![]() I also want to apologize for not posting since Mother’s Day. ![]() If you want a peek into my brain and thought process, the notes are your best bet in truly understanding me. They’re raw and articulate because I write them in the moment when my emotions are at their highest. I think I’m going to post more notes from my phone on here in the future. But I will always remember her and the silent smiles we shared. It still haunts me that such a beautiful girl was tormented by the inner demons of her insecurities for so long without anyone knowing. I think about her often, probably more than I did when she was still here. How many people do I come in contact with every day that are dealing with similar things that she dealt with? How many of them haven’t opened up to anyone about those things? How many people could I potentially save just by being their “other person” they could confide in? To them, to all of us, she had seemed fine. Her friends all had what seemed to be a resounding confusion as to why she did it. When she ended her life I was a freshman in college. What I’m more concerned with is the thoughts racing through my head.Ĭould I have stepped in and befriended her? If I had, would she have stayed? They said it was a suicide, though to this day I never learned how she did it or who found her. I remember sitting in a bathroom stall when I should have been in class, crying as silently as I could while scrolling through endless Facebook posts from mutual friends that were as heartbroken as I was. The day I heard the news that she was gone, was one I’ll never forget. After middle school we had gone to different schools and apart from Facebook, we never saw each other physically again. We never talked much but occasionally we’d throw a nervous smile to each other in the hallway, eyes darting away quickly as outcasts tend to do. Everyone at our school was nice in some degree, some more so than others. She wasn’t quiet in the way you think someone is slow or stupid rather, you suspected she knew the secret to life itself because she had probably overheard it somewhere while we all were too busy talking to hear it. She was always quiet, always silently observing those around her. She was small and petite, hands delicate, chin pointed and cheeks full. It’s not a definite “time” more of a vague era in both of our lives. When I think of her, I think of the last time I saw her. The writing didn’t make me cringe like most of my older writing usually does, and since the 3-year anniversary of her passing was the other day, I thought I would share that note here. The topic was my thoughts on the suicide of a girl named Marielle that I had gone to Londonderry with. I happened across a note from last year (specifically April 5th, 2015). This isn’t some new skill – I’ve been doing it for years – and recently I took a walk down memory lane and read some of my older notes. I’ve come to realize that it is the best way to get out my thoughts in the moment when I’m feeling inspired. Lately, I’ve been writing a lot of notes in my phone.
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