been able to cry. I donât think I let myself cry until she got off at her stop. The minute she left I broke down crying. I was horrified when another student who went to our high school got on the bus but I donât think he noticed me. Iâd never felt more glad for being invisible.
I got off the bus and tried to walk to work until I had to sit down on a bench and properly cry and sob again. Once I could catch my breath I continued my walk along an incredibly busy road to get to the tutoring centre I worked at. I wonder how strange and messy I looked with my tear stained face, snotty nose and distant gaze. But then again, maybe no one noticed.
When I got to work I cried as I told my boss what had happened. She asked if I wanted to go home but I said no and that Iâd stay since the kids needed me (and maybe I needed them). I think the students I looked after that day could tell I was upset. I got given a sticker by one of them at one point. I wish I couldâve told those kids how much I loved teaching them and how theyâd pulled me out of a terrible place years ago when I started there. But theyâre kids and I thought they should go as long as possible without knowing how much a person can break.
Eventually it was too much and I went home. I cried and cried in my room and my mother got frustrated with me at one point which made me cry harder.
I had to break the news to one of my friends. I messaged him asking if my other friend and talked to him and that I needed to tell him something. He told me the same thing. Turns out he was dating my ex and theyâd been together for a bit. I didnât think I couldâve had a worse day. I had to tell him the horrible truth and ruin what was probably an exciting announcement for him. I selfishly felt betrayed that he would date them, sometimes I still have a tiny bit of resentment for that. But that was a long time ago and things have changed since then.
I remember calling my best friend who came over and sat with me while I cried and told her something I found never tell the others. My friend was trans, and Iâd been supporting her transition. Hell, Iâd been the one she turned to when she needed help figuring out all of her dysphoria and anxieties about it. I confirmed what she suspected and felt so proud that she trusted my judgement and knowledge.
I felt like a traitor when I revealed tha secret to my best friend. But I couldnât stand having to deadname her and use the wrong pronouns when speaking about her death on that day. Especially when her mental health issues that surrounded her transition were a part of her death. How could I allow myself to disrespect her when no one but me and her family knew the truth? How could I honour her memory if that memory was false?
We ended up calling two other friends and talking about how we felt and the grief. After that phone call ended and my best friend left we never talked about it what happened again. We still havenât and itâs been three years.
I remember being so upset when Iâd go to university on Thursdays in my second semester that year. I had a class focused on linguistics and using that knowledge to make our own languages. I knew she would love it so much, just like sheâd love the wildlife sanctuary on campus and the trips biology students got to go on. It was so bittersweet to imagine her with me and enjoying it. I felt such a deep sadness and guilt that I could experience so many things she would love to do.
We had actually not spoken for a month before it happened. We messaged each other and it ended in a fight where she said some nasty things but I know that it was not intentionally cruel, more like a stray cat backed into a corner and scratching and hissing. She sent a message apologising a few days later and I couldnât bring myself to respond. I didnât know what to say, I didnât know how to express my own feelings and empathise and say the right words. So I never responded. About a week later she sent me a clip of a YouTube video she thought Iâd find funny, and again I didnât respond.
That video link was the last message I ever got from her.
People messaged me after the news broke when our old high school posted about a previous student in our year passing away. They wanted to know if it was her (not that they really knew Her) and when i told them it was true they offered sympathy and kindness. For some of those people it was the last time I ever spoke to them.
I went to class after that. I had to sit in my class where everyone was doing ice breakers and stuff and pretend like I wasnât crumbling inside. Iâm honestly not sure how I managed to get through those two hours but I did.
Sometimes I wanted to message her. But I knew that never getting a reply would make her death feel more real. I could have a strange kind of denial if I never messaged her. SchrĂśdingerâs Discord Message I suppose.
My friend was funny. She was a huge nerd like me. She loved science and sea creatures and insects and algae. She loved our literature and philosophy classes. She loved writing so much that she went to a weekly writers group (I wish I had been able to take up her offer to join). She was kind and supportive. She had a pet leech and loved Jerma and awkward comedy. I love her and miss her.
This is the first time Iâve ever been able to say all of this, or at least write all of this and send it out into the void. I know no one will read this, but maybe actually putting it out there will make it easier to speak about. I donât have the lump in my throat when I think about her most of the time now. Instead I just feel a sadness and longing often with a bit of guilt or bitter sweetness and I remember our time together.
In my head I come up with names I think she wouldâve chosen. She never decided on a proper one. I think she wouldâve liked something strange and unique like naming herself after a fish or a more older name like Dahlia. I call her ĺ°čŤ in my head sometimes. I think she wouldâve liked picking a Chinese name with me while I chose mine.
I love you and I miss you. I wish I had been a better friend and I wish you had never had to deal with the pain of trying to be yourself.
I want to visit the botanical gardens in my city at the end of the month, I think theyâd have little bugs and plants in the lake there sheâd like. So if I can bring myself to, Iâll go and speak to them. Tell her everything I wished to have said to her back then.
If you see an insect or leech or fish or moss or algae and youâve read all of this nonsense then I hope you can remember my friend. Someone who wouldâve been so excited by the sight of such a simple thing.
When we meet next Iâll tell you all the stories I have been desperate to share. Until then I hope you can watch me live with your memory through tiny bug eyes.
