Closing In

Monday
August 25, 1997
Home

Sometimes things change in a big way, and the big crashing confontations and sweeping changes can turn you upside down. Then the little, quiet shifts of mood and attitude that signify subtle change can make more of a difference. Make you sit up and take notice. I suppose its akin to the motion of waves; if you're out there in the deep water standing still, the waves move through you, you might get tossed up and down a little, but the motion will pass by. Yet if you're at the shore and those persistent little ripples keep washing up on you, they can slowly push and push until you're all the way up the beach.

My friend made a suicide attempt. She's in the hospital now. I don't quite know what to do at this point. We both have chequered histories, connected by our similar brushes with depression and suicide. We are close friends bound not only by shared experience but an intuition that binds us. It's an intangible link, that can't really be put into words. But I'm grieving at the moment for my lost friend. Because she has gone.

I visit her and there is an empty shell of the person I used to know. Inert and lifeless she has lost the will to live. She is physically dangerous to herself, agressive and angry, yet as quiet and slow as a turtle. I am disturbed by the rapid descent into oblivion. I could see it, yet I was powerless to prevent it. I tried to be there, to be available, but it can't stop someone from doing something like this. I know that. I knew that. I visit her and she's so small, so vulnerable, yet so sure she doesn't want to be here any longer. I spend time with her and she seems so there, yet I turn to look out the window and look back and she's gone. In her place a person full of anger and rage, withdrawn and consumed by the hurt and betrayal of her own introspection.

But I keep going to see her, loving her and making her know that I care. That I want her alive. I wonder though if its enough.

So I indulged in a little self destructive behaviour of my own on Saturday. (This was after the drunken, debauchery of Friday - but that really is another story) Armed with a tube of black hair dye (salon strength) and a pvc cape I locked myself in the bathroom. Elvira emerged two hours later. I've used dyes before. I'm an experienced hair colour changer. But not with this stuff. The kind of hair colourant with no instructions - because you're meant to have attended three years of beauty school to know how to apply it. Well no not me, I can read some rudimentary Italian, and lo and behold I have shiny, thick (well, ok it was already thick) BLACK hair. I was overjoyed. Well mildly impressed by my handywork anyway.

Work was an experience. People really didn't know what to say. You get that.

For my Listening Pleasure
The Blackeyed Susans
"Welcome Stranger "

[Previous] [Home] [Next]
[Archive]

Thanks Geocities, get your Free Homepage Here