Author: aaron.danhi@gmail.com

We’re coming up on the 3-year anniversary of Erin’s death. Tomorrow would have been our 9-year wedding anniversary and a week ago on the 16th would have been our 15-year dating anniversary. Needless to say, I’ve been thinking about her even more than usual the last couple weeks. I’ve wanted to write something about her for the site, but my words have just been failing me. It really just seems so daunting, to capture everything I want to say. So, instead of posting some of my own writing (which I’ll continue to work on), I thought I would post something that Erin wrote. It’s fairly heavy and dark, about her mother’s struggles with mental health, drugs, and abusive relationships and the effect of those on Erin. I remember reading it for the first time a while ago and it effected me very strongly. It still does when I read it, now. She was so good and getting emotions out in words and to me, this is a great example.

The poem is simply title “M.D”, the meaning of which I can only guess. “Mommy Dearest” seems likely to me.

You can find a scan of her actual writing here: https://memoryoferin.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/12/Erin_Poem_02.pdf

Or you can read my transposition below:

M.D.

Swallow your spit
Taste some blood – really taste it!
You let him be everything
Now you’ve become nothing
No feeling below the gashes
Skin peppered with ashes.
Hallucinating perfect beauty
There is none – little one.
Voices speaking from all sides
Steel strong rules she never abides – never.
Pretty noises coaxing you toward the red lights.
Weapon in hand so shaky
Everything spinning.
Slowly whirling – your body
High pitched resonations of some sort
Attention still never caught
Your creations bleed like bloated, boiling bubbles
Step out of yourself yet STILL
you can’t see!
Everything looking dead – limply lifeless
You are! Only you!
Upon you a weight
Heavy like his fists fall on your decrepit body
His slave, servant, punching bag
Whirring, whirring, whirring.
Where’s that shit coming from?
Guardian demon
Spinning you fall, fallen, fell.
Breathing harshly, raspy, gurgling.
No one can hear your thoughts.
No one would listen.
Your worth measured in possessions?
Nothing again!
Stomach acid raining hell.
Colors of many blending to crimson.
Your life just lost.
See flashing shadows.
Nothing estimated – only underestimated.
Your body rotting
You want it, you want it!
The cold catches fire.
Snake like bubbles.
Your insides ooze from you.
Not even you would dare touch it.
Familiar scents bring you back.
Your wretchedness brings you back.
You‘re falling back in your sick mind.
No! This is
your fault!
You stayed there!
You made me stay there!
The place where everything & everyone haunts you!
Desolate, ravenous, impure.
Why pray?
The evil replica will be back.
Contemplate it in a dare.
Come on! I dare you!
Bring back your insanity.
Spelling your name in numbers.
Drawing linking chains.
Slender skin.
Your rips dangle on a scabby thread.
Peel it away.
See the bugs your addiction created.
Believe they’re really burrowing deeper in your skin.
Words of whatever blur into a low, harmonic, hypnotic hiss.
An incantation? A curse?
Sure, why not?
Deny this lie if you please.
Run your fingers through the memories.
Become your own victim – Again!
You could have stopped it.
You knew
his fists were really claws.
You didn’t want to be alone.
Well fuckin’ look!
Where are you now?
You lie in the darkness.
On the grass near the intersection, cross section, c-section.
Flickering halogen street lights.
Cars laugh at you – turn toward you – turn on you.
You victimized yourself to pass the time.
Excuseless.
Revenge – your weakness restricts.
Powerless
Dulled melodies assist your psychosis.
No one to pick you up.
Hand severed.
Can’t even push yourself up.
Lick your body like a cat.
You fight the permanent mirror.
It makes you stare at yourself – into yourself.
See the sounds.
Excrete pus from pores.
Harsh to soft.
Trip the trigger
No more “we”
Demonic image
Edges acute then obtuse
Your mind pressures changing.
It aches to you – feels good to me.
Your rotting flesh no longer on you.
Hanging, tacked, stapled up like art.
A wary sign to stay away.
You still can’t understand the obvious.
Blind to beauty.
Bloated boils on your body.
Scars of the old
False hope – there’s no healing where we are!
Virtually no skin.
Muscle tissue peaking at a glance.
Direct stares offer more delusion.
Walls fall down.
Force an airy scream
Oversized fingers push you over.
Acrid smells – it’s you – yes it is.
Heaven and hell.
Hell is large so earth is part.
Smoke your skin color spotted.
Artificial being – rather living
Remember all you hated.
Robotic, rhythmic, hypnotic movements
Generated from your unleashed fears.
The clown, though unreal, eats you.
Pull you out of body.
You just want to run.
No legs.
You beg to be taken away.
You’re not going anywhere!
Think you’re some angel.
Ha… covered in soot of sins.
Cold, satisfying metal
Run your fingers over the grooves
You start swaying – naked
Balancing on tips of toes, people watch.
A demonic smile overcomes your face.
Scares the shadows.
Oh, you think you’re done with it now?
Your bloody hair & teeth.
Pick your weapon
Aim… shoot…
Your body sways to the ground.
No one cares.
So fertilizer, you are now.
You wake up.
White all around.
Relief until padded walls are seen.
Sudden panic.
You throw yourself at them.
Your creation watched this.
Watched you go insane.
It spans a lifetime.
A vow never to follow
A vow to disappear.
Find a mate and disappear.
The space between sleeping and waking is heaven.
You lived in it 18 hours a day.
Your skin always discolored.
You step in your mess.
You’re just glad you can feel anything at all.
You can’t move now.
You’re chained in place.
He comes.
Feeds the maggots that grew from you
Replenish, nutrition, something.
Your agenda…
Die again.
This is
your fault!
Unlocked, unchained for a shower.
Inane, inanimate objects creak.
Water – dark yellow.
Clean the wounds.
You wince – drip blood from your eyes.
Look in the mirror
Ribs out of place – out of sorts.
Bruises and cuts.
People try to escape
From the walls of your room.
Your wings clipped.
You never did learn to fly anyway.
More fears.
Fathom a crutch.
Smell sickly like rot.
Clown music.
Your background music.
Celebrate a wound healed.
Life is submission to you.
No skin upon your face.
Scratch marks on your skull.
Your eyes forever bloodshot.
Someone stands by.
Someone watches
Someone thinks
Someone learns.
I still didn’t know it was wrong.
Why didn’t you tell me?
So your creation is a victim.
Your victim.
His victim.
She leaves.

