I'm hurting right now. I knew him. And yet I didn't.
I know I'm not hurting as much as those who were directly involved in his life. His wife, his daughter, his family. In fact, his death won't directly affect my life in any way. He was an acquaintance, one I never spoke to after he left Louisiana, and one I barely spoke to while we were both there.
I'm not hurting because someone dear to me was taken from me. I"m hurting because I know where his thoughts were.
I know I write about morbid topics. For me, as I've said previously, this blog isn't for anyone but me. I don't offer advice or ways to fix things because that's not why I'm doing this. I write because I need to move things from my brain somewhere safer. I write because my internal dialogue needs to become an external monologue for me to process and move past my own emotions.
I deal with suicidal thoughts on a near-daily basis, even while on medication. It's something that's always in the back of my mind. I've done the research - I know what I would have to do in order to end my life as painlessly as possible. Sometimes, those dark thoughts consume me even while I'm pretending to be fine. I think most people who suffer with these kinds of thoughts are similar, though I don't know.
For me, what has saved me has been other people I love, even if they didn't know it. Little texts. Responding to my one last cry for help, framed in a "how are you?" question. My sweet daughter who still literally depends on me exclusively for another 45 days. My husband, who anytime I imagine the look on his face after I had lost the battle with my disease, convinces me to press on one more day. It doesn't change the thoughts. Sometimes, it just feels like it pushes off the inevitable. I'm just hoping that I can push it off so long that instead of losing to this disease, I end up losing the battle to old age.
This isn't the case for everyone, though. Depression is one of the worst diseases known to man, and sometimes even those people you love can't penetrate the darkness long enough to make living worth it. To go from day to day, feeling like a burden on the world is an exhausting way to live. To constantly feel like your life has no worth or purpose, even if others outside of your hurricane can see how much you are worth to them. For some people, knowing that others love and care for them is enough to delay the inevitable. For others, it just makes them feel worse.
I've been one swallow away from the end three separate times. So I don't grieve because I lost a dear friend. I grieve because I know how much pain you have to be in to get to that point. I grieve for anyone who has to go there, whether their lives are taken by the disease or not.
I don't have any advice. No happy ending, packaged in a nice little bow. This world loses good men and women every single day because they don't believe they're good enough to be alive. My heart hurts for every one of them, but today those people are represented by one I know.
He will be missed.
I know I'm not hurting as much as those who were directly involved in his life. His wife, his daughter, his family. In fact, his death won't directly affect my life in any way. He was an acquaintance, one I never spoke to after he left Louisiana, and one I barely spoke to while we were both there.
I'm not hurting because someone dear to me was taken from me. I"m hurting because I know where his thoughts were.
I know I write about morbid topics. For me, as I've said previously, this blog isn't for anyone but me. I don't offer advice or ways to fix things because that's not why I'm doing this. I write because I need to move things from my brain somewhere safer. I write because my internal dialogue needs to become an external monologue for me to process and move past my own emotions.
I deal with suicidal thoughts on a near-daily basis, even while on medication. It's something that's always in the back of my mind. I've done the research - I know what I would have to do in order to end my life as painlessly as possible. Sometimes, those dark thoughts consume me even while I'm pretending to be fine. I think most people who suffer with these kinds of thoughts are similar, though I don't know.
For me, what has saved me has been other people I love, even if they didn't know it. Little texts. Responding to my one last cry for help, framed in a "how are you?" question. My sweet daughter who still literally depends on me exclusively for another 45 days. My husband, who anytime I imagine the look on his face after I had lost the battle with my disease, convinces me to press on one more day. It doesn't change the thoughts. Sometimes, it just feels like it pushes off the inevitable. I'm just hoping that I can push it off so long that instead of losing to this disease, I end up losing the battle to old age.
This isn't the case for everyone, though. Depression is one of the worst diseases known to man, and sometimes even those people you love can't penetrate the darkness long enough to make living worth it. To go from day to day, feeling like a burden on the world is an exhausting way to live. To constantly feel like your life has no worth or purpose, even if others outside of your hurricane can see how much you are worth to them. For some people, knowing that others love and care for them is enough to delay the inevitable. For others, it just makes them feel worse.
I've been one swallow away from the end three separate times. So I don't grieve because I lost a dear friend. I grieve because I know how much pain you have to be in to get to that point. I grieve for anyone who has to go there, whether their lives are taken by the disease or not.
I don't have any advice. No happy ending, packaged in a nice little bow. This world loses good men and women every single day because they don't believe they're good enough to be alive. My heart hurts for every one of them, but today those people are represented by one I know.
He will be missed.
