I have a friend whom I mentioned in this post several days ago. I titled it with one of the best lines from the movie that nobody mentioned, which really surprised me from some of my more super-movie-watching friends. If we need to have a Ghostbusters-watching night to refresh your memory of a great comedic script, just let me know. But that's not the point.
The point is that this past week I've been preocupied with his suicide threats, which has been a most frustrating ordeal. Imagine getting a month or more of suicidal emails, watching as they get stronger and more agitated. Imagine getting no replies from the email you try to send, no returns to you phone calls, wondering if he's sabatical or dead.
He's several states away. And as of last night when he called me, he hadn't attempted suicide again. But now all of his inner anguish and histrionics are my fault because I tried to help him get professional help. The details to that part of the story are messy and not really necessary.
Once upon a time I had heard about this blog thing that computer geeks did. And then all of the sudden everybody I knew had one -- including him. This is the reason I've attempted not to write a post about his lamentations - it seemed more suited to personal emails and telephone calls. I dont' know if he even reads this blog anymore, and although I sent out a line-by-line email last night that any 1AR would appreciate, there's one last thing I'd like to say.
I have a pretend backpack. Inside of it I carry around all of the things I'm capable of thinking and worrying about. I have an invisible brick dedicated only to my skin. I have a brick for my family. I have a brick that wants to go home. I have a brick for work drama. I have bricks for aspects of my life, and I carry them around with me in my backpack, which has stretched mightily over the years. I can carry more bricks now than I ever could ten years ago, but there's still a finite number of invisible bricks that I'm able to carry around with me.
Your brick is too big for my backpack. It's grown like Audrey II and my fingers are bleeding from trying to make room for it. I've tried to help, but I don't know anything else that I can do for you --- this, my friend, will ultimately be your decision.
I'm not abandoning your brick, but I have trimmed it down. I will not allow you to create a situation where your suicide becomes my fault or moral responsibility. Your selfishness will not take up any room in my backpack.
That's all that I have to say this morning. Kudos to you if you picked up on my Little Shop of Horrors references. There might be hope for you yet.
There's always hope.
Enjoying: One Painted Hand
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