The Last Time We Ever Met pt. 4

  “In their search for happiness and a better way of life I believe the Iraqis are no different than Americans. I could not ultimately control the actions of fellow Marines, but I did my best to respect the lives and property of the Iraqis I came across as I hope they would do under similar circumstances.” –Damon Fawcett

  Six months have passed since I began to write about Damon’s death. I completed the first three parts of the blog then I realized I could not bring the story to a close. Everything had been left open ended and although the process of writing had been healing, I continued to be the keeper of unanswerable questions. I began to realize that the rest of the story belongs to me.

  In 2007 Rosey and I lived in Seattle. We had moved away from California the year before. We left everything that we knew; family, friends and the comforts of home to explore ourselves and our world. Being away from old friends was tough and being away from family was even tougher. Damon’s suicide had created an unpleasant void in my life. The series of events that were set in motion as a result of his death cast a blanket of depression upon me that I was not prepared for.

   In the weeks that followed Damon’s passing I became increasingly despondent. I could not wrap my mind around the circumstances. Macabre images of his suffering plagued my thoughts. I began to weigh heavily about the futility of life. It infected every aspect of my being. Everything that meant anything to me fell further and further behind. I had no useful means in which I could express my sadness and like Damon I quickly became a lost soul, unrecognizable to even myself.

  It was 2008 and we were living back in California. We had moved to Alameda so Rosey could fulfill her dream of going to art school. This half-lived life I was experiencing progressively became worse. The depression that I was living with created a cloud that never left me. I was perpetually angry and would explode at seemingly nothing. I became very aggressive and cried most everyday. I tried in vain to write but words continued to escape me, I was going further and further down the hole. I knew what was coming but in my denial I charged head-on into the void not giving a shit.

  Shortly after New Year’s Eve 2008 I approached the end of the tunnel. My spirit had taken all it could take and an end of some sort was near. What happened that day was unlike anything I had ever experienced in my life. I could feel the rancid breath of death upon me and I welcomed it. Nothing mattered. No amount of love or understanding could stop what was going to happen, this was my battle and mine alone. I had no hope of survival. I wanted to die.