Work Text:
in front of my desk, there is a big window. it’s big and square, nestled between my two bookshelves and hits just above the horizon of my desk. through it, i realize the fleeting distance between two worlds.
today, a friend called me up and cried that a good friend of hers has committed suicide. she said they were getting better, but something happened and… i was of course – like anyone privy to that piece of information would be – at a loss for words. i scrambled to text my condolences and sent her a music playlist to listen to, and to mourn to. but i realized as i tried to type “it’s going to be okay,” before the word “seen” appeared below my last message, that my mind was at a loss too. to be more accurate, it was whirring with a million different thoughts, and i was having trouble to filter out which one to save for myself, which one to vocalize, and which to scold my brain for even thinking of. it’s complicated, is it not? to feel as though you were, and are, in the exact same state of mind as the victim of suicide, that it has been so close to you before had you not succumbed to the what-could-have-been, to see the what-could-have-been personalized right in front of your face, the sense of guilt taking the form of streams of sadness and mourning filtering through a couple of Instagram DMs. it’s always startling to stand on the other side of the fence and to truly understand what it feels like to be the other person, not through the almighty power of sympathy, but through actually forcing yourself – or rather, falling – into their shoes. and it’s no difference here. as i’m writing this, i still am at a loss for words, i feel tears tipping over the edge and such an immense sadness and loss for a relationship and a person that i never even knew. this is not about me, i keep scolding myself. but i can’t help but feel that it could have been me, it still might be me. it’s so frightening to think that even through seeing myself from the other side and facing the wrath of my friend’s utter sadness, my depressive thoughts still might not concede. it’s a monstrous thing, and it feels too big and too macro for me to even comprehend, like how we sometimes turn our brains inside out thinking about our rabbit hole of life problems.
so it’s strange now to peel up my blinds just enough to look at my window. and to think of how i still vividly remember the days i spent on my desk looking down the streets seven stories below me instead of studying, just thinking about the what ifs. i always have my blinds pulled down, mostly because i don’t like how the sun hits my bed directly and its glaring, hot rays itching my skin when all i want to do is to cozy up under my blanket and forget about the world, but perhaps somewhat because i’m scared of the temptation, of having that option always open to me, just a glance away. and now that i saw how different my world – my friends, family, even my pets – would be like if i had acted on what i felt so inclined to every time i stare down at the busy city streets below, it feels as if there are two different monstrous things battling at each other right in front of me, the one outside my window and the one just a few steps away, outside my bedroom door, inside my parents’ hearts. it’s quite a cliche thing to put into words, but it feels much more easier to say it like so and to pretend that the things around me and the things conjured up inside my head are tangible and easily discernible, and not at all chaotic like their realities.
i’m not opening my blinds today, not even hopping onto my desk to give myself the opportunity to do so. today i’m my friend’s shoulder to cry on, and tonight i’ll contemplate my friend’s tears in the comfort of my bed, cozied up under my blanket. we can always deal with pain and loss tomorrow.
condolences to the victim’s loved ones, i hope they’re in a better place now.