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In the heartbreaking 3rd installment of 'I Am Caroline Calloway,' the influencer talked candidly about her father's death

Hanna Lustig   

In the heartbreaking 3rd installment of 'I Am Caroline Calloway,' the influencer talked candidly about her father's death
International9 min read
  • Writer, artist, and influencer Caroline Calloway has penned an essay titled "I Am Caroline Calloway."
  • The essay has been billed as Calloway's formal response to a piece published by The Cut last year, in which her friend and former collaborator Natalie Beach chronicled what she said was a toxic working relationship.
  • The essay's release has been a dramatic, multi-part affair, with a new installment dropping every Tuesday.
  • Part Two And A Half debuted on April 14 and focused mainly on the author's difficult relationship with her late father.
  • Warning: This story contains mention of suicide and graphic content.
  • Visit Insider's homepage for more stories.

The third installment of "I Am Caroline Calloway" was released Tuesday afternoon. And it is, by far, the writer's most moving work to date.

According to Calloway's original schedule for the essay's multi-part release, this installment was going to be the last. Instead, she announced her decision to turn Part Three into Part Two And A Half, with Part Three "coming soon."

Part Two ended with a series of emails sent between Natalie Beach, Calloway's former ghostwriter an collaborator, and Calloway. On September 4, 2019, Beach sent Calloway an email letting her know she had written an essay about her experience working with Calloway "and as such someone from The Cut might reach out to you with fact checking questions."

The same day, Calloway says she received an unexpected call from her father that would be their final conversation.

"Two days later he killed himself," Calloway wrote. "Four days after that, Natalie's essay was released to the world and my life changed forever, again."

My um... My Dad just died. Today. I got the call an hour ago. The cause of death is unknown. I’m worried that by even telling this I will cheapen the truth. That I will make this moment into another “notorious misfortune” of mine as the New York Times called them. But I believe deeply in the power of art and social media and being yourself. For many years (2013-2018) I tried to BE my online persona. I tried to make myself seem happier, prettier, more interesting on the internet and then I tried to be that girl in real life. In 2019 I have tried to bring my online persona up to speed with who I really am, flawed, ever-changing, full of goodness, one day at a time. If this media shitstorm WASN’T blowing up right now, I would use my grief to make things that mean things to people. You can call what I’m doing performance art, but it is only a performance when I fail to express honestly what I am feeling. And what I’m feeling right now is shock. I have an interview with NBC News in twenty minutes and I don’t know what to say. I guess I’ll just tell the truth. I don’t know. I can’t think straight. Text someone that you love them today. I didn’t know this would be the last time I ever texted my Dad.

A post shared by Caroline Calloway (@carolinecalloway) on Sep 12, 2019 at 11:01am PDT

In Part Two And A Half, Calloway attempts to trace the final weeks of her father's life.

His exact date of death is not known. Medical examiners, however, declared his passing a "definite suicide" that likely occurred "around the fifth, sixth, or seventh of September."

His body, Calloway wrote, decomposed rapidly because he "died in a pool of his own bloody vomit." This, Calloway believes, is because "he did know how many pills to take."

"He did not know — like I do — that before you kill yourself you need to trawl the bleakest forums on the internet to find out how to match your chemical quantities to your body weight," she continued. "Otherwise an overdose will be more painful than it needs to be, like it was for him."

Hair-reveals are a staple of internet culture. This is a photo of the medical examiner’s report from my father’s autopsy. You’ll notice his body had maggots in it when it was brought into the morgue, as the doctors noted on this diagram of his corpse. Hair-reveals are nice. Using Instagram as a highlight reel is nice. I don’t want to make an Instagram account that quilts together the nicest things that have ever happened to me and leaves out the things that keep me up at night. I want to celebrate the beautiful moments when they come, but I want my account to hold the messy, human whole of who I am. I want to make content that makes others reconsider what an Instagram post can contain.

A post shared by Caroline Calloway (@carolinecalloway) on Feb 21, 2020 at 6:47pm PST

What is known about her father's passing, Calloway went on, is that "about three weeks before he died," he called the local police department in Falls Church, Virgina "saying that 'his life was over.'"

"He asked the cops to take him to 'a homeless shelter,'" Calloway wrote. "Officers picked him up at the house where I grew up and took him to a mental hospital instead."

During his two-week stay at the hospital, Calloway's father kept a journal, she says, which she later found while cleaning out his house after his passing. In his journal, he kept a log of the medications he was taking and the songs he liked best when they played over the ward's speaker system. He also noted his observations of the hospital staff and some of his interactions with fellow patients in group therapy.

"In his journal from the mental hospital he writes about me not once," Calloway added.

When her father's allotted two weeks at the hospital came to an end, Calloway wrote, he petitioned a social worker to continue his state-subsidized emergency treatment. Calloway said she would not have believed this "if it weren't in writing," because her father had "refused help his entire life" and "always denied that he even had a problem."

