by Shelby
Dear Sierra,
It’s been a hot minute since we chatted, man. How’s it going, wherever you are? I’m doing okay. You’re really not missing much here—quarantine, Trump as president, the world literally on fire--it’s pretty much a right mess and I’m kind of jealous you don’t have to witness the cringe 24/7 like the rest of us are forced to do. I’m not really doing anything important with my life. I’d like to think this newsletter with my two great friends is something, and while it totally is, it’s hard to keep myself motivated and encourage myself to write, that someone cares, but I feel like maybe you’d care.
For context to my readers, do you mind if I quickly recap our relationship? We met in school—as many young kids do—but ours was totally different and weird as hell because it was a Montessori school. I don’t *totally* remember our first meeting, but I have a super shitty memory so this has nothing to do with you. But I do remember being fast friends and that was that. As we grew through the school, we were lucky enough to stay in the same classes (the way Montessori works is bananas, basically, at least at my school, there were different classrooms that contained about three grades in it, so like first through third grade all in the same space, sharing the same shit) and I stayed with you and Montessori until the end of my eighth grade when i wanted to start high school as a freshman, but you chose to stay at the adolescent program and start high school later. There are a ton of memories from our time together as young lasses, but I only have the space to talk about a few.
Do you remember when we decided (because, once again, Montessori is ridiculous) that we would just copy the Constitution? We found a copy of the original Constitution--with all its curly handwritten script—and thought, “Hey, we should copy this down in our handwriting!” And we did. And it took literally like 5 days (maybe two, we were in fifth or sixth grade so that was a while ago), but all we did, during any and all of our free time was copy an already existing document probably just because we could. I remember, then, when we were finally finished, we actually learned a lot (like how “S” look like “F” back then, as well as all the ridiculous amendments that barely made sense to us then let alone now) and our teacher, Mrs. McDowell, had us recite the preamble in front of everyone and she seemed so proud that we spent our time literally just rewriting the Constitution in our own handwriting.
Also around the same age, our school participated in a global art contest every other year that took place in China. Basically, anyone who wanted could create an original art piece and the school would send it over, and then later we’d see if anyone from our school won (it was actually pretty prestigious if I remember correctly). I won the bronze award in fourth grade for a sunset I drew with my family but you were always the far better artist than I, so when I won the gold award (and got a crap ton of art supplies) for my poorly drawn but brightly imagined Chinese New Year and while you drew something WAY better than I, I still won and you were pissed at me--rightfully so. I still have the undoubtedly now dried out markers.
We also created our own story, as many young kids do when they think they want to be writers. We were obsessed with Totally Spies! Which was fantastic little girl programing and thought that could be us. So we came up with spy names and our backstory and we were off. The story, Lindzey and Crystal, was like a cross between Charlie’s Angels and Totally Spies and it was awesome. I was Lindzey, the cute, boy-crazed spy whos gadgets were all makeup or girlie things. You were Crystal, the tech-saavy and book smart spy who created all our gadgets. Slowly (or maybe quickly) the story took over our classroom and all our friends wanted in—the boy who liked me (but I firmly did not reciprocate) named Andrew became Lindzey’s brother (LOL we were savage), we had pet spies too, and we actually wrote an entire book for it.
We shared a lot of things and you showed me the majority of the things that took up my preadolescent life like different manga, but particular Fruits Basket. You also were really one of the first ones to show me The Sims. I would come over to your house and you would hook up your computer to the living room TV and we would play for literal hours on end—like well into the night--creating our sims, designing our house, and just the beginnings of gameplay. I still have yet to finish an actual Sims story arc because the best part for us was the creation aspect. We were both insanely creative people—you were just always better at executing your creations than I.
Unfortunately, as we aged, our friendship lessened. It’s totally normal and was bound to happen, but it still sucks looking back on it. Since I went to a different high school than you, suddenly someone I was seeing literally everyday since like kindergarten is no longer there. We got together often enough, but things really went downhill once college started. We both needed to escape the confines of suburbia, or better understood as escaping our mothers. Funnily enough, they’re both named Jill and have their own neurotic issues. Do you remember, when we were kids when you were over at my house and my mom left to go grab something from the store and was probably gone a maximum of an hour and a half and left us alone with my capable older brother and your mom literally freaked? She flew off the handle and of course, my prideful mother got defensive about how she “raises her kids” and after that, you really didn’t come over but I went over there. You also had a stepmother who we collectively hated and soon after that a younger sister that we also hated because she wanted to be with us all the time. Your father was so consumed with his new life, he didn’t make enough time for yours and your mother was slowly unraveling that it just made sense to getaway. I get it, I did the same thing. I went to San Francisco to explore literature and beaches, you to an art school outside of Portland, OR to explore recreational drug use and art. It fit us both perfectly, but our friendship suffered through the distance.
