Update Re: Aaron.

NOTE: Apparently someone had themselves a problem with the fact that I didn't post a link to Aaron's site.

The reason I didn't post a link to Aaron's site is because I saw no damn point to having a bunch of people who did not know him running over there because of something I posted. But if you want it, here it is. It was a damn good website.

Leave the damn drama, for the love of God.

Aaron is gone.

And I guess there was some confusion in regards to what I meant by that. He died.

E-mail me at trancejen@REMOVETHISgmail.com for information regarding the funeral services.

I'm sorry, for whoever may be reading that knew him. I didn't know who to call, who to e-mail. I figured you would read it here and that might be your only way of knowing. If you are a friend of his and would like more information, please contact me at the above address. Note that the above address is not same as the general e-mail address for this site, please use the mail link above for other correspondence.

Thank you so much for your concern, I appreciate it, and I think Aaron's family does, too.

This is Aaron, with my cat. The photo was taken before we went out to a show last month.

He was a great guy. It's a shame you'll have to take my word for it.

If I don't update for a few days, I'm OK. I just need some time.

Thank you.

I guess I have more to say, and I guess creating another post would make no sense, so I guess I will just add to this one.

I wish I could say that I was completely, totally floored by this - just shocked out of my mind; but the sad fact is I am not. I am not now, and I don't think I was when I heard he was missing.

I wish I was, in a way. I am fucking miserable, I am crushed, terrified, and unclear as far as what to do in order to feel normal again; but I am not shocked.

If you knew Aaron you know that he is - was, I suppose I have to get used to fucking was - a very soft-spoken person. I always thought he should be a college professor, both because he was one of the most introspective-type brilliant people I know, and because he often reminded me of a professor I had once, an English professor who was slightly nebbish and soft-spoken and had a way of chuckling quietly much like Aaron did.

Aaron was at my house once when my mother and I were attempting to extract a Frisbee from behind the piano, and I remember him trying very hard not to laugh as we all attacked it with a broom, trying to justify why we had been playing Frisbee in the house to begin with. Hey, it was a new Frisbee, one of those really cool soft ones. Hard to resist.

I remember thinking, "Christ, he probably thinks we're all cracked."

The J-Man thought Aaron was the coolest grownup ever because he had Nightmare Before Christmas ponytail holders. Grownup men usually don't have really fucking cool accessories.

That is what I will remember about Aaron, the soft laughter of someone who was sometimes very much on the fringe of things, someone who was not bitchy until having several Red Bull and vodkas, someone who was more polite than people have a damn right to be, someone who opened the car door for me every single time, someone who had a quiet sense of humor that is the opposite of my own ridiculous, bombastic blathering.

We recently went to a burlesque show together, and after the show, people were rocking out on the dance floor, having a good old time, and God, what a fun night - laughing our asses off and ogling the ladies and jamming out to Eddy Grant's Electric Avenue.

I can't say I wish that I knew why he did what he did, because I do know. I have been there - maybe not in Aaron's head but in a dark, dark place that promised no respite, and I do understand.

I do understand, Aaron. And I wish I could have told you that when it would have counted for something besides a stupid, pathetic string of memories on a stupid webpage. I wish we could have talked about why you were losing hope. I wish I would have had a clearer picture of what was going on with you, rather than "Aaron's just going through some shit".

Behind all of your goddamned Hello Kitty stuff and all of your gentle smiles and soft words, there was a lot more going on. I wish I had taken the time to find out what it was. Some of it I know. Much of it I don't. We weren't lifelong friends, just people who met on the net, friends of friends who decided to start hanging out after reading each other's pages for quite some time.

I will miss you very much. I will miss the way you talked shit. I will miss the way you acted as if my talking shit was something you would absolutely never do, just because you were more stealth about your shit-talking, or had a little more finesse to it.

