Blasphemous Rumours

October 10, 2018January 2, 2021 Laura Bock depression, friendships, mixtape, suicide

Dear Marty,

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write, life has been hectic.

I guess the reason, mostly, that I haven’t written is because part of me is still in denial that you’re even gone. It’s easy to get into that frame of mind when you don’t interact with someone on a daily basis, like we used to.

When I heard the news, my heart dropped to the floor. All I could think is please PLEASE for the love of God, let it not be from suicide. I think that’s one of many things we shared together, our suicidal tendencies (pardon the obvious punk rock reference).

When I found out that not only it was suicide, but the place you chose to end it as well, I lost it. I know you didn’t know this, but for weeks before that day, I spent my mornings before work at that same place in meditation — and that morning I woke up and something inside told me not to go.

Now I know why.

At first, I felt tremendous survivors’ guilt, like what if I had gone and would’ve been able to talk you out of it; maybe you needed to see me at that moment and you’d still be here. I was stuck on that for a while until those closest to me said you wouldn’t have wanted me to find you like that.

It never crossed my mind in that thought spiral that if I had gone, the memory of seeing you dead would be etched in my mind forever. I think I went through all the stages of grief within a matter of minutes after that realization.

I wanted to yell at you for sullying our memories of that place and for the fact you didn’t call me to say you were at the edge again. I know it had been a while since we last talked, but friends like us that go back so many years, we can pick up right where we left off.

You lied to me. You didn’t call me when you needed someone.

Last time I saw you I gave you my phone number and said to call me anytime, day or night if you needed me. I even tried to get you to go and get a Facebook account, but no, not you. You didn’t want “the man” to get all your info. I laughed, you looked quizzically at me, then we both started laughing.

Even now as I sit and write this it still feels like I’m writing you a note, like in high school; I’ll just pass it to you and you’ll make some smart ass comment, as always.

One thing I will always remember about our talks is how we could both be totally and completely blunt and honest (assholes) with each other.

We’ve seen the good, bad, and ugly with each other over the years. Then there were the days (months, years) we didn’t exactly see eye to eye on things. I don’t think I need to go into details on those times. Let’s just say we always agreed to disagree.

We had a lot of fun memories over the years, Marty, and I will always keep those close to me.

Do you remember the night at Charlie’s when we were drinking and watching Maximum Overdrive? You and Charlie got this brilliant idea to liberty spike my hair with Bold Hold. I was down for it since my parent were on vacation and I wouldn’t have to tame my hair before going home.

Instead of spraying the Bold Hold, you fuckers decided to twist the top off and pour it on my head! I had hairspray caked on my neck and back, it was so gross walking home with that — even more disappointing was what portions of my hair you guys did manage to spike fell down on my way home (I practically ran from your house to mine after you freaked me out even more than Maximum Overdrive did!)

When I was afraid Mom-ster was going to take my tape collection and burn it like my INXS shirt, you agreed to take the box of my precious cassette tapes, which included actual albums and mixtapes, and keep it at your house until I felt safe again.

Of all the things I owned, my music was the one thing I couldn’t live without and you got me.

Your taste in music was almost as impeccable as mine; your love for The Cure, Depeche Mode, and INXS solidified my bond with you, which would grow over the years.

Ahhh, the days of driving Carol crazy by singing 500 Miles by The Proclaimers, in our own special way! Our karaoke renditions of Rock Lobster and Love Shack by the B-52’s was the best ever, too, I must say.

You drove me (and others, I’m sure) crazy with Don’t Let’s Start and Birdhouse in Your Soul by They Might Be Giants. I remember once when I spent the night at your house I was trying to sleep and you kept singing those damn songs — I wanted to beat you bloody!

You were one of the rare few I told about my pregnancy in its early stages. You fiercely defended me and at one point asked if I wanted you to rough up the “sperm donor“. I smile now thinking back to those days.

You weren’t a knight in shining armor, but you wore your heart on your sleeve and would do anything for those closest to you.

Why didn’t you call me, Marty?

The dreams I had following your death — I want to believe it was you who came to me and not my subconscious rationalizing everything for grief’s sake. I believe everything you said to me in those dreams, but still, I have anger and sadness when I think of how and why you did what you did.

Because I know you’d want this, I am making up photo books for your children from the photoshoots we did of you in your alter-egos. This way they can remember the character you were, immortalized on film.

The world is definitely lacking without you in it anymore, and that’s sad. I don’t know what else to say, but I’m sure if I think of anything, I’ll go to the lake and talk to you.

And so now I mourn the loss of one of the most unique men I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

The following playlist is for you, Marty. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.

Much love and light to you, my dear old friend,

Laura