No one needs to read this, I just need to write it
I'm not sure why I don't post on here anymore. I've been needing to vent and spill out my feelings for some time now about this.
My friend Krisen, whom I met when I first came to MSU, was diagnosed as bipolar early in the year. It shattered her- she had always told me her greatest fear was to be bipolar like her mother and grandmother, and now it had happened. Our friend group tried to help her get through it. We did crafts together and had fancy dinners at my place and told her again and again that it didn't matter to us that she was bipolar; she was still our bubbly, crazy, loveable Krisen. After a few weeks of dealing with the news and seeing a counselor and being on medication, she seemed to accept it. She started making jokes like, "Well now I can use my bipolar episodes as an excuse to get extensions on essays!" She became more nonchalant about her mental illness. She changed her major to creative writing and became really excited about it, and her and her boyfriend Dalton started looking at engagement rings. And we all thought she was fine.
On June 26th (it was a Wednesday), I was on Tumblr and saw Krisen had reblogged some depressing posts, a few of them about suicide. This wasn't completely out of the ordinary. As she cycled through her emotions, her Tumblr posts flipped between extremely happy and extremely said. But the last post got to me. It said "Suicide is committed every 40 seconds. I wonder, if someday I'll be one of those 40 seconds." I told myself I'd better call her and see how she was feeling. Why I didn't I don't even remember. The best pathetic excuse I can come up with is that is just slipped my mind.
The next day, I got a call at work from Krisen's mother, saying she had tried to kill herself. I left right away and drove to her house, only to find her grandparents there. They assured me that Krisen was fine; that she was at the hospital and they had gotten her stable. I had planned to fly out the next day to Washington D.C. to visit Chris, who was interning with the US Senate. I offered to stay in case I could be of help, but the insisted they had everything covered and that I should just go to D.C. and enjoy myself. They told me she'd be awake by the end of the weekend and placed in the mental hospital to be kept an eye on. I made a mental note to myself to buy coloring books and crayons to bring her while when I returned.
I worried about Krisen the whole flight down. I kept saying to myself that she would be okay. Her grandma said so. But the minute I landed and found Chris in the airport, I found a message on my phone from Krisen's mom. She was crying, so I immediately deleted it before I could listen to the whole thing. I didn't want to hear it. Later when we reached Chris's apartment, I got a call from my friend Lizzy. She asked if I knew anything about funeral arrangements. I went into shock. My arms became numb and my vision went black and I fell back onto the bed crying. I might have fainted- I don't know. Chris and I laid down together for a while, trying to make sense of everything. I felt so conflicted. I had been looking forward to this vacation for weeks. I hadn't seen Chris all summer, and the moment I see him, the world comes crashing down. I didn't know what to feel, so I just cried for hours.
The weekend passed and I flew home Monday morning. Chris and Jackson drove up for the week to attend the funeral and grieve with everyone. At the visitation, Krisen's father explained what happened: The day before she did it, Krisen was completely normal. They had their family movie night like always and nothing seemed amiss. The next day, Krisen wrote a 6-page note explaining why and then took every pill she had. Then she had second thoughts, and called Dalton, telling him what she had done and asking for help. Dalton called everyone in the family until someone found her passed out in the bathroom, and they drove her to the hospital. Her father said she might have lived if she hadn't had only one kidney. I don't know if that's true... but everyone had to tell themselves something.
Approaching her coffin was nearly impossible. All of us- me, Chris, Lizzy, Sean, Sam, Kevin, and Jackson- had to lead each other up there. She was dressed just as she had been in CSI: Lyman Briggs. "She's G Wizz," I kept saying over and over. And she was wearing her pink collar. She had worn that thing every damn day. I'm glad she had it. Chris said he could almost see her breathing. Her ponies, paintings, and cross stitch and perler bead projects were all over the funeral home (the appropriate ones, anyway- most of her stuff was hyper-sexual and had boobs and bondage). My mom had sent flowers. They were pink: Krisen's favorite color.
