"We are on this planet to take care of each other. The second we stop holding our arms out to catch people as they fall is the second we lose our humanity." -- Steven Page




I met "E" when we were both eight years old. Even at that young age I knew he was something very rare and special, a "Once In A Lifetime" person. We grew up together, learned from each other, shared our lives in a bond that nobody else could understand. We always had a lot in common... we were the youngest of our grade level, loved reading and writing, clung to our childhoods long after all others had thrown theirs' away despite being forced to grow up far too quickly. We both had abusive, alcoholic fathers that lead to an ever lasting distrust of others and a feeling of inadequacy and isolation, although that wouldn't occur to me until much later in life.

We would spend most days in the old tree house in his grandmother's yard, living our very happy imaginary lives. I was Emelia Sunders, an archeologist and adventurer and he was Avantae O'Riley, a prince who gave up his throne and dull royal life to make his own way and see the world. That tree house was our boat, plane, helicopter, elephant, home, tomb, and sometimes even our spaceship. We knew archeologists and princes very rarely went to space, but that was kind of the point.

Outside that tree house was a different world, a cruel, hurtful world. We were relentlessly tormented by our peers, and returned to homes that were no safer. I took solace in my mother, who was a wonderful kind presence in my life, but "E" didn't even have that. He only had me, he told me that many times but I didn't understand how true it actually was at the time.

Seventh grade, in the mezzo of the hell that is middle school is when I first noticed the scratches beginning to appear. At first I ignored it, he tried to keep them hidden and I pretended not to notice, as it often went when he had fresh bruises or broken bones. There wasn't much that he didn't tell me, I knew he would come around eventually. It was after school one day when I noticed the bright crimson line on his shirt sleeve and pointed it out to him that the truth came out.

We sat in the tree house and he rolled up his sleeves. I audibly gasped when I saw the scars, scabs, cuts, the undeniable timeline of self mutilation in front of me. I cried and hugged him, begged him to stop but he gently pushed me away, held my eyes with his and told me it helped. He told me that for a long time he didn't feel anything and this made him feel again. It took some of the pain and emptiness away. At home that night I tried it for myself and found that he was right.

And so it went for two years, us sharing this new bond, a new secret understanding. Just before high school my parents divorced and my biggest demon left my life. My father's departure brought a previously unknown calm to my world, the feelings of fear and hopelessness quickly faded as did my perceived "need" for cutting. "E"'s world never found calm, and so he pretended he quit as well and I pretended I believed him and didn't notice any fresh wounds.

High school was an entirely new world for us. We were no longer tormented by our peers, in fact, we had many friends and went out with them almost nightly. We still had our time in our tree house, still had our secret understanding. We talked less about our past and more about our futures, "E" spent more time at my house than his own and no new cuts were appearing. Our worlds expanded and were no longer completely revolving around each other. The bond we shared (that I would only much later in life recognize as co-dependency) was still strong, but it had opened up room for other people and things.

Halfway through sophomore year, "E"'s father died of a drug overdose. Not long after I found out that "E" himself was using as well. I told him I couldn't be around him like that and made a firm stand. Many times he pretended he quit, it would be four months before I pretended to believe him.

That May, he told me goodbye and disappeared for a month. He was going for treatment he said, he wanted a different life. When he returned he was a completely different person, for the first time since I'd known him he seemed genuinely happy. He talked about college, about legally changing his name to Avantae O'Riley and becoming a counselor for troubled youth. We promised whatever different paths our futures took we would always find a way to be together, at least in spirit, and never go more than a week without talking.

August 3rd that same summer, at 3:06 AM was when I was awoken from a restless sleep on the couch by a mutual friend and "E"'s neighbor at the door. He took my hand and lead me back to the couch, sat me down and told me that "E" was dead. He had shot himself in the head.