I don't know where people go when they die. I am not a religious person. I know that I do not believe in the tenets of certain religions, including the one in which I was raised, that claim suicide is a shameful thing that must not be mourned. I don't believe that people are punished in the afterlife for being in pain. I think the sort of pain that precedes suicide is enough punishment for anyone. It is hell on earth. It defies logic and reason and sanity, and sometimes it is so opaque that catching a glimpse of something better is just impossible.

I hope that wherever you are now, you are at peace with your short-ass self (yeah, I said it, and I can almost hear you: "You wrong.") and with whatever blurry concept of a higher power you may have created. I wish you had known how much we loved you, but I can't be angry at you, at least not for the moment. I can't blame you for sins I've committed myself. I was lucky enough to come back, you were not.

I hope that those of us who mourn you will eventually understand. It's so hard, you know. It's so hard to feel like we've failed you, or that you failed us. It is heavy, heavy shit.

I love you, and I will never forget you.

And so it is tomorrow. It's odd, when you think about it, that there can be a cessation of tomorrows. As someone who procrastinates like a motherfucker, especially regarding vaccuuming and other simple chores that for some reason irritate me, I put shit off until tomorrow an awful lot.

I parked myself on the couch last night and watched two Stephen King movies that were on TV, numbing out with a few beers and just lying there like a catatonic jerk. I forgot how much I hate watching Stephen King movies because I read most of the books a long time ago, and the nitpicky geek in me spends most of the movie saying, "Uh, no. Wrong."

I read this entry from Sour Bob and it really sort of chilled me, because I get that, and that's the thing that I suppose freaks me out more than anything - that feeling of "I might lose, too".

I did lose, once, a long time ago. I spent some time in intensive care, lucky, lucky, lucky that I had a friend concerned enough to break into my house and break down my bathroom door. A friend who didn't know, but knew, much in the same way I felt I knew when I heard Aaron was missing.

I know what it means to be thoroughly unable to give a damn anymore. It is probably the worst feeling I can think of. While part of me wants to sit here and beat myself about the head for not calling him enough or allowing plans to fall through on several occasions due to my own selfishness or my own bullshit, part of me knows that usually, once that point has been reached, it's damn near impossible to start giving a shit again.

I slept soundly last night for the first time in several days, and I'm not quite sure why. Perhaps I was waiting for closure, and now that I have it I can rest. Perhaps I was just mentally and emotionally exhausted. I remember thinking before I fell asleep, Was he scared?

I wonder whether he was afraid, or whether he was calm. Morbid, I know, but something I wish I knew.

I wondered whether I would dream about him, or about my friend who died in the same manner nine years ago, but I didn't. In a way I wanted to. It would have meant I could see him again, and right now I can't. It's hard to even picture his face, because all I see is a smiling person who does not quite fit into the role of someone who is dead.

Today is my father's birthday. I haven't yet purchased a gift or made any plans with him. In a while, I need to shower, leave the house, go into a store and walk around and be normal, not as I am now, sitting here stupidly and sometimes hearing a sob that doesn't sound like it came from my mouth at all.

I think my mother and boyfriend are waiting for me to lose it. I won't, though. I lost someone this week, I lost yet another slice of my already much-depleted and admittedly small-to-begin-with optimism, but I will not lose "it".

The services are not until Tuesday. I assume that this is because Aaron's family is coming in from Alabama. If anyone who is going can pick me up from the south side, I'd appreciate it. DC will be working and I am not sure how I'm going to get there.

Last night my mom reiterated what she has always said about Aaron, while in tears: "He was so nice. He was so quiet and nice and polite."

He was. It's so hard to reconcile that with what was really going on. When I picture a person in emotional torment - even though I know better than to believe that appearance matters at all - I don't picture Aaron's face, or his voice. I guess that's why I have such a hard time picturing him at all right now. I look at the pictures I have of him and I and see nothing but that soft smile. It strangely doesn't add up.

I think I am done talking about this for now. I keep coming back, because there is more I want to say, more I wish I could express, more I want to be able to figure out, but I remain sort of lost.

5:23 p.m. - 2004-09-08
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