Erin would have been 32 years old, today. Leading up to her birthday, I went through a box I have full of her things. Because of all my recent travels, it had been a while since I’d been able to spend some time with a lot of these things; all I’d had of hers while I was travelling was her butterfly necklace and a couple of pictures. It was so nice to see everything again, to be able to hold these memories of her in my hands and feel close to her in this way. Since it felt so good for me, I thought I would share some of these things and the memories attached to them with you in celebration of her 32nd birthday so that maybe it can help you feel that same closeness to her. There are 32 memories here since she would have been 32 years old today. Maybe you would like to share some of your favorite memories of Erin, too, to celebrate and remember her on her birthday.

There are are a lot of images and words that follow, so I thought I’d give you the choice of either seeing it all on one long page or being able to click through each individual memory, each on it’s own separate page.

Click here for one long page

or

Click here for separate pages

 

So far on this website I’ve talked a lot about Erin’s death, but not enough about her life. I want to try to tell the story of who she was, to try to describe her and the life she lived. It’s honestly a very daunting task. I just don’t feel capable of really expressing the beauty of her personality, but then that’s not really a new feeling. Throughout our life together, I always struggled with this. I was acutely aware of how she felt about herself, that she just couldn’t see her own value and didn’t believe she deserved to be loved or happy. I spent years and years trying to convince her that she was an amazing person, trying to express my love for her and to show her the beautiful person that I saw when I looked at her. The combination of her own self-loathing and my inability to express my feelings always led to my failure.

