This is a simple story about a stumbled upon tragedy David collided with on the internet one day. He wrote about it, submitted it, and now I’m sharing it with you. It’s a little different from the usual tone on my blog. But I figured I could showcase some variety while appreciating someone else’s work.
Introducing my 2nd Guest Blogger and phenomenal writer, David Miess.
P.S. Keep submitting (:
I stare at the rectangular screen, its corners cut, precisely measured, finite. Dwarfed by the cool blue light, I see myself in third person, courted by the high walls of this darkened room.
And I look at her.
The pictures on her profile are happy, jovial, all-knowing in the art of smiling. She is optimistic. She is unbreakable. She is a counterweight to all that is negative in this world. I can see it in her smile. Just look, and you can see it too.
She shot herself last Saturday.
I look at these pictures, these capsules of her personality embodied in frozen pixels of time, and I wonder what was really going on in her head. What was she dealing with? What pain was so deep, so numbing, that she felt that the only way out was the permanence of death?
put on masks
blind others from the fears we all share
But no one gave her that chance.
Not her boyfriend, who didn’t take her seriously when she said she had a gun.
Not her mother, who abandoned her at young age.
Not her friends, who thought her heavy drinking wasn’t a big deal.
And I…would I have had the courage to step forward and care? No, I probably would have just kept to myself.
Her death will become just another statistic to the masses and a tragic smear in the lives of those who most loved her. And our society will go on, layering and layering itself with social makeup, smoothing the creases and folds of our hearts, conforming ourselves to a hollow utopia of individuality and perseverance, commanding ourselves to “be tough” and “just deal with it.”
It is one of the great failures of modern society. We have the clear scientific evidence to show that mental illness is a treatable problem; we have the hindsight, standing immobile at a funeral, to know that we could have done more if we just asked a.few.more.questions.
Every day, someone you or I know may consider suicide. But we’re too vulnerable to admit we’re vulnerable. We’re too afraid of what people might think if we open ourselves up. How about we all grow a pair of balls and stop giving a fuck?
In another place, maybe this girl would still be alive, instead of weighing on my heart, her memory yearning for a story to be told.
Dear Miss Smiles,
I never met you. I never even knew you existed until I heard about your passing. And as I pause here at your online gravesite, your digital tomb circled by the flowers of your friends’ thumbnails, I just wanted to say…