For Fay.

Her name was Scarlet.

I didn’t know that until today. I always knew her as Fayrah. She was a friend on World of Warcraft; one I’d lost touch with when I stopped playing so much. She was one of the sweetest people I talked with in that group, and I wish I had kept in contact with her.

She killed herself earlier this week.

When I knew her better, she never talked about her problems with me. She was a private person, which makes sense. Depression is a nasty beast: it can have viciously sharp claws on the best of days, let alone as a topic to talk about when you don’t know the person on the other end of the conversation that well.

I wish she had. I wish I’d kept in contact. I wish whatever demons that were haunting her gave her some respite; let her see a pinpoint of light that wasn’t identified as an oncoming train.

Now, seeing how many people are absolutely shattered by her departure far too soon, I wish she knew how many people loved her. I wish it would have made a difference.

I hope she’s found her peace.

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One thought on “For Fay.

  1. Thank you so much for writing this. She really was loved. Talking to her when I had problems was as natural as breathing. The last few days I talked to her, I didn’t have time. I told her as much and I sensed disappointment. I’ll always wonder if she wanted to say some sort of subtle goodbye and I missed it. It was just after the holidays, things were crazy. I figured we had all the time in the world and I was wrong.

    However, I don’t think she felt unloved. By the letters she wrote to me and others, it was clear she knew how hard we would be hit. She stayed optimistic. It was almost as if nothing was wrong. She gave me encouragement that she always did. “You’re the best. You’re brilliant. Write a book. I’m rooting for you.”

    I’m admittedly angry. Part of me feels cheated. It’s strange because I always said I don’t judge anyone that commits suicide. Who am I to say what is best for them? Yet here I am, bitter. I feel old. I kept wondering, “Why didn’t she tell me? She could have told me. It would have gotten better. Things were starting to look up.” After the first 48 hours past and I was able to feel something more than that, I wondered why it was so different when it was someone I KNEW that committed suicide.

    I looked back on how it was when I was depressed and considering suicide. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel loved. It wasn’t because I felt alone. It was that after all the hard work I had done, all the progress I made, I still relapsed and ended back up at square one. For a short time, it was a struggle that was not worth it, no matter how much I was loved and how strong my ties were to those that I loved in return. That didn’t factor in.

    Suicide is a sad thing for those that are left behind, but not always for the people that leave us. There are some things that even time cannot heal, that will always be a struggle. It is not for me to decide whether their pain was valid. All that I know now is that to ask someone to suffer for your benefit is to enslave their very soul, and frankly, it is most often more terrifying to tell someone what you’re thinking than to leave without a word. Death is release where to speak of their intentions is to put themselves in chains.

    I do wish she had reconsidered. I’m not saying that suicide is right. I’m just not saying that it’s wrong. I will miss her until the end of my days and I don’t know how I’m going to make it, but what is important is that she is no longer in pain.

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