Blue Ink on Paper
Josh and Other Things
My friend Josh committed suicide when I was 12. I remember when I got the news, I didn't bat an eye. I didn't cry, I didn't go into shock. Instead I thought, "I had a feeling he would overdose."
Let me tell you a little bit about Josh and me. Josh was in ninth grade while I was in seventh. I looked up to him because he was in high school and knew all about every topic I could think of. He didn't even have to try to get straight A's. I barely made B's and C's. "You need to stop trying so hard and just take Adderall," he'd advise me.
Josh was almost always high on something, but he did a great job of hiding it. He was a major heroin and meth addict. He abused Xanax like there was no tomorrow, and he always offered me pot. He told me stories of being high on molly or 'shrooms.
He wrote 8 songs a day. He kept a binder filled with lyrics and guitar tabs. We would smoke weed together and he would play me his music. All his songs were happy and upbeat. Most of them were love songs to his drugs.
One other thing about Josh is he gave me my first cigarette. From that moment I knew I had found my addiction. Not just to smoking, but to burning myself.
It never really clicked with me that he was gone. I blocked it out, went on with my life, as if Josh had never been a part of it.
*********
I blocked out things I didn't feel ready to think about. I had been doing this since a young age.
I blocked it out by cutting myself as deep as I could handle, until blood spewed from my arm and I would need stitches. I blocked it out by smoking my mother's cigarettes and burning myself to put them out.
I blocked it out by not eating, or eating too much and then throwing it up.
I blocked it out by smoking pot.
Eventually I couldn't block it out anymore. At 20 years old I got hit with memories of him, images of us going to coffee shops, or sitting on his roof sharing a pack of Camel Crush. Us blasting Led Zeppelin in his room.
I sobbed in my room, under the covers, feeling hollow.
That was the start of my downfall.
Let me tell you a little bit about Josh and me. Josh was in ninth grade while I was in seventh. I looked up to him because he was in high school and knew all about every topic I could think of. He didn't even have to try to get straight A's. I barely made B's and C's. "You need to stop trying so hard and just take Adderall," he'd advise me.
Josh was almost always high on something, but he did a great job of hiding it. He was a major heroin and meth addict. He abused Xanax like there was no tomorrow, and he always offered me pot. He told me stories of being high on molly or 'shrooms.
He wrote 8 songs a day. He kept a binder filled with lyrics and guitar tabs. We would smoke weed together and he would play me his music. All his songs were happy and upbeat. Most of them were love songs to his drugs.
One other thing about Josh is he gave me my first cigarette. From that moment I knew I had found my addiction. Not just to smoking, but to burning myself.
It never really clicked with me that he was gone. I blocked it out, went on with my life, as if Josh had never been a part of it.
*********
I blocked out things I didn't feel ready to think about. I had been doing this since a young age.
I blocked it out by cutting myself as deep as I could handle, until blood spewed from my arm and I would need stitches. I blocked it out by smoking my mother's cigarettes and burning myself to put them out.
I blocked it out by not eating, or eating too much and then throwing it up.
I blocked it out by smoking pot.
Eventually I couldn't block it out anymore. At 20 years old I got hit with memories of him, images of us going to coffee shops, or sitting on his roof sharing a pack of Camel Crush. Us blasting Led Zeppelin in his room.
I sobbed in my room, under the covers, feeling hollow.
That was the start of my downfall.