Letters in Yearbooks

Forward: I posted this yesterday with all real names and places, but found that google picked it up with a smile name/terms search. I can't have certain people finding this blog, so as important as it is for my friend to be named, I cannot name him. His real name is also the name of a city, so I chose another city name to use here. Because of this, he remains as anonymous in death as he thought he was in life.



I found out today that a good friend of mine from adolescence, Carson, committed suicide. According to an article in his college newspaper, he killed himself September 18th, last year. The article said he "died unexpectedly in his home," but I know he killed himself. His friends all know. None of his good friends were formally or informally informed of his death. The people he'd known for two years while attending college were told by the school, and were able to hold their own memorial. But the people he grew up with found out by chance, through googling his name and some key words.

Carson was one of the best friends I had in High School, though few people knew. At first I met him through a boy I knew, and I wasn't keen on him. Carson was the very definition of pretentious, but once you got to know him there was an undeniably sweet and loyal side to him that made you want to be his friend. We were in several classes together, and often sat with each other and talked between classes and after school. For a time we messaged online every day, and then we'd email back and forth. Even when things soured with the friend who introduced us, Carson remained my loyal companion.

Socially awkward to a fault, it was difficult to spend time with him. He craved attention, especially female attention, and dreamed often of a pretty girl with long brown hair who was smart and who could love him as he was. At times he made strained and bizarre passes at me, but I never knew how to react and he was too scared to follow through. There were times when I distinctly loved him. And there were times, on and off, when I wanted to ask him out - but I was scared to do it and I was scared of what that would do to our friendship. He was there for me when I needed someone to talk to, and I was there for him. I think that's why I loved him. He was the first person I knew who didn't just take from me. I believe we liked each other, but at different times. I never told him that.

When he told me he was moving to Germany to finish high school he seemed lost and heartbroken. I left him a long, full page letter in his yearbook explaining how much he meant to me. I told him that I'd never have been able to get through my sophomore year without him. I told him that he was a crutch I could lean on, and that I'd always be one for him - even from so far away. I told him that distance would not diminish our friendship. I told him how strong he was, and how he could make it through anything. And I signed it, after a slight hesitation, with "Love, [name]." I left my phone number, my email, my screen name, and a final note promising we'd be in touch.

And we were.

While he was in Germany I emailed back and forth with him every few days. A few years later he became depressed, and stopped responding. I tried to write more, but I never got replies. Then one day he writes me back and says he got into one of the best schools in our state - which is also one of the best in the country. We remained in touch for a time, but again he dropped off. I tried email, but to no avail. Then he writes me again: he took a bottle of pills and tried to kill himself. Campus police found him and pumped his stomach. I was devastated. I sobbed, and I told him how happy I was he failed and reminded him again that he would always be my friend, no matter what. We talked a lot after that, and he thanked me for "being the best friend" he could "ever have." Looking back I think he must have been lying, or desperate for someone to say that to... because he'd disappear again and leave me worried and wondering what happened.

A few months later he was gone and I was searching all over the web trying to find a trace of him. Then a good friend of mine who I didn't think knew Carson very well told me he'd been calling her a lot. He'd gotten into an Ivy League school. Many people who knew him told me that he wouldn't talk to them anymore, quoting him as saying, "it's lonely at the top" before giving his friends the boot. I was angry. I was furious. I'd been there for him in such dark times and barely pulled him out, and he had the gall to ditch me. Not wanting to believe this, I called the main campus line and asked for his room number. He answered the phone, and only sort of kept up his end of the conversation. He told me he was busy. At the Ivy League there were so many things to do...

I didn't believe him. I thought he was lonely. I kept calling him, but after a while he stopped answering. I tried email, but he ignored my letters. I tried snail mail, again ignored. I was heartbroken. My letter to Carson, which he once told me he read over and over, was the first genuine note I'd ever left in a yearbook. When I wrote it, I didn't doubt it was sincere and true. But ignoring me was hurting me too much. And at that point I knew and declared that Carson would probably kill himself one day and I'd never know - and that, to me, was scary.

I was wrong.

Not knowing is so much better.

A few months ago I mentioned Carson to some friends of mine. I told them, purposely holding back emotion, that Carson was probably dead now, or working on a Ph.D. -- I had no idea I was right. I'm profoundly sad that I was right.

A friend of mine, the one Carson called so much his first year at the Ivy League, left me a voicemail telling me that she got a message on Facebook with a link to an article saying Carson died. He'd killed himself. Last. Fucking. Year. And no one knew. I really liked believing that he might be out there somewhere. I always had this small hope he'd made it in the world, and now I don't know what to do... now that the hope is gone.