When I arrived to begin my day today, I was instantly pulled into the office for some important news.
I figured this was just more scheduling / construction bullshit they had to inform everyone of like during the last two weeks, so it was with total nonchalance that I took in the information:
One of the staff had committed suicide this weekend.
There was a domestic dispute, an ensuing standoff with the police, some shots were fired, and by the time authorities reached him in the house, he was already dead as a result of shooting himself in the head.
I loved this man... a little younger than my dad, he was down to Earth, friendly, intelligent, wise, reliable, an all-around wonderful person, and, yes - he was also a therapy practitioner. He was one of my favorite practitioners at our building, and I used to strive to make time for getting in on any of his great classes and meetings. Even outside of work, I enjoyed trying to catch up to him to talk over all the little stresses, annoyances, and uncertainties in life or surrounding the issues he'd go over - and he always understood and connected with everything.
It's near impossible for me to conceive the scale of what occurred to one great guy who was depended upon by hundreds of clients moving through the building day by day. Lost, confused, and hurt, they looked up to this man as some unbending pillar of strength who would understand and guide them through their plight, leading all to a level of confidence, health, emotional strength, and achievement they otherwise believed they had lost or never deserved.
A wonderful man who had the wisdom to say, "It doesn't matter the trials or obstacles - it doesn't matter the amount of hurt and suffering you've had to endure - it doesn't matter you've had medications, hospitalizations, therapists, loss of employment, legal troubles, etc.... we're all human, and we're all the same - we just have different tolerances, experiences, and levels of obstacles. Not one is any less valid than another's. The important thing is that you're still here, same as I'm still here..."
Except he's not. So what does that mean... Is the entire psychiatric system meaningless? ... Is the idea of maintaining sanity in a world like this futile? ... Is there some kind of mental event horizon we can truly never return from once we pass its threshold? ... How does this affect the hopes, conditions, and expectations of hundreds of clients? ... and furthermore... How will this now affect mine...
Apparently it occurred on Sunday. The shock of it hadn't faded in the least between then and this morning (I currently have Mondays off). And all anyone could talk about was the horrible fashion in which the news and papers treated him since then. Drudging up facets of his past and personality none of us who knew and loved him remember him for.
Perhaps it is true the world isn't good enough for some. Maybe it is true what Lewis Black stated; that the good die young, but pricks live forever. Maybe what little beauty exists in our realm, and within ourselves, is usually ignored or ridiculed by many for a reason. I'm tired of bullshit, I'm sick of uncertainty. I don't want to be part of that reason.
The song playing is of a title which coincides with that of this blog, and was on my car stereo as I drove in this morning, and drove back this evening. I chose it for its beautiful range and lyrics, as well as its beautiful PV / lyrical interpretation.
You see, a man, a mad scientist of sorts, finally finds a way to bring all his beloved back from the grave. The feelings are overwhelming and he bursts with love, only to find the dead will never be content to live on Earth again. The serenity, resplendency, and paragon of death is far too intense for them to truly understand the ardor of life and humanity, nor the passion which haunts the man endlessly, anymore. Try as he might, it's far too late for him to have any impact on those he desperately misses, but who refuse to remain. They are no longer afraid to die... and I'm still not sure if I myself, still am.