When a Friend Dies, What Happens to the Friendship?
Who am I without my friend?
Many emotions bubbling under the surface, with no logic or order. They say that suicide is the ultimate form of selfishness. Today, I can only see the pain of my friend and the pain of us who are left behind.
We met this year, literally by mistake!
They were lost, looking for a cafe that had been closed during the pandemic and I was trying to help. We ended up chatting on the street about stuff, getting a coffee together, and spending the afternoon walking around. We exchanged IG handles and met again for one more coffee, a drink, a walk, a talk, and a laugh. Every time we met, our connection was growing stronger.
It was refreshing to be friends with someone who saw me and accepted me for who I truly am while using my pronouns and respecting my soul as I did to them. We exchanged stories and memories and talked about our lives up to when we met. They shared part of their painful past with me and how they seek the acceptance of their parents. Their journey might have seemed unreal to an outsider but to me, it was about perseverance, uniqueness, and bravery.
They were debating about telling their parents about themselves, and who they truly are, not who their parents see and want them to be. There was a lot of back and forth, discussions over discussions about letting them know. I was hopeful about them, about me. Maybe, maybe one day, I could do the same. And then, when they felt the strongest, they decided to reveal their truest self to their parents.
And they did!
They told their parents who they were. And right then and there, everything changed.
It was Thursday afternoon when a call disrupted my daydream. I was daydreaming about a world where people are accepting, where my parents would fully see me and accept me. I wouldn’t have to be someone else when I would be with them. I could be myself. Me.
That call shattered my dreams and showed me how cruel this world is and that people have become crueler than ever before. And sometimes, those people don’t even comprehend how cruel they have become.
My friend committed suicide.
My friend took their life because their parents couldn’t accept that they identify as non-binary and felt ashamed of who they had become.
My friend decided to leave this world, this never-ending pain, because their parents, people who raised them to be themselves, couldn’t fathom that their child is unique, beautiful, and deserves to be loved for who they are.
This was a huge slap in my face.
I saw my future being unraveled in front of my eyes. I realized I was living in a dream. In reality, my parents aren’t going to be understanding but ashamed of who or what I’ve become and terrified that their friends, neighbors, and people around them are gonna know about me.
My friend’s parents are my parents. They are me. They were me. And I don’t feel strong enough to show my parents who I am. Not yet, not ever?
For now, I grieve my friend’s life and existence; I grieve a life that hasn’t been lived. Is it theirs or is it mine?
Who could I be if I weren’t living in a bind?
Who could I have become if I was able to fully be myself?