"He wanted to move into a group-home for mentally-ill men," she said. "This would have been free for him — a type of life-saving healthcare covered by the state of Virginia — which was key because he was bankrupt."

Calloway noted that, although her father hadn't formally filed for bankruptcy yet, he'd taken out "refinanced mortgage after refinanced mortgage to keep the credit card debt-collectors at bay." But, "on paper," he appeared to be "an Exeter-educated, Harvard-educated white male home-owner who had never received any kind of mental health treatment until two weeks ago."

This outward appearance is perhaps why, "about a week" after asking to continue his treatment in a group home, "his petition was denied."

"He was released," Calloway wrote. "He called me. Two days later he died."

Calloway's father was found by the police after a neighbor who was walking her dog noticed a "peculiar smell" emanating from an upstairs bedroom window and placed a welfare check, Calloway wrote. When no one answered the door, the police broke it down. Calloway described what the police would have found inside: floors "covered with animal piss and rotting food and so many newspaper clippings."

I wanted to post a photo of Cambridge at it’s climax and post of a photo of this: “My” bathroom, growing up. Just out of frame is a wicker basket full of plastic bath toys that I played with the last time I took a bath in this tub before my parents got divorced. My Dad moved exactly nothing after my Mom moved out and took me with her. My Spice Girls bike is still in the carport where I threw it down. The trash can in my room still has broken barrettes and green apple gum chewed by baby teeth at its bottom, like Pompeii the day the ashes fell. When I describe my Dad’s house to my friends, I say: “It’s like the apocalypse hit my childhood home.” When I describe my Dad’s house on Instagram I... Don’t. My twenty-seventh birthday this past December was the first time I ever posted photos of his house on my account—with his permission, of course. But I didn’t include the selfie of me crying in my Mom’s car because he wouldn’t accept any help. I held that moment back. Here is a question I don’t know the answer to: Yes, I have built a brand by plucking out the most upper-class details of my life and polishing them for public consumption until they gleamed, but were you ever OWED any other details of my life before I wanted to share them? My Dad’s house? The middle class mess and mental illness that I come from? My addiction? My generalized anxiety disorder and depression? Yes, it was wrong of me to sell a book I didn’t want to write, but that’s between me and my publishers. I’m talking about here. Instagram. You and me. There is no paywall for accessing my account. I am not paid to make these stories for you. You’re reading this sentence for free. I feel terrible that in 2012 I had my friends help me write my captions for one year and I didn’t tell you until Natalie did. I feel bad that from 2012 to 2018 I only posted about the the beautiful experiences that came into my life because my parents poured every penny into my education. But does anyone ever owe social media facts about themselves they don’t feel like sharing? As I said, I don’t know. I have only questions.

A post shared by Caroline Calloway (@carolinecalloway) on Sep 17, 2019 at 11:56am PDT

When Calloway's father called her days before his death, she was sitting in her West Village apartment digesting Natalie's "heads up" email. It was, Calloway noted, the "first time he had called me in years."

"Over the past few years, the reclusive introvert I knew as a child had morphed into a paranoid agoraphobe and he'd stopped contacting me altogether," Calloway explained.

Calloway recalled "how cheerful — how buoyant — he sounded" during that final phone conversation. Calloway believes her father "still wanted to live" at that point, because the same day he ordered CDs of all the new music he'd discovered at the hospital. He told her during this call that "things are going to get better," and that he was "proud" of her. The conversation was brief because Calloway was "so overwhelmed by all the feelings Natalie's email had whipped up into a frenzy inside of [her]."

"A few minutes after we hung up, I called back," Calloway continued. "I needed money."

Calloway said she hadn't asked her father for money "in years," but "going viral in January had all but sunk [her] financially." Before her creativity workshops were derided as "scams," Calloway said ticket sales were "booming." So much, in fact, that she had secretly planned to use the extra income to "hire a professional organizer" to clean her father's house as well as a therapist who would be willing to do house calls for him. The trauma of being publicly shamed, however, left her "too emotionally broken to work. She came close to eviction during this period because she "chose to pay for therapy instead of rent."

Thankfully, Calloway's father didn't answer her follow-up call. Instead, Caroline's final words to her father were "I love you."

"The last thing he said to me was: I love my Sweetsie Girl!" Calloway wrote.

The next day, according to Calloway, her father ordered a washing machine for same-day delivery from Home Depot.

"My Dad used this washing machine to clean the sheets to make the bed where he could kill himself," Calloway wrote.

Per Calloway, her father took painkillers left over from two previous knee surgeries to end his life. Calloway's father never struggled with substance abuse and Calloway "never told" him about her Adderall addiction because, as she put it, they "never knew each other...authentically."

"But isn't it strange and fucked-up and beautiful that I feel closer to a man I never understood and who never understood me because he chose pills?" Calloway wrote.

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