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He'd been calling every day, telling me Isa would want us to love eachother, that he loved me and I should love him. I was just silent on the phone. I couldn't tell him what he wanted. I couldn't. I felt like I was betraying her. But I guess he got to me like he gets to everybody. I called and asked him where he was: "I'm all alone at x bar". Oh, great. He's drinking himself into oblivious. So I ran over - well, drove there, and found him with a bunch of friends.
I sat down at the table but I couldn't look at him, or them. I said hi in a spaced out way. I was feeling exactly like I feel when things related to intimacy happen: I started feeling numb. Sounds and light were distorted. I couldn't make out what they were saying, except at one point when I heard him mention the name of her ex and 'speaking to him helped me understand'. There it happened. Panic attack. I got up to go to the washroom to talk myself out of it. But the tight feeling persisted through the next day, at which point I went to the clinic and said I'd take those little pills people who get panic attacks take: ativan.
I said I was leaving when I came back from the washroom. Thank you, have a nice night. He follows me out. He starts telling me again that Isa would want us to love eachother. I told him I couldn't be there for him right now; I thought I could, but I couldn't. He kept insisting; trying to hug me. I told him he needed to go back inside, this wasn't a good time to get me mad. That's when he switched: what do you mean get mad? What do you have to get mad about? Would you get over yourself and stop hating me?? ISA WOULD BE DISGUSTED BY YOUR BEHAVIOR, he said. Disgusted! Oh you fucking little jerk. You poor excuse for a man. You just go back inside because you don't want me to give you a piece of my mind. I didn't say any of that. I just kept telling him to go back inside but he kept getting in my face. I have to have a fucking big heart to NOT tell him what I think, what I know, because I'm scared if I get pissed I can really hurt him, and I'm sure he already feels partly responsible even if he won't admit it. I'm scared if I hurt him that will be the last drop for him. I can totally see himself offing himself because men who deny their emotions, deny responsibility in anything, deny their not perfect, often overemphasize fact they don't believe. My dad, as Isa told me herself, is very much like her boyfriend. My dad has a major self-esteem issue even if he won't admit it. How do I know that? I am convinced that people who need to step on other people to feel better about themselves; people who berate other people; people who always tell them how stupid they are, etc, only do it because it's the only way they have to elevate themselves in their heads. Step on people, I suddenly become big. Her boyfriend was exactly like that; always stepping all over her and making her feel like shit. Maybe I'm dreaming but I think those types of personalities are particularly prone to killing themselves in times of high stress. Like if you confront them and tell them what they already know, they'll just break down. I finally managed to leave because another friend arrived as he was telling me off on the sidewalk. I got back home and told Isa that I was sorry, I KNEW she wouldn't want me to suffer that much for her. Before I'd left I'd told her I was seeing him for her. I told her I was wrong for thinking that. She never would have wanted me to love someone I know hurt her so much.
I suffer from social anxiety. I never go out to public places like bars; I never went out with her other friends because I hate meeting new people. Get to the bar, have to say hi to all these people talking about her as if they knew her like me. Numbness. And it's not over yet.
Today's the day I leave for her small town to be with her parents, whom I knew very well. Friday is going to be at the funeral home; Saturday, the church, the funeral. I have to finish writing the eulogy.
I'm just writing so you guys send me good vibes.
This death is particularly hard because the whole friken province knows her. She's been all over the news. There's been all sorts of speculation as to why she killed herself. There's been all sorts of disecting of her brain by her 'friends' who called journalists the very next day to give their comments. It's so sickening. I wasn't able to read the news, watch it, even turn on the radio because that's where I learned of her death, on the highway, until Monday.
I hate this.
I hate the fact that all those vultures will be there... at the funeral.
For the moment nobody knows I exist.
On Saturday they'll all know she had a best friend.
I'm not giving a single one of them a comment. She hated the press.
But when I get myself back together, I will write one piece - just one and this one time only - to set the record straight.
She's not what they say she is.
And her boyfriend, or rather ex, as I know and he doesn't know I know, better stay away from me because I can only contain my rage so much. I'm not even afraid of telling him off. I'm afraid of jumping on him and hitting him.
Sorry for the typos, but no time to read this one over.
Please send me your good vibes, I really need them. I'd rather not take any of those pills unless I really really need them.
She was addicted to them.
God, she's gone :-(