Today is the anniversary of the death of my best friend.
I cannot describe how much beauty the world lost in her, but I’ll try: She was one of the most beautiful, compassionate people I have ever known- happy to share in others joy but feeling pain just as deeply. She was utterly obsessed with Westlife which I teased her mercilessly about- (as much as she did to me for my Axl Rose crush)! I’m not sure we had ever been strangers; within a minute of meeting it was as if we had known each other all our lives. She had a stutter that disappeared completely when she sang and I think anyone who knew her could listen to her sing for hours. She cooked amazing scrambled egg and her Dolly Parton impression had me in stitches on the floor. Her future plans were never truly formed- though she considered being a herbal therapist, most of the time she just wanted to get through the day.
I think I knew from quite early on, that I would not be able to keep her in this world no matter how hard I tried, and on this day, aged 14 she killed herself.
You cannot solely blame one person, or even a group of people, for the death of someone who died by their own hand, but I believe that had she not been tormented every day, every hour (literally, and including being told to kill herself) by sick, cruel, overprivileged bullies, she may still be alive today. Rather than dwell on this, I try to make my success my revenge and every day that I find myself faltering, I remind myself that I am living for two and need to do this. I must succeed, for the world must one day hear what I have to say.
I was thinking about her this morning as I set up my writing notes and looked out of the window at the sparrows investigating the food I’d left out for them. I believe in reincarnation to an extent (the breaking down of cells and sharing of atoms etc), and was then reminded quite suddenly, that part of her may have been in them.