(no subject)

Thank you to everyone who took the time to share my previous post; it was very, very much appreciated.

Unfortunately, they found Sarah's body on Tuesday night. There were no suspicious circumstances around it, a rather careful little phrase used by the police in situations like this.

(What comes below you might find a touch upsetting. Well, me too.)

To keep up with what was happening, I had been Googling her. Creepy, yes, but at least if there was no news it was good news. I came into work on Wednesday and did a quick search and read the above and my heart stopped. I phoned who I needed to - Richie, Katie and Grahame - and then because I didn't know what else to do I phoned my parents. Mum works in psychiatric care in the community and told me some useful things that I will not repeat here because they really are trigger-y. I spent the rest of the day crying on and off but staying in work; being busy helps and at least I've found out my manager cannot handle crying women but at least does so with kindness. Richie and I went out in the evening because I didn't want to go home, although it turns out comfort eating and drinking fails to get you as drunk as I was hoping.

I met Sarah on my first day in university. Her room was opposite the kitchen so she came out to chat; if memory serves we were some of the first people in the house. She, Katie and I all bonded over awkward tea. We went to the Union for a drink - I remember thinking how strange the streets were, how weird that I had to live with these people - and we sat there in silence. "So... hobbies!" Sarah said cheerfully. She was good at breaking a silence like that and it became a joke.

The three of us lived together for three years, in three houses - Albany Park, Fife Park and then Lamond Drive in private accommodation. Other people were there too, obviously, and I have so many good memories. The time Sarah bought Katie a lobster for Christmas. (Maybe not such a funny memory for Katie, sorry.) Cooking a massive Christmas dinner for the neighbours. Dancing at the Bop. The time Sarah and Derya bought home a shopping trolley and traffic cone. Watching University Challenge on my tiny telly in the living room. Eating hot rotisserie chicken sandwiches, trying to do the Responsible Sex talk with bananas and free condoms from the Union and giggling all the time. Just talking, hours and hours of talking. The attempts at Masterchef nights. Some of the people she came home with. The hours patiently spent teaching me Scottish slang. A visit to her house for clubbing. Pointing at aeroplanes on the hard shoulder near Edinburgh. The random piercings she would get, and me having to clean the one at the back of her neck. Her cutting my hair but we forgot to put a towel on the carpet.

She was a brilliant cook, and horrible at cleaning, which is ironic considering that we worked together for two years as cleaners. She loved the Cranberries, and used to absent-mindedly make tea in new mugs until she's used up all the mugs. She was unbelievably intelligent and studied so much harder than the rest of us. She used to complain because the house was cold.

I remember, when I got married, there was a lovely moment in the evening, when Katie, Sarah and I were all back under the same roof. Katie was pregnant with a longed-for baby; I had just got married; and Sarah was full of happiness and excitement with starting her nurse training. I remember thinking how lovely it was we had finally started moving in a direction for happiness.

(fuckcryingAGAIN)

We didn't talk as much now we lived apart, but we'd exchange cards and messages and stuff. I didn't know it was this bad and I know - thanks, Mum - that it wasn't anyone's fault but shitty brain chemistry. I know all of this. And nothing invalidates how badly she must have been feeling. But if you're reading this, and you feel like that, please please please, don't do it. There is an outpouring of love and grief on facebook for Sarah at the moment and I can't cope with thinking that perhaps she didn't feel it anymore. If you feel like that, no matter how well we might or might not know each other, please just come and talk to me, I will listen, I will tell you about our happy times together and why I treasure you and our experiences together and why we should have more. If you feel like you can't talk to me, go and speak to these people instead. Please.

I'm going to miss you Sarah. You bam.

(no subject)

Thank you to everyone who took the time to share my previous post; it was very, very much appreciated.

Unfortunately, they found Sarah's body on Tuesday night. There were no suspicious circumstances around it, a rather careful little phrase used by the police in situations like this.

(What comes below you might find a touch upsetting. Well, me too.)

To keep up with what was happening, I had been Googling her. Creepy, yes, but at least if there was no news it was good news. I came into work on Wednesday and did a quick search and read the above and my heart stopped. I phoned who I needed to - Richie, Katie and Grahame - and then because I didn't know what else to do I phoned my parents. Mum works in psychiatric care in the community and told me some useful things that I will not repeat here because they really are trigger-y. I spent the rest of the day crying on and off but staying in work; being busy helps and at least I've found out my manager cannot handle crying women but at least does so with kindness. Richie and I went out in the evening because I didn't want to go home, although it turns out comfort eating and drinking fails to get you as drunk as I was hoping.

I met Sarah on my first day in university. Her room was opposite the kitchen so she came out to chat; if memory serves we were some of the first people in the house. She, Katie and I all bonded over awkward tea. We went to the Union for a drink - I remember thinking how strange the streets were, how weird that I had to live with these people - and we sat there in silence. "So... hobbies!" Sarah said cheerfully. She was good at breaking a silence like that and it became a joke.

The three of us lived together for three years, in three houses - Albany Park, Fife Park and then Lamond Drive in private accommodation. Other people were there too, obviously, and I have so many good memories. The time Sarah bought Katie a lobster for Christmas. (Maybe not such a funny memory for Katie, sorry.) Cooking a massive Christmas dinner for the neighbours. Dancing at the Bop. The time Sarah and Derya bought home a shopping trolley and traffic cone. Watching University Challenge on my tiny telly in the living room. Eating hot rotisserie chicken sandwiches, trying to do the Responsible Sex talk with bananas and free condoms from the Union and giggling all the time. Just talking, hours and hours of talking. The attempts at Masterchef nights. Some of the people she came home with. The hours patiently spent teaching me Scottish slang. A visit to her house for clubbing. Pointing at aeroplanes on the hard shoulder near Edinburgh. The random piercings she would get, and me having to clean the one at the back of her neck. Her cutting my hair but we forgot to put a towel on the carpet.

She was a brilliant cook, and horrible at cleaning, which is ironic considering that we worked together for two years as cleaners. She loved the Cranberries, and used to absent-mindedly make tea in new mugs until she's used up all the mugs. She was unbelievably intelligent and studied so much harder than the rest of us. She used to complain because the house was cold.

I remember, when I got married, there was a lovely moment in the evening, when Katie, Sarah and I were all back under the same roof. Katie was pregnant with a longed-for baby; I had just got married; and Sarah was full of happiness and excitement with starting her nurse training. I remember thinking how lovely it was we had finally started moving in a direction for happiness.

(fuckcryingAGAIN)

We didn't talk as much now we lived apart, but we'd exchange cards and messages and stuff. I didn't know it was this bad and I know - thanks, Mum - that it wasn't anyone's fault but shitty brain chemistry. I know all of this. And nothing invalidates how badly she must have been feeling. But if you're reading this, and you feel like that, please please please, don't do it. There is an outpouring of love and grief on facebook for Sarah at the moment and I can't cope with thinking that perhaps she didn't feel it anymore. If you feel like that, no matter how well we might or might not know each other, please just come and talk to me, I will listen, I will tell you about our happy times together and why I treasure you and our experiences together and why we should have more. If you feel like you can't talk to me, go and speak to these people instead. Please.

I'm going to miss you Sarah. You bam.