A few days ago another friend of mine was buried. He wasn't one of those friends who I saw or talked to every day. None of my friends are. I talk to/speak to strangers I've just met more than i do my friends. Anyways, this is the second friend of mine from my home town who's died. This year. Not counting the people I knew who weren't my friends. And those are just the ones I know about.
Since we all graduated, everyone from my town has been dying. I don't even want to count how many at this point. I've stopped asking "what happened?" Each time, it's the same story: Died in sleep. Heart attack. Heart attack in sleep. Overdose. Overdose induced heart attack in sleep. I've just accepted that we're all getting Final Destination'd one by one. Only the spirit hunting us is bored of his job and instead of using creative and movie-worthy ways to kill us, he just uses the same method over and over. I used to be optimistic that I was somehow above the dying masses; that I'd prevail. Now, especially in light of recent events (see two posts ago), I'm starting to wonder when my turn is.
I grew up in a place that is renowned for being not just the shittiest shit hole you could ever find yourself stuck in, but also the strangest shitty shit hole, thinking that the world's strangest and shittiest hole was normal. We all grew up in this place. We are a rare and - excuse the pun - dying breed. People who are released from this place as people who grew up there are regarded with shock and amazement. No one ever grows up there. People grow up in other places, and then go there to work and make money, and then return to wherever. But no one grows up there. We are those no ones.
The only time it has ever been normal for a bunch of people to die around 30 was when a normal visit to the doctor consisted of sitting in a chair with a bunch of leeches attached to you and blood dripping down your wrist into a collection pan. I'd like to say it's because of the drug culture, but people all over the world do mountains of drugs and don't die. Maybe it's the sometimes less than visible health problems that come with living near (and working in) a tar sand pit the size of several european countries, sprawling with sour-gas belching operations. Maybe it's the psychological effect of growing up in a place where the mostly male population spends their time working in the oil field and hookers and blow. Maybe we just aren't happy with life. maybe we just give up. maybe all of the above. maybe it's Maybelline.