Enter label: on friends, forever goodbyes, and signs

Dear Companions,

I just walked in to catch the tail end of a story. A friend of mine for over a decade ended his life. He jumped off the roof of a hotel we had all spent plenty of nights at. I can’t stop thinking of that skyline. Twisting skyline. The girlfriend to whom I thought he was planning to marry, had broken up with him a month prior, apparently.

In my heart right now is a sense of disgust. For life being difficult and causing suffering. For the waste of this amazing person. For my small part. I feel strange even writing about this, but it seems insane not to write about something that is clearly impacting the Healingvrse, so I’m just going to share my immediate insufficient thoughts.

Though I wasn’t the closest to him, he still reached out during my sickness. I, deep in the illness, did not pick up. In my mind, I was saving myself for when I was better. I didn’t want him to hear me with all my shitty health. He knew me as deal builder. Unusual escapades in Asia. So, he would not be interested in this version of me, I thought.

I told him that when things were better, we would head out to this house he was restoring at the Sea Ranch in California. He told me it was like the Montauk of California. I just looked into our old chats. He had called me on my birthday.

Missed call.

I know why it was a missed call. I was hanging on that day, but still. A hello?

The last time we connected, he wanted me to talk to his new girlfriend. That text made me pause. It felt unusual. There was something strange about him wanting me to connect with her. Looking back—was he reaching out to old friends, or to help cement the new relationship? It was clear there was something deeper there.

What is it about the human spirit that hesitates, that pulls back when deep down it senses something is wrong? There's a moment—subtle but undeniable—when your gut knows you're facing an aberration. It's the only warning you’ll get. It sits like curdled milk in your stomach, thick and sour, making its way up your throat. Later, you call it a lump. This is the universe’s silent red flag. And yet, you push through it, pretend it’s nothing, and move on.

I mistook that lump for my own misery. I could not be the friend I wanted to be because of my own problems. A new mom. Hanging on to functionality. Never quite 70%. I kept imagining he thought that my sickness was ridiculous. How could anyone be sick for this long, I imagined he thought, seeing as he was this charming guy who wasn’t aging in pictures.

He was a beautiful person. Tall, blond curly locks, lean, and a social chameleon. He had an A-list smile. An ability to keep himself afloat doing businesses nobody quite understood and doing so all over the world. He was outwardly laid back, soft spoken, quiet, but he had loner and darker tendencies.

We are at the age where some dreams begin to die. I can understand that some suffering is no longer amenable to plans, podcasts, therapy, or even friends. Perhaps he passed that stage weeks, months, or years ago. A moment had arrived where he was past it. Even if he didn’t totally understand what he was doing that night.

And yet, had I just picked up the phone, perhaps I could have shared with him my situation, some new pathways to dealing with suffering. That new dreams can emerge from the smolder, and maybe deeper truths. The mind rewires slowly, I would repeat just as was repeated to me. I could show him the posters I have on my wall that kept me going. Or I could have just listened.

Everyone always says: this isn’t anyone’s fault. This is like the McDonalds of torches we pass around as HumanIT. We know that a spark of creativity—to get out of the abyss—can come from any source, even if the person ultimately has to do it herself. This isn’t to promote a savior’s complex, but it is to say we can do better.

I don’t have a professional understanding of what’s right and will be looking for resources. Do you know of any?

Intuitively I’d probably offer a book by Jung, or on meditation. The name of a great friend in recovery, or some places to go. Perhaps this kind of book on post traumatic growth. Just returning the call would have been a good start.

I hope that I can do better. Even if I am not at my own peak. Even if it requires assessing energy through unusual texts or calls. Even if I am disappointing myself constantly because I cannot be the ideal friend. To pay attention when I know full well this life can be tough. To, at the very least, send a source with love, and tell them to get back to me when they are done reading it. To respond to missed calls.

Is there anyone who is lingering on your phone like a slightly misshapen question mark? I hope you reach out to them.

If you have better ideas here, please share.

With much love from the Healingvrse,

Rebecca