There's something that I have been contemplating and going over again and again for a while now. It's something that I should have realized long ago. It merely goes to show how truly foolish and blind I am to the truths of life.
I still don't believe that Rici committed suicide.
Why?
Because the Rici that I knew would never, ever, ever do something like that.
But then I realized something... he probably died a really long time ago.
I am a fool. Never willing to except that Rici killed himself because I just knew that he wouldn't do something like that.
But he was probably already gone. My Rici was already long gone. All that was left was most likely just some mask waiting to crack. And it did, and it was blown away by a bullet.
My Rici died. Someone was still there, lingering in that body and mind. But it wasn't the person I knew.
I'm so stupid. All this time I've been wondering why he did it- and now I can finally understand. I can accept that he committed suicide, finally, because I see why. He wasn't there anymore. And yet, why did I not realize this sooner? I have died so many times. Too many times. So why was I not able to discover this before? I know it. I've experienced it because of my lack of good judgment in the past where I purposely led myself to agony over the simple fact that I hated myself so much that I wanted to see myself suffer. For some masochistic reason I will never be able to know, regardless of if it's about myself.
People kill themselves because they lose themselves. And yet I did not recognize it even though I knew it.
And yet, the question comes as to why my Rici died. There were so many people who loved him. So what made that spark fade out? He had friends, family, people online... he was teased, but he had so many people who loved him and that he could count on. I loved him very much. Whenever I felt dark and lost, all that I would have to do was log on to Gaia, look at my PM inbox, see his message, and instantly feel some kind of a life in that black hole merely by seeing a single word that he wrote. But I was not enough to keep him alive like he kept me. Maybe he was ashamed? I will never know the answer until I die.
And so I will wait until that day. Then I will know the answer. Then I can know. Then I can know.
But at least I can give this wretched heart an answer as to why he did this. That, all in all, is enough for me. I shall no longer be tortured over that question. That in itself is a lifetime of some kind of disgusting comfort.
 MythicalYoko · Sun Oct 14, 2007 @ 06:44am · 3 Comments |
