Whispers In The Dark

Robin

Robin

Speaking a eulogy at Reximus’s funeral was by far the hardest thing I ever had to do.

“I met Reximus at the beginning of the year under some not-so-great circumstances, but he quickly became one of my best friends.” I took a deep breath, urging myself to continue. I didn’t dare look into the eyes of anyone else, for fear that I would break down. “I know this sounds horribly cliché, but he was such an amazing person, from his name straight down to his sarcastic tendencies. He could be shy, but once he got comfortable, he was the most fun I’d ever had. He was dealing with hardships, we all know that, but he was always so bright and positive, at least I thought so. He was so easy to talk to, and he always knew what to say, and do, and I…” I cleared my throat and wiped my eyes. I was starting to sound like something straight out of a movie, and that was the last thing this was. He didn’t get his happy ending. “I don’t know why he, of all people, had to put up with all of the shit that got dumped on him, but I know that it wasn’t fair.” I dug my nails into the palm of my hands so hard that they bled. “I found him on the bathroom floor, and I was the last one to see him awake, though he wasn’t very coherent. And I just…I’m sorry that I couldn’t stop him. I’m not ever going to forget him. I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to.”

I didn’t stick around for the rest of the funeral. I didn’t want to finish praying to someone who had put Reximus through so much, had taken him away from us, and I didn’t want to see the casket being lowered.

I went home and I smoked twenty-three cigarettes before taking a long shower and crawling into bed. I didn’t take my medication; I couldn’t stand to look at pills anymore. I knew that I would have to take them eventually, but it was just too much. Just looking at them made me gag, and throwing up wasn’t exactly a good topic for me, either.

I slept for thirteen hours before my mom forced me out of bed and sat me down in front of a plate of toast and scrambled eggs. She petted my hair like I was a small child and spoke over the phone to my psychiatrist about seeing her immediately because I couldn’t take the medication without being sick and the funeral seemed to “mess me up pretty bad”.

I listened to her and took another shower and saw my therapist because that’s what you do when people die; either you die too or you keep on living. And for now, I was still deciding. I may have been going through the motions, but my heart had yet to start back up again, and my brain needed rewiring.