LAC- suicide

I read a story earlier about suicide and how it is so much different than normal deaths. There are so many unanswered questions with suicide; so much negativity - it's terrible.

A quote about my ex-boyfriend, my almost ex-fiance:

---

[Goodnight], Lost Boys, now it's [time] to DrEaM...

...to DrEaM how [wonderful] your life will be.

"I don't understand people and their drugs...you know?
Drugs and diaries....If I had been one of those kids that kept a diary, the entries from the years, like, 8 to say, well....now, would have to been:
Got high, ate candy!"
From the candy-coated, colourful mind of Lee Alexander Carnovale. (x Skull Candy x)

A heavy heart. It's all I can explain it as. Like a sunken ship, crashed upon the rocky shores. I'm stranded...at a loss. Loss...Lost. To be lost, to lose something. Someone. One. Whole. Hole. Pieces. Losing a piece. Missing. Empty. Numb.

All my life I've been the subject of ridicule. The child of a German ex-militia and a Japanese mail-order bride. "Kamikaze Nazi" they called me. For years I was hounded. And it was only going to get worse. By my mid-teens, my parents would abandon me, ashamed of their faggot son. And after much discovery; shameless acts of rage, lust, sorrow and self-pity, I would arrive to be the man I am today, despite it all. I took each punch to the face as it came. Let it all roll off my shoulders.


But...what about those who are trampled? So overwhelmed with the hate in the world today that they can barely lift their weary, dizzy head? Who would want to wake up in this age today?

One less teen. One less life. One less day to face.

I've lost many a thing this passing week and a half. A best friend, a little brother, a confidant, a partner in crime, a pain in the ass, a spirit to uplift, a reason to cook breakfast, a reason to stay home, a worthy opponent for SSB, uncountable migraines induced by crappy music, random gigglefits at my expense, a smiling face, a cheerful voice, a platonic love I could depend on, a life worth living.

At eighteen years young, Lee Alexander Carnovale....known on Gaia as x Skull Candy x, took his own life. He was a part of me, and a part of everyone he blessed with his candy-induced giggles and smiles. However irritating he might have been at points, Lee could always manage to get one to smile. Even when said boy was bouncing on your bed at two in the morning and raining skittles down upon the room around him.

Famous for his obsession with all things pink and his never-ending love for white jellybeans, Lee was a fascinating spectacle to watch. Everything from his "cheap confetti" (which consisted of rocks and pebbles) to drawing little trails of jellybeans and assorted candies all over his leg cast.


Even with a shining new leg brace, nothing could keep him down.

But something dark swelled beneath the surface. Something he managed to keep hidden. Why, I haven't the faintest clue. Being a youth councellor to hundreds of troubled teens, I expected to have seen it. But one doesn't usually like to mix work with personal life. I suppose, subconsciously, I blocked it out. Misheard the gentle weeping in the next room for stifled giggles. Misinterpretted the tear in his eye as the sun glared through the wide windows of the apartment.

It eats at me...feasting on my heartstrings, not knowing why he did it. Who put a damper on his spark for life? There's a lot of blame going around...

But when things go unanswered, we all just need someone or something to blame. There are literally thousands of factors.


But which one tipped him off?

...I [p r o m i s e ] we will >>never<< ---grow--- up...

It's quiet in my home now. Much too quiet. There's no laughter here anymore...no stepping on jellybeans whilst wandering to the bathroom in the middle of the night...no candied fingerprints on the refridgerator door.

And then....I realize something.

This isn't home anymore.

My home was filled with rucous laughter, horsing around, breaking furniture, waking the neighbours, receiving cookies from the senile bat next door for being "special", there's no smell of burnt oreo's and marshmallows wafting from the microwave, no icecream melting in the bowl, forgotten as another round of SSB starts up. No late nights hearing Disney movies being watched, and the favoured scene rewound to watch again, in the middle of the night.

But I can't bring myself to pack up his things.


Even sitting here, I can see one of his shoes peeking out from behind the armchair. And his pink zippered hoodie draped over the bedpost.

There's skittles in the bed...my bed. Which he usurped and claimed as his own for the past four months.

The bedsheets smell like candy.

---

It almost hurts to read this again, I can just imagine those bright blue eyes, and ear-to-ear grins. His stories about mannequins in stores just "attacking" him. Seven! How could someone knock over seven of them. He also would get stuck in escalators because of his torn up jeans. I'll never forget all our made up words to describe our stories that we made up on the spot to see who could make the other laugh harder. Lee had a level of childishness (to say the least!) that brought back the pure and natural beauty of curiosity and unconditional love.

Unconditional love. I don't think that's something anyone will ever actually find. Every 'love' is conditional on something- how much money you make, how much you spend, what you look like, what you act like, what you've done, even your sex- I've had to learn that the hard way. But I think found it. Once. That unconditional, over-the-moon, not-missing-you-because-I-have-you, waking-up-in-the-morning-with-a-smile-because-you're-mine love. Just the mention of his name still lights up my face, brings a smile. Our relationship had magic to it, a spark. Our feelings were palpable by everyone. How do you move on from that? How do you let that slip from your grip?

We had a lot in common; a mother who didn't want us, assaults, being hated for standing up for what we believed in, and, needing more therapy than money could ever buy. His suicide didn't blindside anybody. We all knew it, we just.. didn't acknowledge the upcoming danger. It was in our face and we turned away. Well, most of us, others prodded, and he gave us bits and pieces scattered throughout all his friends. A huge puzzle, but he never let on that he had a plan, or time, or place. I don't think that he did. I think he visited his mother, and that was the straw that broke the camels back. I'll never forget his best friend breaking the news to me. The week I just slept and barely made it to school.

The following week I met my current roommate. He's kept me alive, safe, sound, and surprisingly happy. Jesse was having a hard time of his own then, but even though he had his problems, mine usually came first. Maybe to escape his own? Either way, I'm here, now.

RIP angel.

To be continued...