Dear Mike,

It’s been almost 2 years since you died. October 27, 2017. I still think about you all the time and it makes me really sad. 

I think a lot about the things we’d be doing and making if you were alive. We could’ve made the other episodes of Double Homicide and all the other crazy shit you had in your brain. We could’ve made Body Positive Frat.

I took screenshots of our text convos after you died but not all of them. I wish I did because now I can only scroll back to a few weeks before you overdosed. 

I still have the text from when you told me about the sketch where we would go to planet fitness at 3 in the morning and sign up for memberships. And the one you sent encouraging me to share my #metoo story. And most importantly when you texted me a “♥️” because you were “just sendin love.”

Someone posted Hey Coach on reddit a couple weeks ago. I didn’t read the comments because reddit scares me. My brother read some to me and they were really nice. It has a whole buncha views now, which I think you’d be happy about. Nowhere near the play counts you got on “Spider in My Room (I’m Tryna Fuck It)” but it’s still one of my favorite things I ever did.

The other day, I was telling someone that I don’t really like Halloween that much anymore and he was surprised since I love to dress up. It occurred to me that maybe I don’t like it partly because you died right before. I found out the day after it happened. You died on Friday and I found out on Saturday. I was so upset and I still dressed up and went out anyway and got drunk. We smoked cigarettes and when I got home I cried more that night than I ever have about anything.

Sometimes I use your death to justify bad things that I do. If I’m self-destructive or self-sabotaging, I think “at least I’m still here to even do bad stuff.” Other times it makes me so appreciative of everything that happens and everything I get to feel whether it’s good or bad. I don’t know if that’s wrong to say. I get mad when I realize all the shit you’re missing.

When I think about you, I remember so many good times and good talks and good texts. I also remember the Sunday before you died when we were filming sketches and you were really late and you’d never been late before. I was frustrated. You were acting different and your face looked different. I so wish I had paid more attention — that I had taken you aside and asked if you were okay. I didn’t. And I so wish that our final texts to each other weren’t about your friend who I don’t like. Because there are so many other things I would’ve rather said at the end.

You had been doing fine up until then. Better than fine! Good even!! You were writing so much and performing and everyone loved Off the Horn. (The footage from your Legion show is somewhere being edited by someone and I’m determined to find it. I want to hear your joke about eating spiders a thousand more times.) That’s when I learned that people who seem to be doing the best sometimes need help the most. I didn’t know.

If I could go back, I would tell you how much our friendship impacted me and still does. I would tell you how much I admired your creativity and fearlessness and kindness. Everything we made together was a gift. You were so fucking funny.

I wish you were still here because then I wouldn’t have to guess how you would feel about things. I could just ask you.

Megan and I hosted the annual Pig Roast in February. We are doing one every year. We’ve only done two lol but still. We made the Nasty Man tee shirts! Shelby illustrated it and you look really cool. It’s how I’ll always remember you. With a cigarette and your sunglasses and your shirt from “My Friend’s Streetwear Brand.” 

Miss you so much. There’s some version of all this where you didn’t overdose and we have a tv show somewhere about something. I think we’re really happy there.

xo