Work depression still at the forefront, a week ago I was in Wales overnight for a team meeting. My team, my boys, the ones with whom I feel like I have been to war to get this project off the ground, the ones that I would go to the mats for should there be a hint that their jobs were in danger. We have become not unlike the cast of Friends-we know where we have each other, we know what works, and we don't take kindly to newcomers trying to come in and upset the flow, even if the newcomer looks like Christina Applegate.

That night we decided to go for a swim in the attached spa. We all got our swimsuits on, and despite my initial concern that people I work with would be seeing me in a swimsuit (a one-piece, since I am concluding that my two-piece days might be over), we all had a great time swimming, sitting in the jaccuzi talking work, and relaxing by the side of the pool scoping our next project.

Even when we are chilling, we are unable to chill.

That night by the bar, a phone call came through. It was another of our project managers, Greg, who was on holiday with his family. He was leaving his family for the evening to join us at the hotel, to drink with us and eat with us and tell stories with us. It didn't make much sense to me why he would bail out of a family holiday, but then I don't lead his life, so I shrugged and went about my evening.

We hired a minibus to take all of us to a curry house, where we watched the spectacular display of lightning outside the enormous windows. I sat in the corner next to Roy, one of the project managers I work the closest with, and Peter, a chap new to the team but one who fits in evenly and well. They talk to me, keep me plied with wine, and we share food off the enormous curry plates. The boys have been handling me with kid gloves lately, not because they're worried I'm going to get them thrown off the project as I did with the vendor that insulted me, but more because that they think I am feeling a bit fragile, a bit sore, a bit damaged. It means a lot to me that they appear to be circling the wagons, and I swear to myself that I will not let them down.

During the meal Roy leans over to me. "Helen, do you know why Greg came along?"

I like butter garlic sauce from my fingers. "No, actually. It seemed very weird that he did come along. Do you know why?"

Roy reaches for a naan and rips a piece off with his fingers. "His Mum's in hospital, unconscious."

I chew and swallow. "Is she ok? Is Greg ok?"

Roy smiles sadly. "They don't know. She tried to kill herself, Helen."

I look to the end of the table, where Greg is sitting with his head thrown back in extreme laughter. "My God, Roy."

Roy nods. "He said he just wanted to be with friends tonight, to try to laugh."

The truth is, suicide has been on my mind, lately-not as in something for me to attempt, but the general concept and what it all meant that snowy winter. I have been on a binge lately of reading dark and painful books, reading stories of people's lives that hurt too much and are too raw. I have been listening to aching and distraught music, perhaps as a result of my own darkened humor and depression.

I read a book recently, James Frey's autobiography A Million Little Pieces. It was fucked up, painful, and beautiful. It had me thinking in streams of consciousness for a week, and when I was done I found that the comma was my best friend. It also had something that rang so true in it that I had the wind knocked out of me.

He said in a dialog with his therapist where he explains his take on suicide and addiction (the therapist has the first line, welcome to stream of consciousness writing):

You think suicide is an act of bravery?
No, I think it's cowardly, just like I think addiction is cowardly. But I do think that they both require a certain kind of pathetic strength.
Strength?
You have to be fairly strong to feel anything as powerful as hatred or self- hatred. Addiction and suicide are not for the weak.
I think that's ridiculous.
Ridiculous things can be true.

I look at Greg and am not sure what this all means, I can't figure out how to compute it all. I've always been on the other side of the open pill bottle, a side that doesn't stop to think about others when we absolutely should. Ridiculous things can be true. I wanted to stand up and run across the table and sit beside him and hug him, I wanted to tell him that it wasn't because of him, and it wasn't in spite of him. It just wasn't him, it wasn't him, it wasn't him. It was her, and it was wrong, and it must be horrible, and it happened but it was outside of him, that it was her.

I do none of this. Suicide is like a fingerprint-they're all different. People don't fall down the same way, and people don't get back up again the same way. This is his pain and nothing I say could possibly help.

Later back at the bar, I make my excuses. I'm not interested in hangovers or dodgy stomachs, I have to run the meeting the next morning and a phone call home has me in a terrible mood, so I throw in the towel when the alcohol levels have reached the easy saturation point.

I go to the bar, where Greg has just ordered another bottle of alcohol to feed to the group sitting in the comfy couches by the plasma TV. "Helen! You leaving us?" he shouts, acting gutted and trying to balance an extra glass in his other hand.

"I'm tired, Greg. I just want to get some sleep!" I say wanly. He grins at me. "Greg?" I ask. "You know, I am always here for you. If something was on your mind, or anything like that. I'm just saying, if you ever needed me to listen, I'm here."

Greg's smile fades, and he sets the bottle on the bar. He drops his head, before turning around and gripping me in a vise-like hug. "Thank you, Helen." he says hoarsely to the side of my head. "I mean it, thank you." He drops me and picks up the glasses off the bar again. He shakes his head and turns to me and the party mask back in place. More than anything, I understand this. I understand masks and lying and being someone else to try to get through a situation, and I clap him on the shoulder and I leave.

