There have so few moments in my life I've felt genuine depression. Those of you reading this are probably thinking "Lucky you", right? Because I've just claimed to have such an undepressing life? Is 'undepressing' a word?
At the beginning of what should have been an awesome, weekend long bachelorette party of epic proportions, I learn a good friend of mine has passed away. We were not particularly close, we rarely spoke to each other since her mother died a year ago, and I haven't seen her in person since Halloween, 2008...
Her name was Rachel Taylor C***, of Shelby, Alabama. She was a die-hard Alabama football fan. She served in the U.S. Navy and was the first-ever female SEAOPDET detachee out of Norfolk to deploy on the USS Enterprise. She was everyone's biggest critic. She was her friends' biggest supporter. She never judged a person by their words, actions, or appearance. You were who you were, and she loved you for it. She was tall, and whenever drunk enough, would proudly state she was Amazon, and who cares if she was into short dudes?
She had an addiction problem. When she was enlisted, it was alcohol and prescription sleep-aids. When she was out of the Navy, it was pain killers and more alcohol. When she moved back to Alabama to be with her mother who was dying from cancer, it was cocaine and pain killers. After her mother's passing, it was heroin. Apparently it's the best pain killer.
She was conscious when she over dosed on Friday afternoon, and called 911 for herself. The EMT's successfully got her to the hospital and recovered her from her over dose. A few moments (And by 'moments' I literally mean heartbeats), she had a heart attack and went into an unrecoverable coma.
The boyfriend who had originally introduced her to heroin was with her at the time of her overdose. But according to the EMTs, no one else was with her when they reached her home. According to her one remaining relative, her aunt, Rachel's home looked to have been ransacked and burglarized. All electronics and valuables had been stolen. And the heroin providing boyfriend has yet to be found or contacted.
Rachel's ex-husband signed a DNR, and at 13:42 on Friday, September 2nd, my dear-yet-distant and troubled friend Rachel C***, died.
It's so final. And it's a general agreement that she did it on purpose. She never recovered from her Mother's passing. Her mother was the only one to never hold Rachel's problems against her. When her mother died, a large portion of who we all knew Rachel to be, died with her.
I'm depressed because I would like to feel sadness for her. I would like to know that her passing meant something bigger than attempted suicide and ultimate fear of death. But I can't. I find I don't have it in me. I grieve, but not for Rachel. I grieve for her family, and the friends we both shared, who I'm closer to; for their loss. For their sadness, and agony. I grieve for them, because I can't grieve for her. Thus the depression. The conflicting emotions of pity, sadness, hurt, grief, anger, and frustration all mingling with the realization that none of those emotions are for her.
In her new state of being, I hope she's reunited with her mother. I hope her death wasn't in vain on that count. And there comes a new emotion: Hope. I hope the bastard who got her hooked on heroin has an enormous wake-up call. Whether that wake-up call is his own over-dose, or recovering and staying clean- to forever go to meetings and agonize over the guilt of being responsible for the death of a beautiful person- I don't know. But either way, I believe in Karma. I believe in a form of afterlife, and I believe in eventual reincarnation. What i don't believe in, is a human's capacity to 'Change for the better', and i don't believe that even the lowest of human life is capable of good. I don't, and I hope that heroin shooting boyfriend of Rachels' gets his karma return.
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