In short, it's part of a very long history I have of not facing up to emotions, especially the negative set. This, ladies, gentlemen, and others not of the previous two persuasions, is not a healthy thing.
So, since Steve's death, I haven't really been actually dealing with it. There have been points where I let some of the emotion out, but dealing with it? No, not really. So, a couple of days ago, I was talking to one of my workmates about it, and the undealt-with issues decided to tell me in no uncertain terms that I wasn't going to just be able to ignore it.
Last night I went over to erinkyan's place to drop off a couple of things, and it came to a head - Erin asked the dreaded question "Are you okay?", and I finally admitted that not, I wasn't, not really, not even at all. I cried for an hour, as erinkyan tried to push me to talk about the pain, the sadness, the anger. All those bubbling emotions trapped in my head that my job simply doesn't let me release.
Let me say, by the way, I have never been more happy to have erinkyan as my boyfriend than last night, when he asked me to go through a visualisation with him, to help me actually experience all the pain and emotions, before pushing them all out. It helped so much to have a place where I could safely feel those emotions.
Today, I have also chatted to someone on Lifeline, and after I finish this post, I am going to go see erinkyan before his date. But before that, I mentioned in my last post that I wanted to make a big, poignant post about Steve, the same way I did for my Uncle. I couldn't do it then, because I still didn't have the whole impact of emotions. But I think I can try now.
My strongest memories of Steve were from our time together in the SVGA. He first started as our Librarian, at a time where we really didn't have a particularly decent library, so he ended up sorta being a member without portfolio. And a member without a portfolio, you find, tends to get stuck with a lot of odd jobs. Steve I recall helped make the SVGA's logo (seen here, he helped in (my time's) everpresent attempts to purchase a television for the club, so that I wouldn't have to lug televisions around. Once I moved out of home, I remember being so grateful that he was willing to drive me and my televisions home.
I remember Steven getting drunk at uni camps, and remembering that he never really seemed to get much louder, although he was always a very happy, very silly drunk. At parties he'd get right into conversation, about games and geeky things. You could tell that he was an intensely bright man, tempered perhaps only by shyness, by his own quietness, but explain something to him, and you very rarely had to explain it twice, and that was something I respected about Steve a lot.
But when I look back on the time I spent with Steve, I find that I remember a lot about the events, a lot about what he did, but not a lot about Steve, the person. At the funeral, they mentioned he was an intensely private and quiet individual, and I can't say I disagree terribly about that. As much as he was a constant presence in Korner, as much as he was a mainstay in the SVGA, I didn't get to see a lot of him, in particular. I know that he often had a wicked sense of humour, as the quiet people often do. That, like me, he could latch onto a joke and run with it. I remember more than anything that he always seemed to have a good heart, was always happy to participate, always happy to help out. He was always there.
And now, he isn't. Now he is gone, by his own hand. His mother made a request at the funeral, that we respect his choice to end his own life, to be willing to let go. I want to be able to respect that choice, and I think I'm closer that now than I was since my last post. I will miss him, a lot, I will miss having such a good person in my life. I'm not sure how he saw us, but right now, I would proudly say that he was, and shall always be, my friend. Had he asked for anything, I would have done my best to make it happen. When I visited him in hospital, I told him that, should he ever need to talk, about anything, he could call me, and I would listen, and I would have. I wish we were closer, but I guess there's no sense in wishes like that now.
I miss you so much, Steve. I hope you know how much you were loved by your friends, I hope you know that people had to stand at your funeral, so many people came to pay their respects to you. I wish the turmoil in your life could have been resolved by those around you, but clearly this was not to be. I hope that, if you are anywhere, that you are finally at peace. Thank you for being part of my life, however brief it must be. I don't think I can let go of you yet, but I will try and move on. Farewell, Steven Williams.
This was originally posted at http://kirby1024.dreamwidth.org/127837.html