The next day at the funeral, we all showed up with marker mustaches. Lizzy and Sam bought balloons that resembled Pinkie Pie's cutie mark from My Little Pony. Krisen had a large collection of berets, which all the family members were wearing. Lizzy and I were permitted to wear one as well. Krisen's grandfather is a preacher, and he presided over the ceremony. His first words were, "I hate Walt Disney today, because princesses are not supposed to die." Most of us in the friend group said something. I read a poem I had written the night before called "Your Insanity Keeps Me Sane." We were asked by Krisen's father to be pall bearers. After the ceremony, six of us- me, Chris, Sean, Kevin, Lizzy, and Jackson- carried her to the car. Sam and Billy had the balloons, and released them once we had her in there. As they drover her off, her grandfather said, "She's in the hands of the universe now. And if the universe doesn't take care of her, then the universe and I have got a fucking problem."
That night, I got drunk for the first time. Sometime last year, Krisen had received My Little Pony shot glasses in the mail from an anonymous giver. We never found out who it was, but Krisen had assigned each of us to a shot glass and a pony. (I'm Twilight Sparkle.) Her father let us take all of them, except for the Pinkie Pie one, since Krisen was Pinkie Pie. We did a half-shot in her honor, since that's all she could have with her one kidney.
Since then, Lizzy and I have kept in moderate contact with Krisen's family. We visited them a couple times, both times prepared to ask if we could read her note, but then being to afraid to ask for it. I don't know much about it except she talks to me at one point, and at another she says, "I wish love was enough." Her family has gone through her unfinished writings and published them, and I have been given one of her cross-stitch projects to finish. I haven't started yet.
I don't blame myself, not always. Sometimes I think about that moment when I saw that Tumblr post and how I wasn't there for her. She wanted to live. She called Dalton, she wanted to live! She just had one dark moment. Would she had reached that moment if I had said something? No one had known anything was happening with her- no one but me. And I did nothing. And no matter how much I move on, I'm going to live the rest of my life with this knowledge stirring in the back of my head.
All my inspiration is gone to do anything. I want to work on my Pokemon fanfiction or my short stories or the script for Science of the Labs, but whenever I get it up, I can't write. I want to cross stitch, but I don't care anymore. I want to read my book, but I can't focus. I want to rekindle my friendship with Jen, but I haven't made an effort. So here I am on livejournal, recounting the events of the summer. And fuck Walt Disney and the universe.
My friend Krisen, whom I met when I first came to MSU, was diagnosed as bipolar early in the year. It shattered her- she had always told me her greatest fear was to be bipolar like her mother and grandmother, and now it had happened. Our friend group tried to help her get through it. We did crafts together and had fancy dinners at my place and told her again and again that it didn't matter to us that she was bipolar; she was still our bubbly, crazy, loveable Krisen. After a few weeks of dealing with the news and seeing a counselor and being on medication, she seemed to accept it. She started making jokes like, "Well now I can use my bipolar episodes as an excuse to get extensions on essays!" She became more nonchalant about her mental illness. She changed her major to creative writing and became really excited about it, and her and her boyfriend Dalton started looking at engagement rings. And we all thought she was fine.
On June 26th (it was a Wednesday), I was on Tumblr and saw Krisen had reblogged some depressing posts, a few of them about suicide. This wasn't completely out of the ordinary. As she cycled through her emotions, her Tumblr posts flipped between extremely happy and extremely said. But the last post got to me. It said "Suicide is committed every 40 seconds. I wonder, if someday I'll be one of those 40 seconds." I told myself I'd better call her and see how she was feeling. Why I didn't I don't even remember. The best pathetic excuse I can come up with is that is just slipped my mind.
The next day, I got a call at work from Krisen's mother, saying she had tried to kill herself. I left right away and drove to her house, only to find her grandparents there. They assured me that Krisen was fine; that she was at the hospital and they had gotten her stable. I had planned to fly out the next day to Washington D.C. to visit Chris, who was interning with the US Senate. I offered to stay in case I could be of help, but the insisted they had everything covered and that I should just go to D.C. and enjoy myself. They told me she'd be awake by the end of the weekend and placed in the mental hospital to be kept an eye on. I made a mental note to myself to buy coloring books and crayons to bring her while when I returned.
