Etiqutte, Advertisement and Suicide

This is my new best friend. She is delicious.


When one is having company that will sleep over, and they will sleep in the same bed with one, should one wash the comforter that has cum stains on it, even if one is very tired? Is it tacky not to do so?

When I was younger, there were a series of March of Dimes advertisements that ran on television. A little girl stood decrepitly on crutches, longingly stared into the camera and softly uttered, "lucky lucky you." This was hilarious to me in elementary school. It was a time for great hilarity when the other kids and I would lament to each other in thick-tongued voices, "lucky lucky you." The merriment grew exponentially with each repetition of the slogan.
One day the teacher caught me repeating it and, without warning, punished me. She made me write Lucky lucky you on the chalkboard thousands of times during recess that week.

In 2006, one of the closest friends of my entire life committed suicide by shooting himself in the head. He was a friend I had known more than 13 years, had vacationed in Europe with, and had spent multiple Christmases with, had visited me while I lived in other cities. He knew me. I loved him. To this day, I can say it was the biggest shock of my life.
I was living with him at the time. It happened on a Wednesday and his family was coming to the house in the ghetto that he owned that Friday. It was time for me to clean up the large patch of blood-soaked rug that morning. The human brain is a fascinating thing sometimes.
Get to work!
Time for business!
That is what I did.
I might as well have been washing the dishes.
I put on gloves and smelled the gaminess of polyester fibers soaked with the evidence of my friend's self-massacre. I absorbed the heaviest wettest part of the patch with towels that would be used no more. These were deposited into large green trash bags. Then a box cutter was used to slice the rug. Under this was a foam lining; under that was old cheap tile. This had puddles of viscous pomegranate-flushed liquid that had to be mopped up with more towels that had to be thrown out. After that, I used a roll of paper towels, sponges, buckets of water, and liquid cleanser to clean up the mess and stink.
Then I put an area rug on top.
There was a slight indention where the original rug had been cut out. It reminded me of trap doors from old Looney Toons cartoons. Whoops! Crash!
I had already been dabbling with pills at that point; this was in March. Before the year was up, I would swallow, chew, smoke, and/or snort:
- Oxycontin (my favorite ever) and Roxicet
- Cocaine
- Valium, Klonopin, Halcion, Restoril, Xanax
- Vicodin and Percocet
- Morphine sulfate
- Heroin
- Marijuana
- Methadone
- Suboxone
- Alcohol
This was not because of my friend's death. His death propelled me forward in the reblossoming of addiction. I had shut my heart down the previous December when a man who I loved decided he did not want to be with me anymore. Now, I understand why he chose to leave. I was a crazy person before becoming a full-blown drug addict. My energy was stifling. I could be a bully. Love was repelled. It was a sad thing.
It is that way no more and I would rather spend my life alone than ever hurt myself or someone like that again.