6:32 PM, Thursday, Mar. 24, 2011
A girl in the year below me passed away from implied suicide.
There are so many things to consider from here.
I hardly knew the girl, I only knew her face, yet I was on the verge of crying. I started thinking, what if it was someone closer to me that had died? What if it were my family? This must be how that girl's friends and family feel, only a hundred times stronger. Can this really happen to us? We are so young, we are too young to experience this. Death. We are not ready for death. I recall her in my memories, images of her being, and to think that she will never appear before me again. It feels surreal. But inside, I feel hollow. How could this happen? She is so close, so close to me, I can't ignore it. I see some people bawling, some people indifferent. I shout in my head, Why are you crying when you didn't even know her? Why do you make the rest of us feel worse? or Why aren't you crying, why are you acting normal? Why aren't you feeling anything? I don't know what to think, I just know, that I can't ignore it, I can't be indifferent, and as much as I want to cry, I don't want to. I start feeling scared. What of? Not death itself, but of how easy it is to lose someone to death. Morning comes and they're gone. What happened to their future, the times which they always assumed would always be there. I'm scared, because it was so close, I'm scared of how easy it is for it to happen to somebody I know.
Was I always like this? Didn't I say I couldn't care less if someone I knew died? Well it was a lie, obviously. I'm affected so much more than I thought I'd be. Walking around school and it feels like everyone has lost something from their souls, like something has torn apart their insides and carries it on their shoulders. The air was so tense, I can't imagine what it looked like from the outside. It felt like the world had crashed down upon us, like we're suddenly old men drinking pointlessly at tobacco scented bars. I look around at everything suddenly differently: I was always fretting about appearances, what other people thought, boys, school work, parents, money, all this worrisome shit but of which are nothing compared to a life itself. It's so, so precious and we take it for granted, unconsciously. Why is it that we need a girl to commit suicide before we wake up and realise this? Before we realise that we're all the same, the differences we put between us are trivial because we're all the same.
I think I need a counselor.