I worried about Krisen the whole flight down. I kept saying to myself that she would be okay. Her grandma said so. But the minute I landed and found Chris in the airport, I found a message on my phone from Krisen's mom. She was crying, so I immediately deleted it before I could listen to the whole thing. I didn't want to hear it. Later when we reached Chris's apartment, I got a call from my friend Lizzy. She asked if I knew anything about funeral arrangements. I went into shock. My arms became numb and my vision went black and I fell back onto the bed crying. I might have fainted- I don't know. Chris and I laid down together for a while, trying to make sense of everything. I felt so conflicted. I had been looking forward to this vacation for weeks. I hadn't seen Chris all summer, and the moment I see him, the world comes crashing down. I didn't know what to feel, so I just cried for hours.
The weekend passed and I flew home Monday morning. Chris and Jackson drove up for the week to attend the funeral and grieve with everyone. At the visitation, Krisen's father explained what happened: The day before she did it, Krisen was completely normal. They had their family movie night like always and nothing seemed amiss. The next day, Krisen wrote a 6-page note explaining why and then took every pill she had. Then she had second thoughts, and called Dalton, telling him what she had done and asking for help. Dalton called everyone in the family until someone found her passed out in the bathroom, and they drove her to the hospital. Her father said she might have lived if she hadn't had only one kidney. I don't know if that's true... but everyone had to tell themselves something.
Approaching her coffin was nearly impossible. All of us- me, Chris, Lizzy, Sean, Sam, Kevin, and Jackson- had to lead each other up there. She was dressed just as she had been in CSI: Lyman Briggs. "She's G Wizz," I kept saying over and over. And she was wearing her pink collar. She had worn that thing every damn day. I'm glad she had it. Chris said he could almost see her breathing. Her ponies, paintings, and cross stitch and perler bead projects were all over the funeral home (the appropriate ones, anyway- most of her stuff was hyper-sexual and had boobs and bondage). My mom had sent flowers. They were pink: Krisen's favorite color.
The next day at the funeral, we all showed up with marker mustaches. Lizzy and Sam bought balloons that resembled Pinkie Pie's cutie mark from My Little Pony. Krisen had a large collection of berets, which all the family members were wearing. Lizzy and I were permitted to wear one as well. Krisen's grandfather is a preacher, and he presided over the ceremony. His first words were, "I hate Walt Disney today, because princesses are not supposed to die." Most of us in the friend group said something. I read a poem I had written the night before called "Your Insanity Keeps Me Sane." We were asked by Krisen's father to be pall bearers. After the ceremony, six of us- me, Chris, Sean, Kevin, Lizzy, and Jackson- carried her to the car. Sam and Billy had the balloons, and released them once we had her in there. As they drover her off, her grandfather said, "She's in the hands of the universe now. And if the universe doesn't take care of her, then the universe and I have got a fucking problem."
That night, I got drunk for the first time. Sometime last year, Krisen had received My Little Pony shot glasses in the mail from an anonymous giver. We never found out who it was, but Krisen had assigned each of us to a shot glass and a pony. (I'm Twilight Sparkle.) Her father let us take all of them, except for the Pinkie Pie one, since Krisen was Pinkie Pie. We did a half-shot in her honor, since that's all she could have with her one kidney.
Since then, Lizzy and I have kept in moderate contact with Krisen's family. We visited them a couple times, both times prepared to ask if we could read her note, but then being to afraid to ask for it. I don't know much about it except she talks to me at one point, and at another she says, "I wish love was enough." Her family has gone through her unfinished writings and published them, and I have been given one of her cross-stitch projects to finish. I haven't started yet.
I don't blame myself, not always. Sometimes I think about that moment when I saw that Tumblr post and how I wasn't there for her. She wanted to live. She called Dalton, she wanted to live! She just had one dark moment. Would she had reached that moment if I had said something? No one had known anything was happening with her- no one but me. And I did nothing. And no matter how much I move on, I'm going to live the rest of my life with this knowledge stirring in the back of my head.
All my inspiration is gone to do anything. I want to work on my Pokemon fanfiction or my short stories or the script for Science of the Labs, but whenever I get it up, I can't write. I want to cross stitch, but I don't care anymore. I want to read my book, but I can't focus. I want to rekindle my friendship with Jen, but I haven't made an effort. So here I am on livejournal, recounting the events of the summer. And fuck Walt Disney and the universe.