Ridiculous things can be true.

When I get home I put all the dark books away and take out the last Harry Potter book. I go and download the one song, All I Want, that never, ever fails to make me happy. I put on my pajamas and put the song on repeat and I dance around the study in the sunlight because the darkness and despair of work is fading. I dance around because I am alive and my questions about that snowy winter may never be answered, but maybe they no longer need to be.

I am alive.
I am alive.
I am alive.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 07:54 AM | Comments (10) | Add Comment
Post contains 1310 words, total size 7 kb.

1 I agree whole-heartedly...dump the "dark" books. Life is "dark" enough without inviting more of it into our lives.

Posted by: Solomon at July 05, 2005 01:20 PM (k1sTy)

2 I cant remember who, but someone said that suicide requires a "peculier blend of bravery and cowardice." Happy 4th, rock on!

Posted by: That Girl at July 05, 2005 01:26 PM (gu1Ur)

3 That whole album is good.

Posted by: pylorns at July 05, 2005 01:40 PM (lXbab)

4 Recently found your blog through another page and have been reading through. Although I am particularly enjoying your writing, I am also a little heartbroken, but in a normal, feeling for others kind of way. you seem to be able to write about pain in a way that I would like to, but can't. You probably get this all the time, but you have a certain gift for conveying honest feelings without getting all mushy, and feelings about pain without getting into calls for pity. I like that. I can relate although I can't write about it, not yet. Anyway, I hope the dark clouds lighten up a little for you and that you are able to enjoy some of the warmer happier summer weather.

Posted by: wn at July 05, 2005 01:48 PM (zh/oU)

5 Helen, I second what WN said. And the answer to your last line: We are so happy that you are....alive......and sharing your wonderful writing with us.

Posted by: kenju at July 05, 2005 02:21 PM (Ze7zw)

6 I tried to kill myself once. I remember crying and sobbing, begging and pleading with God to give me the strength to do it. I sat there with a straight razor to my wrist, pressing it as hard as I could. I remember thinking about how my father would be the one to find me and I just couldn't do it to him. If he's driving to work in the morning and he hears on the radio that there's an accident on the road that I drive, he'll call to make sure I wasn't involved. He'll randomly call to make sure I'm buckled up if he knows I'm driving somewhere. I just couldn't do it. I never knew if that made me thoughtful or cowardly. That thing is, I don't even remember what had me that upset that I wanted everything to just be finished. I'm just glad that I didn't go through with it. I don't have any children but I want them someday. I spend time with my nieces and nephews and the thought of not being there as they grow, it's stupid. I'm glad that you weren't successful. So, so, so fucking glad. I think it's good to question things, it makes us grow. Answers aren't all they're cracked up to be, though. Good things are coming to you, I promise. On a lighter note: I hope you had an awesome 4th of July! We had a huge party at our house, including a massive fireworks display. There was one that was just...beyond impressive. I believe it was called "The Beastmaster" or something, lol. I thought of you as they were going off. There I was, lying on by back on the deck, looking up at this shower of fire and it was beautiful. I was there with my friends and family and I just felt so loved and wanted. I have you to thank for that awareness. Instead of worrying about inconsequential things, I just enjoyed their company. Sorry for the wordy post this morning. Apparently I'm a little chatty.

Posted by: Lindsay at July 05, 2005 02:32 PM (9AP/4)

7 I'm so glad you're alive.

Posted by: RP at July 05, 2005 06:06 PM (LlPKh)

8 Believe me, I know what it is like to put on that party mask. Yet, sometimes, it really isn't a mask. Some of us going through hard times NEED to laugh, NEED to have fun, NEED to do something enjoyable to get away from whatever painful reality they may face in private. I've been having an ongoing family crisis the past two years. In the next few weeks I'm going to find out if things will get better, or if things will get worse. Right now, it appears to be a 50/50 coin flip. I almost posted details during your "secrets week", but I chickened out. Guess I didn't see enough regular readers share theirs. Oh well. Yet I've decided that, whatever happens, I still want to do things that I enjoy. I still want to laugh, I still want to have fun. I don't want to give in and be finished. Reading your blog is really an inspiration. Keep it up. And don't give in to the dark. PS- Good to hear that your team is rallying around you.

Posted by: diamond dave at July 05, 2005 09:40 PM (zxjPs)

9 Dark, melancholy thoughts and feelings can be an addiction. Just a powerful as heroin. And just as deadly....I finally got over my addictions... I think Yeah...skipping and dancing in the light!!!! rock on.

Posted by: J.M at July 06, 2005 06:20 AM (km1Da)

10 Just heard about the incidents in London, just hoping your ok.

Posted by: Juls at July 07, 2005 01:22 PM (8gbv2)

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