Don't Have the Words
Sep. 16th, 2002 11:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morrigirlI'm not going to class today. I can't, I'm emotionally battered. Dean Bailey agreed to excuse any absences I may incur due to Kirk.
I was only able to sleep for three hours last night. I woke up this morning thinking of him.
It's all the same thoughts running through my head: why did he do it? what was he thinking? did he cry? was it an impulsive act or did he really want to die this time? what kind of pain was he in? was there anything that could have been done to save him? And on and on.
I've been looking up various suicide survivors websites on the net, and they all say you should keep asking why until you don't need to know why anymore. Because you will never find out. But you do need to ask as part of the grieving process.
My mood swings from numbness to complete devastation. Right now as I'm writing this, I feel stunned, I feel blank. But just a few moments agao when I decided I wanted to write this entry, I was crying.
I try to find good things about this. At least he will never suffer, physically or emotionally, ever ever again. He will not feel alone or isolated. He will never grow old, I will always remember him young and vital. He will not have to carry the burdens of life upon his back any longer.
As I reminisce about his pain I am finding that I didn't know jack shit about what kind of pain he was in. He never spoke about it. He never told anybody why he wanted to kill himself so badly. He never wanted to burden other with his problems. I don't know what it was about life that he found so unbearable. He talked about his cold and abusive mother, about being isolated, being bored, unemployed, broke, having no friends, but he always brushed it all off like they were no big deal. If that stuff didn't contribute to it then what did? It probably mattered more then I realized. Only there was nothing I could do to change any of it.
Alan says Kirk lived to die. And he is right. It was his primary goal all summer long, and in that sense he was dead before I even met him. After that first attempt back in July he was gone. He was going to keep trying until he got it right. And he did. If he had some how failed this weekend, he would have tried again and again until he got the result he wanted. It didn't help that he wasn't getting any good psychiatric treatment. St. Vincent's was a joke. And his aftercare was atrocious! Alan even suggests that Kirk was misdiagnosed. He thinks Kirk had an obscure form of schizophrenia, as oppose to major depression. Alan is the smartest shrink I've ever met so I trust his judgement.
All Kirk really wanted was to die. Maybe I should be happy that he finally got the thing he so desired.
Kirk made me two promises when we started, going out I guess. He said he would never cheat on me, and he would never break up with me.
He made good on both promises.
But no matter how much I pushed him, he never promised he wouldn't kill himself. Even after the second attempt when I told him that his death would have completely unhinged me.
He always said he knew he would die by his own hand whether it was a day, a month, or thirty years later. He alwayse said he would come to an unfortunate end. Even so, I chose to care about him mistakenly hoping that I might inspire within him a reason to live. I was thinking that if things kept going well between us I might not move to Chicago after school, but go back to NY and con him into getting a real apartment with me. He used to always say stuff about us living together one day, and how we had lots of time so we didn't need to rush into anything. The last time I saw him he was like "I'll see you when you come back for Christmas. I have a feeling, it's gonna be a very special time for us."
He was looking forward to spending more time with me. What made him throw that away so suddenly?
Words are failing me now. I think I need to go.
Kirk Nachamkin
Oct. 7, 1973 - Sept. 13, 2002
Rest in Peace
I was only able to sleep for three hours last night. I woke up this morning thinking of him.
It's all the same thoughts running through my head: why did he do it? what was he thinking? did he cry? was it an impulsive act or did he really want to die this time? what kind of pain was he in? was there anything that could have been done to save him? And on and on.
I've been looking up various suicide survivors websites on the net, and they all say you should keep asking why until you don't need to know why anymore. Because you will never find out. But you do need to ask as part of the grieving process.
My mood swings from numbness to complete devastation. Right now as I'm writing this, I feel stunned, I feel blank. But just a few moments agao when I decided I wanted to write this entry, I was crying.
I try to find good things about this. At least he will never suffer, physically or emotionally, ever ever again. He will not feel alone or isolated. He will never grow old, I will always remember him young and vital. He will not have to carry the burdens of life upon his back any longer.
As I reminisce about his pain I am finding that I didn't know jack shit about what kind of pain he was in. He never spoke about it. He never told anybody why he wanted to kill himself so badly. He never wanted to burden other with his problems. I don't know what it was about life that he found so unbearable. He talked about his cold and abusive mother, about being isolated, being bored, unemployed, broke, having no friends, but he always brushed it all off like they were no big deal. If that stuff didn't contribute to it then what did? It probably mattered more then I realized. Only there was nothing I could do to change any of it.
Alan says Kirk lived to die. And he is right. It was his primary goal all summer long, and in that sense he was dead before I even met him. After that first attempt back in July he was gone. He was going to keep trying until he got it right. And he did. If he had some how failed this weekend, he would have tried again and again until he got the result he wanted. It didn't help that he wasn't getting any good psychiatric treatment. St. Vincent's was a joke. And his aftercare was atrocious! Alan even suggests that Kirk was misdiagnosed. He thinks Kirk had an obscure form of schizophrenia, as oppose to major depression. Alan is the smartest shrink I've ever met so I trust his judgement.
All Kirk really wanted was to die. Maybe I should be happy that he finally got the thing he so desired.
Kirk made me two promises when we started, going out I guess. He said he would never cheat on me, and he would never break up with me.
He made good on both promises.
But no matter how much I pushed him, he never promised he wouldn't kill himself. Even after the second attempt when I told him that his death would have completely unhinged me.
He always said he knew he would die by his own hand whether it was a day, a month, or thirty years later. He alwayse said he would come to an unfortunate end. Even so, I chose to care about him mistakenly hoping that I might inspire within him a reason to live. I was thinking that if things kept going well between us I might not move to Chicago after school, but go back to NY and con him into getting a real apartment with me. He used to always say stuff about us living together one day, and how we had lots of time so we didn't need to rush into anything. The last time I saw him he was like "I'll see you when you come back for Christmas. I have a feeling, it's gonna be a very special time for us."
He was looking forward to spending more time with me. What made him throw that away so suddenly?
Words are failing me now. I think I need to go.
Kirk Nachamkin
Oct. 7, 1973 - Sept. 13, 2002
Rest in Peace
