One week.

A week has passed since my friend died, and I’ve awkwardly stumbled my way through the emotions. I’ve discovered that when serious situations strike, I need to be kept busy. Maybe so it doesn’t make me think as much.

I met Young Engineer through my friend, the Overanalyzer about 5 years ago. Hard to believe it was so long ago. He was still a teenager, and I in my mid-20’s at that point, but we got along swimmingly. He was incredibly intelligent, cute and quirky. He and my friend dated for over 3 years. When they broke up it practically broke O. I cannot imagine what his death did. I didn’t know what to do but apparently decided that food was the answer. I guess now when death occurs I turn into an Italian grandmother or something. I insist on cooking and feeding people.

I bought a severe amount of groceries and went over to O’s after I returned from Vancouver. I wanted to spend time with him, but needed a project. I hate sitting around when someone is sad. So we made pizza from scratch, and stuffed some peppers, and tested out a pasta salad. Considering I am just learning how to cook, it all came out fantastic, but the best part was O’s mum saying how happy she was O was eating something. I guess seeing food made over a few hours builds an appetite.

We talked about Young sporadically while making the dough and stuffing the peppers. Young and I had talked about depression a few times in the past. I struggle with it, and had a bad bout when I was 15. I told him what it took for me to get a hold of myself and move on, and he told me how he felt. We both criticized the methods of current drug prescribing practices, and what it took us to keep going. I mentioned that a big turning point for me was the old saying, “I would die for you.” I used to use that a lot at my worst. But then, I would die for just about any reason back then. It wasn’t until I thought of my mum (after I had been institutionalized) that it occurred to me that it meant more to live for someone. I felt I could die for anyone? Big deal. Living for someone was a hell of a lot harder, and I set that as my new goal. If for a while I could at least live for my mum, then maybe one day I could live for myself. I am mostly there now.

It hurts me that Young couldn’t do that for himself. It hurts me that there was more we could have talked about. It hurts me that we lost touch this past year and that he made the choice he made. But he doesn’t have to live with it, we do. O does. His friends and family do. I can’t blame him though, he’s already blamed himself enough. But, I miss all the things we talked about. It’s funny how death stains life so much. We used to sit at my place, with our friend Butler making us waffles while we watched cartoons. When I saw waffles the other day I started crying. Stupid, really. But I did. I am again.

So I made pizza because I didn’t know what to do. We ate, and later on I went home. And I thought about who and what I would live for. Does an event like this make you cherish life more? Or do we instead focus so much on the hollow, gaping holes in life that we lose ourselves? I’ve felt without purpose for a while now, but have been making a life for myself, slowly. Yet this makes me feel more awash at sea. No land in sight. And it’s night. But there is something peaceful about that to me. On a boat. The moon shining down. And I am alone. Then there is peace. I have chosen the boat instead of the sea. And for now, that is enough.

Rest.