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My friend Michel killed himself. He ate about 30 prescription xanax and then he shot himself in the head. Under the chin. The bullet didn't go all the way through - I guess the caliber was too small. He went to high school with me. He went to Venice beach with my family all summer when we were kids. He loved Howard Jones and Yes. He loved Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. He was always looking for something brilliant. We were 13 when we met. I didn't know anything about music and he taught me Bach and BOC and Prince.



He had dark blond hair and very broad shoulders and he was one of the smartest people I've ever known. He owned a company named Mindesign. He bought a house in Sarasota. He had a Porsche and a Delorian. He wrote computer programs. He had an Onyx in his house. We watched Blade Runner on his giant home theater. We ate dinner at Burns and then drove his Porsche 110 mph in a 35. He scared me and made me laugh at the same time. He had a great smile. I loved him very much.



He wrote a note. It had a list of all of the people he said were his friends. It was a list of people he thought of before he died. My name was on the list. My name was there. He wrote my name on it. He wrote some words for the people he left here, people like me.



Love, beauty, despair.



I wish I knew something more brilliant and illuminating to tell you.

I’m sorry, I love you

This is for me and not against you

My final act, the only real act, of volition



To be, finally, Free.





It hurts me so much to think of him. I see him laying on the floor with his back to me. My friend Kevin found him. He peaked in the window when Michel didn't answer the door.



Part of me is very thankful that I wasn't the one peaking in the window. Part of me hates me for not being able to talk Michel out of what he'd done. He called me three days before. We talked on the phone. I remember laying on my bed and staring at the ceiling fan while he talked. He told me I was a conspicuous consumer and that I should fix the planet before it falls apart. He did not tell me that he would not be around to help fix it. I did not write his new phone number down because I was mad at Michel for lecturing me. I was caught up in my own little world with my son and my husband. I didn't hear the loneliness in his voice. I didn't think anything of the call. I said, "Mic, I gotta go..but I'll give you a call back in a few days." and he said to me..."no you won't."

and I laughed.

as it turns out...it wasn't meant to be funny.

I am sorry.

I am sorrier than you will ever imagine.

I clicked on his email - on his site - I clicked on it today because I wanted to send him a note. I wanted to tell him I am so sorry. I am so sorry Michel. I want to help you....

when I clicked on it - instead of a message box popping up....it said:



one day

one of us

will

hear news

of the other's

death.





It hurts so much today. I feel so terrible. I miss him and I am so sorry.



I still miss you.

I'm cooking turkey for dinner - because it's yummy. Actually it's an excuse to eat cranberry sauce. More meals should involve cranberry sauce....mmmmm mmmm. I like making turkey sandwiches and putting a little stuffing and a little cranberry sauce on the sandwich. Can't beat that.



Can you tell I'm starving?



I dunno if you remember Scott from my old journal postings...the guy with the weird cancer...



So he had a series of strokes. He's just in his 40s and he's in a stupid rehab now. Probably not ever going to get back either. It's horrible what happens to people.



Sometimes I hate the medical field. It feels like I've been a nurse forever and things just don't really ever change.



Scott doesn't recognize me or his wife...or his kids. It's freakish to see someone that you've spoken to almost every day for the last eight years suddenly in adult diapers without any idea of where he is or even who he is....



They call what he had "shower strokes" or frontal lobe strokes. They're the worst kind as far as recovery. You're better off with physical paralysis than mental impairment.

Ok so those are my freaking depressing thoughts for the day. I feel like there's something I should have done. Like there was anything that I could have done....there really wasn't. Now there's nothing anyone can really do.



I'm sick of wishing for miracles.



I'm lucky to have my son and my husband...it's horrifying to think that they could be taken away in the blink of an eye. Less than a blink. Please don't let anything happen to them. ... actually I don't really know who I'm directing the plea too. I hope someone is out there watching over my family. There's nothing like watching a friend struck down to make you feel mortal...



ack...thanks...