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...

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A little background - Pt. 1

So maybe I should say a little more about myself?

I grew up in a small Christian town. My parents had a house foreclosed and we moved to a one bedroom house which my dad built into a four bedroom, one bath house. It had an attic, main floor, and classic Michigan basement. The electrical, plumbing, duct work, and foundation are terrible, the floor is falling in on itself and it's barely insulated. I'm sure any building inspector (if they were paid on commission for each infraction of building code) would be a millionaire by the time they got done with that house. I was 3 at the time. My dad left (I later found out my mother evicted him) when I was 6. My grandparents died when I was 7, and my mom fell into a depression, resorting to alcohol and chain smoking. She used to be very pretty.

When I was 9 my mom "lost" her job at a glass plant in the next town over. I found out later that she quit because she thought my dad's child support would sustain me, her, and my two older brothers. She would drive by my dad's house and see what he was up to. Finally reunited with my dad, I made his life hell, as much as I could. I hated him. He left me, abandoned me, little did I know he tried as hard as he could to get full custody of me. His first, and only, wife left him around July of '98, as I accidently stumbled upon a conversation of hers - who she was cheating with and when. They told me it wasn't my fault. Of course it was, had I not heard that conversation he wouldn't have known. He moved to Wisconsin soon after, and I'd visit him every other week in summer up there.


In '99, there was the columbine shootings, the following fall, my school district had bomb threats every other day until winter, and as soon as it got warm, they started up again. We had logs of when everyone left the class to go to the bathroom, when we left the class, when we arrived at the bathroom, when we left the bathroom, and when we arrived back to class. On one occasion I was out of the classroom when one of the threats was made, and all the other girls who had been out of their class at the same time, were gathered up and sent to the principals office. If I could remember what that guy said - I'd put money on him losing his job. How he treated us was terrible.

In middle school everyone kind of made their own cliques, almost everyone had one. I refused to get into that sort of nonsense, so I didn't. Sure, I ostrasized myself, but it was by my own hand, the next six years, I didn't have a group, a set group of friends, a certain table to sit at, I was a loner, and I was okay with that.

In 8th grade was the first time I cut my hair very short, about 1/2 long, frosted tips, I'm sure it looked terrible, but I felt so great about it. I looked like my brother, dressed in boys clothes, but didn't know why I was doing it, except that it felt good, it felt right.

9th grade, I sort of found a group, but not friends, I joined theatre. It was great fun, I kept my grades up, 3.98 gpa, and always A's. I had the smallest part in the play - Poppy, in Noises Off. A play inside a play, brilliant. But I soon fell depressed, The fall of 10th grade my drama directors son commited suicide on Thanksgiving, he quit. I quit drama. I started going online to meet friends, saying I was a guy "because I didn't want to be hit on." I loved being called a guy.

And that's when it hit me. I needed to be seen as a guy. Luckily, the androgynous scene of 'emo' was in, I could dress as a guy and just be called emo, not 'dyke' or 'lesbo' or anything.. I dyed my hair and had the emo fringe, and all was good.

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Preset Ideals & Ponderings

What do you see when you think female? And male? Anything in particular? Are there distinct differences between the two? What about a gay? A lesbian? A straight girl? Guy? Bisexual? Transsexual? What do you think when you hear the word 'queen'?

I hate that society has even made these words to differentiate and categorize. People are people, what they do to their image or with their genitalia does not make who they are. Our actions, and prejudices, provide more than enough verbiage to explain a person. How can you possibly form a correct judgment on a person just by knowing who they sleep with? Or how they do their hair or where they shave (or lack thereof?)

Can you still picture your best friend in kindergarten? What made them so great? Their personality, I would bet. They wanted to be friends, have someone to confide in. Not because you were pretty, smart, or wealthy.

How could we, as we age, lose so much over the course of 10 to 13 years? How can forget what really matters? When did we forget to forgive? Treat others as we'd like to be treated? When did it become to keep our heads above the rising water, and go on in this dreary grey world? Why did we stop 'helping thy neighbor'? Is it because we got nothing out of it? What about the warm fuzzy feeling of helping someone else? Why not do good, just to do good? If there were no positives or negatives to be gained or lost would we all be evil for the sake of being evil? Would we not have a conscious?

I don't think people are born inherently evil. I think we've been taught to turn a blind eye, unless there are things to be gained. We've been taught to associate images with words, make patterns- whether they are there or not. What if we weren't to make those associations? And go into everything as though it were completely new? I would hope it would make a differences

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A heavy heart?

I can't quite put it to words what I'm doing here. Is this just to establish a sense of who I am? Putting all of what I've felt into something that is somewhat materialized? Maybe it's all just superficial. Something just for my benefit. I hope this helps someone, somewhere in the long run. I hope it helps me.

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