Now that she’s gone, the need is the same but for a different reason. Instead of trying to convince her, now I want others to know what I saw in her. I find myself constantly talking about her, even with strangers, every topic that comes up in conversation is related to her. I’m sure it’s getting old for the people that I talk to, but I just don’t want to stop. There’s this feeling that the more I talk about her, the more present she still is in this world. Even though she’s gone and will never be able to meet a new person, to give love or care or insight to anyone again, I feel like she’s still affecting new lives and still somewhat participating in the world because people are constantly hearing about her and her story. More and more people are getting to know her, albeit through the very limited lens of my perspective and my ability to describe her. It’s not enough, but it feels good. This website helps a lot, too. I’ve had people tell me how deeply her story has affected them, tell me that they’ve sent the link to others in their life that they felt could get something from her story, tell me that they feel like they knew her better, or at all, because of this website. I love that she’s still touching people in this world.

Erin was a very emotionally-driven person; sometimes I say it was like she was made of feelings. She had this amazingly gigantic heart and was so sensitive, which led to this profound ability to connect with and understand people on an emotional level. Despite her emotional sensitivity, she had this very tough, sarcastic exterior which was quite endearing because it could never hide her sensitive side for long. When I met her, she was pretty much always wearing baggy black clothes, just recently having gotten past her “goth” phase. She had a very jaded, I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude and a dark sense of humor. In our first real conversation, we laughed together at a joke about eating dead babies… I know. She cussed a lot, talked a lot of shit, and was always willing to tell you what was pissing her off. Underneath all of that was this sensitive, loving person who had been forced to adapt to a painful world where sensitive people get hurt. She liked animals more than she did people because animals were innocent. They had no ulterior motives, they didn’t want to hurt others for their own selfish, dysfunctional reasons.

Erin could be bitingly sardonic and irreverent, either making fun of those who were lucky enough to have gotten close enough to her that she felt comfortable doing it to their face or making jokes to me about random strangers we saw on the street. We used to play this game where we’d see somebody doing something inane and we’d make up a song that they would be singing to themselves in their head. Like we saw this guy watering his lawn and she sang this song about how he had a buttplug in and was getting this weird sexual pleasure from taking care of his grass. Kind of a strange example, I guess, but sometimes it could be downright mean… and I loved it! Because it wasn’t mean, not at all, it was just funny and was made even funnier by how actually sweet and harmless she was. This girl would do anything to help anyone who hadn’t proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that they weren’t worth it.

Nurturing by nature, Erin never passed up an opportunity to help or care for someone. Our pets, whether our two cats Rambo and Bambi or our dog Layla, always felt so loved and got plenty of treats, pets and hugs. When friends, family, coworkers or whoever approached her with their problems, she always had a sympathetic ear, offering advice or commiseration or just a shoulder to cry on. When we moved into our apartment building in Palos Hills, IL, she instantly made friends with the downstairs neighbor, an elderly lady with medical issues who had trouble getting around and running errands. Erin would go down there all the time to keep her company, having a cup of coffee and chit-chatting, and would drive her all around town to pick up this or that, go to doctor’s appointments, or other such things.

Erin’s willingness to help others and to lend support was frequently utilized because she was just so damn good at making friends. Everywhere she went people just gravitated toward her. She had this great combination of being funny, genuine, open-minded and understanding that just put people at ease and made it so easy to become friends with her. I’m talking about all types of people; young or old, rich or poor, uptight or carefree, conservative or liberal… they all loved Erin. She had very new-school, progressive and sometimes militantly liberal ideals, but she was so well-spoken and respectful of people that she got along really well with super old-fashioned people that normally would never associate with someone that held her views. Our downstairs neighbor that I mentioned earlier, some older women that she worked with at Trader Joe’s, and my grandma are all examples. She was so sweet and kind but got along really well with kinda trashy, bad-ass types that had hearts of gold. I could give dozens of examples, and those are just the ones that I witnessed… but I’ll suffice it to say that the girl just plain got along with anyone that was even remotely worth getting along with.

Not to hurt your feelings, but if you’re reading this and she never liked you… well then, you’re probably a complete piece of shit. Notice I said, “never liked,” because Erin always tried to give people the benefit of the doubt. She would try to like you because she had this ability to see the good in people, even when it was covered with an outer layer of garbage (hence her giving me a chance). If you ruined your chance, though, her reaction could be severe. She opened herself up to people, but of course that made her vulnerable to getting hurt. Like I said, she was sensitive, so sometimes it was easy to hurt her, but that’s okay because she was usually willing to give you a few chances. Once she figured out that she couldn’t trust you, though, you would often get to know a very different, much sharper and more stabby side of Erin. I don’t know about you, but I like and respect the reactive form of defense rather than the proactive form. Sure, Erin could get mean when hurt, and sometimes she could be overly sensitive and overreact, but at least she started out open and gave you a chance. Other people, myself included, start out much more guarded and often fail to ever open up to people that really deserve it.

She was also very creative and expressive. With her degree in English from El Camino college, she always dreamed of being a writer… and she really had the talent for it. I don’t think anyone knows as well as I do, thanks to the hundreds and hundreds of letters she must’ve written to me in our years together. Erin had this amazing ability to put her heart and soul into the things that she wrote. It was a natural and unassuming style that could tend toward prose when she was trying to express something ethereal or emotional or hard to define. I always admired and, in truth, somewhat envied her writing talent. She had what I always wanted, this ability to effortlessly pour her heart into what she wrote, to express these large complex feelings and ideas in these simple ways with a perspective that only she would have. I always loved reading the things that she wrote but felt bad that her dream of being a writer never materialized. There are probably several complicated reasons why it never happened for her, but in my opinion, it mostly comes down to fear, a lack of faith in herself and just the hard realities of the real world getting in the way. She struggled with this quite a bit, and you could see it in the decisions she made for her life as far as her future. She felt ashamed that she was never able to find a purpose for her life that she was passionate about, particularly writing. I really wish I’d found a way to support her more to push for this, but of course that’s something you must do for yourself for the most part.

I know that what I’ve written here doesn’t even come close to scratching the surface… Erin was this amazingly complex, larger-than-life person. Even after 12 years with her, I was still learning new aspects of who she was. I’m sure that some of you are thinking that I’m putting Erin on a pedestal, here. I know it’s common to do that when someone dies, to deify them as if they were perfect and holy and could do no wrong. I won’t lie that I tended to put Erin on a pedestal, even when she was alive. She really was the most amazing, kind person I’d ever met and I told her constantly how special she was. Often, I would even tell her that she was perfect, but of course she would protest and of course I knew that she wasn’t… but what I really meant was that she was perfect for me. Oh yes, she had her flaws… and like all the beautiful things about her, I’m sure that I knew the ugly things better than anyone else, as well. Even in what I’ve just written I’ve shared some aspects of her personality that convey some weakness and shortcomings. One day I hope to write something about how her BPD affected her life and mine, and I’m sure a lot of the negative stuff will come out in that. This was really just an outpouring of some of my thoughts about her. It’s by no means comprehensive or even coherent, but I just wanted to share with you all a little bit of the beauty that I experienced in this woman that let me spend 12 years of my life with her.

If anyone else would like to contribute their perspective to this, I would GREATLY appreciate it. This website is about celebrating our memories of Erin and I feel drastically underequipped when it comes to that task. But thank you for reading this and please let me know if you have any questions about Erin or what I’ve written.

In the aftermath of what was basically the destruction of my life – when I lost Erin, whom I’d made into my entire world, right or wrong – I’ve done a lot of thinking about what comes next. There was a long time where I just couldn’t or wouldn’t envision what that might be. I had essentially given up but was still operating on auto-pilot, just moving forward because that’s what I’ve always done when faced with hardship. I put on a brave face and diverted all my energy to convincing myself and everyone else that I was just fine. This time was different, though, because it wasn’t just about getting past something… it was also about figuring out what came next and trying to find a way to deal with what had happened.

Whether you believe it’s deserved or not, I have a lot of guilt over what happened. It’s actually quite overwhelming. In the face of my unimaginable failure, I just can’t envision a world where I will ever be able to forgive myself. Carrying such guilt and shame, how could I possibly live a valuable and productive life? How could I avoid falling into a downward spiral of self-hate and self-fulfilling prophecies of failure and depression? I was very close to giving in. There was the quick path option; choosing not to waste anyone’s time and just ending my life before I cause any more pain. But, after feeling the pain and emotional turmoil and unanswered questions of Erin’s decision to do that, I couldn’t possibly allow myself to inflict any such pain on someone else. I know that nobody loves me or would miss me as much as I do Erin, and sometimes there’s a little voice in the back of mind that tells me that everyone would understand my decision because of what happened to Erin… but there are people who love and care for me and I will never subject anyone to even a fraction of this. So that’s not an option. If that’s the case, then the slow degradation into apathy and self-pity – in other words, giving up – isn’t really an option, either, because it’s essentially the same thing but stretched out over a longer period of time.

So, here we go… I’m going to live a life. What is it going to be? How do I keep my guilt and self-hate from making me even worse and less valuable than I already am? Well, I believe the best way to do that is to look toward the source of my guilt in the first place. Erin. The best person I’ve ever known. The most loving, insightful, understanding and just purely GOOD person… someone who had this amazingly large and open heart, who reached out with her emotions and her empathy to everyone she could… who eventually got beaten down and destroyed because her gentle and soft nature just couldn’t cope with the hard and painful reality of this world and us hardened and imperfect people within it. That tremendous source of love and joy, the loss of which I feel largely complicit in bringing about, can serve as a sort of guiding purpose. I can dedicate my life to trying to make up, in any small way that I can manage, for that loss. Simultaneously, there will be the added benefit of not living an empty, shameful life of resignation and defeatism.

For a long time, I’ve shut myself off from the world, keeping my inner self guarded and thus cutting myself off from the love the world has to offer and refusing to provide my own love. Even Erin, to whom I’d opened up more than anyone one before, couldn’t quite get all the way through… some of my walls stood firm even against her. So, for me, the idea of trying to carry on her legacy of love and caring is very daunting; I just don’t feel up to it. However, I have to try. I can’t change who I am – at least not all at once – but I can change what I do and how I live my life. So why not do the biggest, most drastic thing I can think of? Sort of a jump start or a shock therapy treatment for my emotional side. That’s how I came to the decision to volunteer in Africa.

I can put off the daunting task of choosing a new life, of taking steps and making decisions for which I just don’t feel ready. Here’s a few years where I can just DO good, without necessarily having to BE good. I can make an impact, put some love and care into the world for people who really need it, all while not having to make any permanent decisions about my life and what comes next. In some ways, I’m running away from those decisions, but I feel that it’s better not to make them when I don’t feel ready. In the meantime, at least my life is valuable and I’m doing something with my energy and time that’s worthwhile. I feel somewhat uncomfortable when people tell me how great what I’m doing is, mostly because of the motivation. It’s like people congratulating me on running a great 100-yard dash time, when the whole time I was being chased by a lion and had no choice but to run faster than I ever thought I could. There’s a need to do this, not a want, which to me makes a difference. I’m fighting for my sanity and for my “spiritual” – for lack of a better word – well-being. I just need to do something to carry on Erin’s legacy. Maybe I’ll never be able to forgive myself for my part in the world’s loss of her, but I can work little by little to try to make my life some small fraction as worthy and uplifting as hers was.

Since I’ve started working on this website, I’ve put a lot of thought into the type of things I want to put up on it. Specifically, things dealing with Erin’s death. The main reason I created this was to honor her memory. I wanted tell the story of this wonderful person that touched so many lives in such a special way. But there’s another part of her story; a dark and painful side. So I’ve been torn about whether to include that part of the story here.

On one hand, I want this to be a place where we can remember the joy and love that Erin brought all of us – a place where we can celebrate her and her memory – and I’m afraid that sharing details about her death will somehow taint or diminish the ability of this website to allow us to share and enjoy those happy thoughts. On the other hand, I want Erin’s truth, her whole truth, to be known and attempted to be understood. She died in a dark room, alone and drowning in sad, painful, destructive and, in many cases, irrational thoughts and feelings. It feels wrong to me to allow that part of the story to remain in the dark. It feels dishonest and disrespectful to her.

Of course, there’s also the consideration of what her wishes would have been – probably the most important consideration to me and something into which I’ve put a lot of thought. Would she want some of these details to be known? Would she want people to feel the pain of knowing of her own suffering? Or, would she rather people focus on the positive things? These questions are difficult for me to be able to answer. It feels like a huge burden to try to answer on her behalf, but I feel that I know Erin better than I know myself. One thing I know is that she could be, at times, brutally honest. She had an integrity which demanded awareness and dedication to truth and she was at times harsh in her insistence for honesty. Another thing I know is that she believed in sharing her own feelings and thoughts in order to help others who might be going through or feeling the same thing. No matter how embarrassing, painful, or uncomfortable, she was willing to lay herself bare in order to help someone understand or find comfort.

I think, ultimately, she would want the truth of her death to be known, if only so that people could understand and maybe learn from her story. In addition to what she would want, there’s also what I feel she deserves. She deserves to have her story known. So I’m going to share some details. I will warn you that a lot of this will be very hard to hear. If you’re at all unsure of whether you want to read it, please do not read further. I don’t want to cause any more pain than what her death has already caused. Also, there is a lot of writing that follows so I would recommend that, if you do decide to read on, do it when you have some time and are in a safe, comfortable place. Please have someone you can reach out to if you need some emotional support.

WARNING: Only read further if you are absolutely sure you can handle painful details about Erin’s death.

Continue reading “The Story of Erin’s Death”

Hello,

My name is Aaron Danhi and I was lucky enough to have someone in my life for over 12 years who touched me so deeply that she changed me forever. Her name when I met her was Erin Weiler, and she was the most amazing person I have ever known. These words, over which I have such frustratingly limited command, will never be enough to describe to you the blinding beauty and profoundly deep love that I saw in her. She was practically made of love and I don’t believe there was a malicious bone in her body. Sure, she could have a sharp tongue, and I feel sorry for anyone ever unlucky enough to evoke her anger, but I know that this was rooted in her deep-down goodness and love… she just didn’t understand why we all had such a hard time being as kind as she was. She was fiercely intelligent and critical, always striving to understand this world and the people in it. That intuitive investigation of the world was guided by a caring and empathetic soul, always trying to find the good in people.

In December of 2015, Erin decided to leave this world. Again, these words will fail to describe the shattering loss that decision would mean for us. Nothing or no one will ever be able to fill the void that has been left behind. However, in addition to that void, and all the pain and tears and questions, there are also memories. There is love, just as strong and fulfilling and meaningful as it ever was, and although she isn’t here to give it to, it is still inspired by her and is therefore an extension of that love which she gave so freely. I feel my love for her and I also feel her love for me. I want to revel in it, I want to embrace it and honor it, because it’s all I have left of her.

And that’s why I’ve made this website. It’s a place to express and experience that love which she gave us and allowed us to feel. It’s a place to remember her. To honor her.

I’ve wanted to do this for some time, but fear has held me back. Not fear of you, or of the feelings, but fear of once again failing her. To me, it’s a big deal to go about trying to honor her… I feel ill-equipped. Just as I always did when it came to loving her and being her husband, I feel like it’s not going to be good enough or what she deserves. I know that I will fail to properly or accurately capture her memory, her spirit, her heart, her complex personality. But in the end, I’ve decided that the fear is stupid. I have to try. Failure is better than not trying.

As far as the website, itself… I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. It’s probably going to suck for a while as I figure it out, but here’s a general idea of what I’m trying to accomplish:

• I want the site to be a repository of memories; pictures, videos, writings, facts… anything and everything that can show some glimpse of who she was. I’ll be uploading everything I can find, trying to find a good way to organize and catalog it. I would like to make it open for anyone else to contribute such things. I’m looking into options for this, such as a simple upload form where you just give me the file and I put it somewhere on the site, myself. But also, more direct and interactive things, like:
• User-submittable photo/video gallery
• User-submitted blog posts (writings about Erin, photos, screenshots of online conversations, whatever)
• A wiki (user-editable page, like Wikipedia) that tells her life story
• I’m planning on adding a message board where people can discuss Erin, her life, her death, and the effect of those on them..

If anyone has any other ideas, ways to make mine better, or just comments or questions, please feel free to let me know (you can comment on this post, or contact me directly).

Thank you for visiting the site and for taking the time to read this. I hope that we can turn this into a proper way to honor Erin and her memory.

Regards,

Aaron