Today would’ve been my friend’s 39th birthday. Suicide CW
The two year anniversary of his suicide is in a few days. I miss him. Today is hard.
He was a special, special person. So artistic, sensitive, and kind. He had a hard upbringing- small town Texas in the early 90’s, a lot of struggle emotionally and financially. His mom was murdered by his father when he was a teenager. There was never a mean or angry bone in his body, even after what he’d been through, which astounded me.
He loved Prince and David Bowie and dancing. He routinely used to sing Purple Rain at our local gay bar and would dramatically tear his shirt off at the breakdown part of the song. He rejected all of the toxic masculinity BS from an early age and was unabashedly himself, sometimes feminine, sometimes masculine, never boxed in. He loved old cartoons and glamorous costumes, painted surrealist artwork, and was seriously loved by everyone who knew him.
There were times when everyone else had let me down or bailed and he always showed up. My own family cancelled on me the day of a huge cross town move and he called in to work to help me, piece by piece, for hours and hours in August heat.
I loved him. I’m heartbroken still. I wish I had told him how much he’d meant to me.