Baddies 4 Beau

Friday, Sep 18

10:00pm

Hosted by

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$10 per person

donation 4 suicide prevention

all u can drink ;p

THIS IS BEAU’S STORY April 18, 2025. I’m waiting on a phone call from my dad. I had just received new chest X-rays. I had ammonia poisoning, and can hardly speak. But he wants to talk about my X-rays. About my upcoming marathon in May. And to ask about the miso soup I’d eaten earlier that day. I send him a photo: “This is how you’ll find me” I’m sitting on the couch and fall asleep a few hours later. At 1:23 in the morning, he sends me a series of texts: “I love you” “Nothing is what it may be made out to be” “I love you so much ❤️🥰❤️” April 19, 2025. I’m 2.5 hours away from home when I receive the phone call. It’s from my brother. “One second, I’m at a basketball game,” I am laughing. He is not. “I need you to step outside for a second.” An odd request, but whatever. Older brothers are weird like that. One of the symptoms of ammonia poisoning is respiratory distress. You can hardly talk. You cannot scream. So when my brother tells me that my dad committed suicide earlier that morning, a few hours after sending me those texts, nothing comes out. Nothing can come out. Sometimes I wonder if my body knew something that I didn’t. I was diagnosed with Bipolar I disorder several years ago. It’s genetic. Being manic is exhilarating; everything is briefly perfect. My dad loved that feeling, we’d talk about it on occasion. But he and I never talked about the depression. How it feels to wake up and not want to. For every step to lead you to the nearest graveyard. And now, we never will. The concept of my dad dying before I did hadn’t ever occurred to me. He was my best friend. Supporting me through every breakup, gossiping about my crushes, encouraging me to stand up for myself and the women around me. Calling to coach me through my long runs. Everything was always so happy, so perfect, so strong. It’s been over a year now. It hasn’t always been easy to stay strong. Graduating college, moving across the city, starting my new career. Who do I call when I’m falling in and out of love? Who do I call when I come back from a doctor’s appointment? Who do I call when I finally order miso soup again? I’m very fortunate to have had a strong community to support me, and fortunate to have had access to hotlines and medications that my dad didn’t. I never ran my 2025 marathon. But I did in 2026. It was a trail marathon, and I ran by myself. I did that race to prove to someone that I still could. I’ve now been given the opportunity to run again, this time with a community. To show someone that I’m still here, that we’re all still here. That my dad is somewhere watching me lace up my newest pair of shoes. The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention’s mission is to Save Lives and Bring Hope To Those Affected By Suicide. This run brings me and thousands of others hope. Can you donate to the cause?