It was my senior year of college when you died. That previous spring, I went to London and met Zack and my life changed drastically. When I returned to school, I had a few things I didn’t handle well like my ex whom I had promised we’d get back together once I was back in town—clearly that didn’t happen. He and I had a tumultuous relationship that year and one day he decided to skip class to accompany me home. This wasn’t totally abnormal, seeing as we were still friends and he was also friends with my roommates. What was odd, though, as he had to skip class to take me home and as someone who prioritizes school over literally everything else, I was skeptical but allowed it. When I got home, he must have confirmed my location with my mom because she called me to say “Sierra Carroll has passed.” It all became so clear! She conspired with my ex (whom she liked better than Zack for a very long time—like at least three years or more) to take me home so that I “wouldn’t be alone” when I was told the news. I was so incredibly offended and pissed off that instead of talking to my actual boyfriend who could console me (even though he was on a different coast in Vermont) or even just my roommates, she dragged my ex into things—again. And he skipped class for it! I promptly screamed for him to leave (I *really* didn’t know how to handle my emotions yet) and kicked him out and then yelled at my mom for like 30 minutes, all while either consciously or unconsciously glossing over the fact that you died.
Honestly, I’m not great at death, especially a potential suicide. To my knowledge, we still don’t know if your overdose was on purpose or not, and I never really got all of the information. When my brother’s best friend committed suicide during my senior year of high school, it fucked me up. So when I learned that that was potentially a part of your death, I glazed over and pushed past it. I didn’t—and still don’t—know how to process your death. We had grown apart for sure and really hadn’t spoken in, gosh more than half a year, when you passed. It was hard to know what to feel as an adult knowing I just lost probably the most pivotal friend of my entire childhood that I hadn’t spoken to in some time.
I flew home for your wake and funeral. It felt like the right thing to do. At your wake, when I was in the eyesight of your parents, they both deflated upon seeing me. They watched me grow up just as much as you did and knew our friendship was strong. They cried in my arms while I hugged them—you were laying behind us, pale as ever. Your mother’s longtime boyfriend approached me later and asked if I knew anything. Asked if we had spoken, if you had confided in me. You hadn’t. It was then that I found out the strangeness of your death and how your stepmother somehow may have been involved. I felt extremely guilty for saying no, we actually hadn’t spoken in a while and while he nodded and surely understood, he was saddened nonetheless. At your wake, your family handed out these little heart necklaces—they were two pieces, one large heart with a heart-shaped hole in the center which came out and that’s what we were supposed to leave with you. We could write whatever we wanted on it, so I emblazoned mine with our awesome spy names. I hope you appreciated that and remembered that story as fondly as I do. I’m sorry I didn't attend your actual burial—please know its totally because of my issues with death and nothing else. I couldn’t watch Joe be placed in the ground and I couldn’t watch you either. That’s too final and I believe our time together isn’t over, just on pause.
Did you know that there's a sequel to Fruits Basket? It’s called Fruits Basket Another and it’s set 10 years after the original story, but with the same Sohma family! I just found out myself, but I imagine you would have the ARC if that is a thing wherever you are.
Goodbye, Crystal. You were a really, really special friend to me and I hope that feeling was mutual.
Love,
Lindzey
Shit We’re Loving: READ
Shelby’s Pick: A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby
While we’re the theme of suicide, something myself among countless others have suffered from and contemplated, I figured I’d share my “favorite” book about suicide. Ironically enough, Sierra actually gifted me a copy of 13 Reasons Why by Jay Ascher and after Joe’s death, I couldn’t bring myself to read it. I never have. However, I have read Nick Hornby’s book, A Long Way Down, in high school and this book beautifully explains the emotional rollercoaster for everyone involved when one contemplates suicide. It certainly has its lighthearted moments, as well as it’s darker, harder to swallow moments, but what I always liked about it (hence “favorite” being in quotes because how can you have a book about suicide be your favorite?) is that its no bullshit. The fact that 13 Reasons Why turned into a trivial Netflix TV show always bothered me—suicide and self-harm should never be treated like a commodity that one binge-watches.
Whatever it is, say it to yourself. The truth will set you free. Either that or it’ll get you a punch in the nose. Surviving in whatever life yoru living means lyging, and lying corrodes the soul, so take a break from lies just for one minute.
In Hornby’s book, he follows four characters of different genders, races, backgrounds, and ages. It’s New Year’s Eve and the four people, never having met before, encounter each other on an infamous suicide-jumper favorite fifteen-story building. There, they retell their stories and their reasoning for being up there that night. Truly, the book is less about the act of suicide but instead the courage—and consequences—of not going through with the act. Hornby excellently writes around the melodramatics and never glosses over the reason each person is there that evening; what he writes is serious, how he handles it is serious, and what he makes us feel is brave, understood, honest, and open about our emotions—not dramatic. Honestly, I would recommend any of Hornby’s work like High Fidelity (yep the one that was turned into a movie and then a Hulu+FX original which is totally worth watching) which Zack is currently reading—he’s the more grown-up John Green and that’s just awesome.
Show Your Support: The Okra Project
Each day this month we’re featuring the lovely organization, The Okra Project, which supports the Black Trans community by bringing homecooked meals and resources to Black Trans People wherever they can reach them. A Trust Fund has already donated $90, enough for one whole session (includes chef’s pay and groceries) with an Okra Project chef, and we encourage you to share their story and help support them too!
Here’s a quick breakdown, directly from their website, of donations and how your giving helps:
18 people could donate $5
9 people could donate $10
6 people could donate $15
3 people could donate $30
1 super generous human could donate $90
You can click that cute button below that will take you directly to their PayPal account where you can donate to them 👇
Daily Intention
Today I will…
Drive safely as I make the trek back to Columbus from Chicago. Remind me to pay my tolls!
Here’s some nifty buttons for you to press, enjoy: