My eyes hurt from all the salt they've felt this week, and if that Spongebob episode was telling the truth my laugh box should have been used up by now. Emotion's been high at both ends of the spectrum. So I guess I'm writing at the wrong time, because right now I just feel normal; and I don't like it.
I wish when I saw Principal Bromley crying at church, I could have just walked off the stand and hugged her. I wanted to hug her. But I was on the stand, with all those people looking at me. Time kept going because suicide happens every day, and the clock can't be held up that often, or nothing would ever happen. People would never smile and people would never cry, because time would always be stopped.
I don't remember my dream Wednesday night, but I doubt Terik Gagon was in it, because I had never heard the name before I woke up that morning. I woke up to the same alarm as every morning, which seems so wrong. I don't know what the alarm should have sounded like, but it should not have been that idiotic, upbeat little jingle that wakes me each morning.
I can't remember if I pressed snooze, dammit I can't remember if I pressed snooze. I'm already forgetting things.
***** ******* tried to kill himself on Tuesday. He lived, and I'm so happy he's alive. I wasn't singing that tune on Monday. Monday I was complaining because him and his girlfriend posted so many relationship pictures on social media. Now I'm just so happy he's alive. Screw me, I would still be complaining about his Instagram posts if it weren't for this week. Screw me, I wouldn't be saying "hi" to all these people in the halls if it weren't for this week.
I'm not a hero, and no matter how much I become like Albus Dumbledore I never will be, because it took a kid fucking killing himself to change me. To the general population I'm not a hero because a hero shouldn't use that word, but those of you who have read my heart know the real reason.
Before I went back to sleep for a few minutes, I saw a text. It started strangely: "Hey trevor I'm sure you've heard about what happened tonight..." I had not.
But I suspected.
I go to Lone Peak, statistically speaking, we have the #1 highest suicide rates in the nation, and that was before this week.
So I suspected.
I had another text on the lock screen, it began much more matter-of-factly: "LPHS Senior Terik Gagon committed suicide this evening..." my suspicion was correct. Correct like the answers I celebrate on my math tests, correct like what I needed to be when the teacher asked a question in elementary, so that I wouldn't look like an idiot in front of the class. Correct, when everything was wrong. Correct, when being wrong would have made everything so much more correct.
I thought for a moment, then I pounded my bed. I walked to the bathroom and turned on some music and got in the shower like every morning, though I picked a much more thoughtful playlist. The song, and the friend I was texting, and the fact that kids were killing themselves before they even knew what it means to live- it made me cry.
I pounded the wall and cried. I went through my morning routine, crying sporadically. I went to school and shed some tears through my first three periods. I couldn't go to lunch, well I could have, but I didn't. I couldn't stand with my friends in the school commons and try to talk to them.
I knew they had each other-my absence was unlikely to be noted-we have a big group. I walked past them without saying "hi" when I realized I did not want to eat lunch with those people on that day.
I wanted to go to Mr. Nelson's room but I was afraid it would be awkward. So I worked on an assignment, alone in the physics room, and listened to some beautiful music. I tired of the physics assignment and went to Mr. Nelson's room, when I saw through the window that other students were in there.
I know Mr. Nelson doesn't have all the answers but sometimes I feel like he does, the way he inspires me, and makes me laugh. He was talking to other students about the situation. It was a free place, where we could speak openly. We stood around and talked, all sharing in the mutual disaster. When Nelson saw me he asked what was up. I told him none of my other teachers were acknowledging the tragedy. He didn't admit how badly this upset him until the next day. It was not a time for anger.
He had a funny joke but I wasn't much in a mood to laugh. The bell rang and I wished I could stay.
I left.
I found out in my next period that a letter had been found, belonging to my friend ***** ****. A suicide note. I'm thankful it was found before he took drastic measures. I can imagine the alternative, but I don't want to, so please don't ask me to.
We met together as friends after school that day. We laughed, we watched Jimmy Fallon on Youtube. I didn't hear the word suicide, I didn't see a tear. For a few hours we took sanctuary from our fucked up world in Ava's living room.
I made notes and mixtapes for friends that night. I think they helped, but what do I know?
A stupid dress that had some optical illusion became the rage of social media. It made a lot of people laugh, it blessed a lot of people with a distraction, including me. I didn't deserve it.
Why do I deserve a distraction when I've spent the whole year pretending not to see people in the halls, because I'm too selfish and shy to say "hi" first? And why did Terik's mom deserve to bury her own son? The truth is the word "deserve" was created for little kids, because for that small part of their lives at least we can let them believe it means something. It's just hard learning the truth.
The next day I had to journey back into the trauma zone that Lone Peak High School had become. Worse trauma than the first suicide this year.
You want statistics for this week alone? Here you go: 2 suicide attempts, 5 suicide notes found, and the loss of Terik. That's more than statistics, that's hearts torn apart.
If the school building has a memory, this week will stay with it, until the day years from now, that it is demolished for something deemed more worthy.
In second period I had English with Nelson. His lesson was thrown out the window.
He talked about the things we needed to hear.
He gave us time to write. He told us to share what we had written with someone or hug a person in the class. I hugged him along with some other people.
I faced my fear when I stood up to read in front of the entire class. I didn't pour my whole heart out, but I poured far past the point of vulnerability.
One of my best friends and I had one of the most special experiences of my life. If anyone made a biography of me, I sure hope they would include this. I could talk about this class period for the rest of my life, but words are inadequate to describe it.
My friend made me cry when he told the people in the class why he needed a hug from them. He made me cry when he said he needed a hug from me, because I was his best friend since elementary.
He left the room after. I sat in my desk a second, then left to go hug him. I was done crying by the time I reached him.
We hugged, he was still crying.
If you make that biography, I hope it's a book, because this wasn't some perfect movie moment. It was a light hug. It was real.
It's been a dark week, and that darkness won't be gone soon. I'm thankful for the beautiful light that has pierced through the pitch-dark. I don't feel normal anymore, like when I started writing this. I feel thankful. I'm thankful for the hugs, I'm thankful for a chance to change, and I'm thankful for the love. I should end this in the right way, with the right word,
Love? Yeah, that's it.
Light Hugs outshine Dark Scenery
when there's Love.
