the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

Jefficito and Joshua, in younger days

I lost a friend earlier this week, a friend I had not yet met. I know some people don't understand this, and that's ok. They are entitled to their opinions. But I sometimes feel sad for them. I meet many people online and get to know them over a number of years through the medium of text, and I know for a certainty that you love people for who they are intellectually and emotionally, not for what they look or smell or sound like. 

In the old days, many men and women would "meet" via snail mail, carry on correspondences for years, then fall in love and marry. Today, the internet and social forums and discussion boards do the same for us. We can meet our mates online (I met Mich online, for example) and we can make friends we truly, madly, deeply care about online. I have many such friends, and I care very much how they are and what they're doing and if they're happy. When disaster strikes, I offer them succor. On a number of occasions, I've driven cross-country to meet them in person. While I've been once or twice surprised, I've never been disappointed. 

The friend I lost Monday night in the wee hours was a man I practically worshipped for his perverse intelligence (Jefficito's phrase), his compassion, and his wit. Joshua was crazy smart; there are no two ways about it. He was a physics major at UC Davis, but beyond that, you couldn't miss, when you read his offerings to any discussion, that he was a master quietly making a case.

The problem is, when you find a man whose intelligence is off the scales like him, and who is funny, you have found a man who feels life intensely--and a lot of what they feel is pain. Joshua was one of these. 

We tag-teamed on some fun discussion threads here and there, and chatted from time to time. I knew he was an alcoholic. He openly embraced it. I also knew that he was stifling pain like I could only imagine (out of respect for him, no details). 

He left a note to his friends. He explained that he'd thought this through for a very long time. He was waiting for a time when he knew we were all okay, busy with our lives, and we all had someone (often one another) to lean on. He went out of his way to tell us all how he'd been very careful to keep it from us, because he knew we'd try to talk him out of it, and he had already made the decision. He wanted none of us to feel guilty. This was his decision, and he made it over a long period of time, being of sound body and mind. 

I found out Wednesday morning before I went to work. Friends were posting about him on Facebook. My first reaction was denial, of course. If anyone would fake his own death on FB, it would be Joshua, right? But I already knew that wasn't true. 

I've seen this before. A long time ago, I watched the same opera unfold around me--to some extent, I was in it--and didn't recognize the signs. I'd had suicide training, like all good Airmen do, but most of it seemed counterintuitive to me until I was confronted with the real thing and I didn't do the right things. To this day, I still hurt for the loss of my friend--also perversely smart and witty and dangerously empathetic, just like Joshua. 

Over the past few months, I've had a growing feeling about Joshua's state of mind, but he was such a fucking master of disguising it. I knew he loved his friends and his classes, but he was miserable on a level he didn't show to most people. I wanted to believe he was strong enough to make it through, though. 

You see? Even atheists want to believe things. The problem is, wanting something to be true doesn't make it true. Too often, it blinds us to reality, which in the end, is the only thing we have left to work with. 

He ordered an 8 gallon tank of helium, I believe. When it arrived, he went out one more time with a woman who always made him feel happy and loved (a friend). Then he went home and enjoyed a shot of whiskey and a shot of vodka. He wrote that he was going to smoke one last bowl, then put his favorite album on so he could listen to it as he went out....

I'm sure he's at peace now. Death is pretty final. 

So here I am, still thinking about it. Like I said, I learned of it Wednesday morning. I was okay until I was driving to work, then I broke down. I got a handle on it and worked all day, then lost control when I got home. 

I spoke with Jeff, the friend through whom I knew Joshua. Joshua had presided at Jeff and Mila's wedding (and he was fantastic). There are videos.

 For some insane reason, I cannon embed them. Click here. 

Talking with Jeff soothed me, though. I just needed to say a bunch of stupid things about how I felt even though it made no sense, and Jeff was there to listen. Ironic, really. The greatest loss is his. But...he was strong for me. I love you, Jeff. Thank you. 

I had more than my fair share of wine that night, and I spent some time on the front porch stargazing and listening to the pines. And Mich and I watched a favorite old movie of mine: Music Box, starring Jessica Lange. It was great to get me focused on something else. 

The next morning, I felt ok. A little hung over, as is to be expected, but my attitude had shifted. I moved slowly getting out of bed, giving the cats and dogs some love, enjoying the bath, getting dressed, driving to work. My love had somehow opened up and spread itself everywhere. Everything was beautiful and wonderful, and I wanted to absorb it all. The effect hasn't worn off. Life is now, and now only. And it's full of wonderful people and wonderful things. It's time I enjoyed them now, because I may never get another chance. 

I've heard many times over the years that suicide is a selfish act, and I can see that that is sometimes--or even often?--so. But I don't believe Joshua's suicide was selfish. I think he had lived with pain for a long time and couldn't make it go away. He simply used the last tool in his arsenal to fix the problem. 

Maybe we're the selfish ones for wanting people who are suffering to stay alive anyway--for us. Maybe. 

Anyway...Joshua:

I miss you, my friend. I really meant it when I said I had a huge platonic crush on you. I'm sorry it came to this, but...I think I understand. I don't hold it against you. I hope the end was peaceful. 

Also, thank you for the perspective you gave me, up to the end. I'll hang onto this mindset as long as I can.

And she never deserved you. Not even close. 

RIP, man.

d