I don't remember much after that. Hysteria/grief/disbelief took over. I remember calling him a liar, telling him this was a cruel and horrible joke to play on somebody, telling him he was a terrible person. I remembered the night before "E" and I were in the tree house, he had two boxes up there and when I asked him what they were he had told me they were secret and not to look in them until it was the right time. When I asked him when it would be the right time he just told me I would know. For two days I cried, I wanted to die myself but could never bring myself to do it. I was angry, I felt as though he had betrayed me, I hated him, cursed him for leaving me. I didn't understand how he could be so selfish, how he could hurt me in this way.

I went to the funeral and looked through my tears across the coffin at the dry eyes of his family. I wanted to punch them. I wanted to shake them and scream that they did this, this was their fault. Closed-casket, Christian ceremony.... he wanted to be cremated and he wasn't Christian. I took it personal, like it was their final insult... like they couldn't let him go without one last "screw you".

After the funeral I returned to our tree house. I sat and cried, staring at the two boxes. I kicked and punched the walls until my knuckles bled. I screamed "I hate you", I screamed "I miss you", I just screamed. I carried on until I couldn't anymore and again sat, exhausted, staring at the boxes. Finally, I loaded them into my trunk and went home, where I placed them in the closet in my room, and where they sat for two more months.

I'm not sure what made me decide to open them. I guess maybe he knew what he was talking about when he said I would just know when the time was right. One was full of notebooks and journals. His writings, his poetry. I lightly touched the covers, gently turned the pages, cried at seeing his barely legible writing again.

The second box contained tapes, videos, CDs... a lifelong documentary of the personal hell he lived in every day. Audio, video of his alcohol and drug addicted parents, the ones who should have shown him love and taught him the right path in life but did nothing but belittle and abuse him both physically and mentally from the time he was born. I couldn't listen to or watch very much. How somebody as amazing, kind, and beautiful as "E" could have emerged from that I will never understand. It also contained the stuffed dog I had given him for his 9th birthday and every letter, note, poem, picture, and gift I had ever given him along with a sealed letter with my name scrawled on the back.

I sat for a long time staring at that envelope before placing it unopened in my nightstand drawer. It would take another two months for me to get the courage to open it.

She likes to sleep with the radio on
So she can dream of her favorite song
The one that no one has ever sung since she was small

She'll never know that she made it up
She had a soul and we ate it up
Thrown away like a paper cup, the music falls

The only flaw in her detailed plan
Is where she wins back the love of her man
Everyone knows that he's never coming back

He took her heart and she took his name
He couldn't stand taking all the blame
He left her only with guilt and shame and then she cracked

Won't it be dull when we rid ourselves
Of all these demons haunting us
To keep us company

In the dream I refuse to have
She falls asleep in a lukewarm bath
We're left to deal with the aftermath again

On behalf of humanity
I will fight for your sanity
How profound such profanity can be

Won't it be dull when we rid ourselves
Of all these demons haunting us
To keep us company

Won't it be odd to be happy like we
Always thought we're supposed to feel
but never seem to be

Near where I live there's a viaduct
Where people jump when they're out of luck
Raining down on the cars and trucks below

They've put a net there to catch their fall
Like it'll stop anyone at all
What they don't know is when nature calls, you go

They say that Jesus and mental health
Are just for those who can help themselves
But what good is that when you live in hell on earth?

But the very fear that makes you want to die
Is just the same as what keeps you alive
It's way more trouble than some suicide is worth

Won't it be dull when we rid ourselves
Of all these demons haunting us
To keep us company

Won't it be odd to be happy like we
Always thought we're supposed to feel
But never seem to be

Hard to admit I fought the war on drugs
My hands were tied and the phone was bugged
Another died and the world just shrugged it off




~ Barenaked Ladies, War On Drugs

The Bloor Street viaduct in Toronto was the #2 suicide spot in North America behind the Golden Gate Bridge, with people jumping to the Don Valley Parkway below at a rate of one every 22 days. A massive campaign was launched and eventually succeeded in getting a net placed there to thwart suicides at that site. People did stop jumping from The Bloor Street viaduct and instead moved to the next bridge down the road and jumped from there instead.