A Keeping It Real Post
September is Suicide Prevention Month. I won’t bore you with a rehash of the ugly details of this small chapter of my story, but feel free to dive into the archives if you’re new. Short version: in the depths of my worst pain, fueled by pills and alcohol, I came to believe that there was only one logical escape. Fortunately, I’m still here today, living the fuck out of a life I love.
We all get tired. But some days, I get bone-weary of the heavy mantle of widowhood. For the last few weeks, I’ve been dealing with a government agency and have had to force myself back to a time I’d hoped I’d left behind. Official statements, decrees, and death certificates make me want to garb myself in a long black victorian dress, black lace veil, and parasol and wander the Boise streets with long weepy sighs.
Dramatic, I know. But it’s real. And I’m tired of it. At what point will I not have to deal with widowhood anymore? Wait, I know the answer, and it’s when I’m finally and permanently departed.
I speak to the W’s in my life often. I know everyone is tired of the pandemic, quarantine, and the fear and ugliness that pervade our communities. And everyone is struggling with their mental health. But for the bereaved, the pandemic has ripped open old scars, buried us under new fears, and isolated Widows in a way grief never could. Many are close to, or at, the breaking point. Some will even consider seeking an escape from what feels like endless suffering.
Want to piss me off? Wait until someone dies of suicide and post that they should have “reached out.” Lemme tell you something. Suicide isn’t a choice made from emotion; it is calm and logical. Maybe not to you, but you aren’t involved in that final decision. It becomes a logical choice to stop the pain. Suicide becomes an act of kindness to your friends and family, who you believe perceive you as a burden. It becomes the chance to reunite with the one you love.
Why am I telling you all this again? Because as all you Normals have turned inward trying to figure out this weird world, you’ve had less time to share with your W’s. That’s not a judgment; it’s a reality. Consider this your annual reminder. Before you head out on your Labor Day weekend, check in with your W’s.
My Fellow W’s
I know it’s hard. I know how much it hurts. But I beg you to please remember you aren’t alone. Please get help if you need it. Not sure? Get help. These days you can even talk to a counselor on an app on your phone. Speak to another W. Call me. I’ve walked that dark path and won’t let go of your hand on the way back. Every minute of every day I’m profoundly grateful someone else held my hand until I found my way back to the light. I love this life, even this weird 2020 life.
Never forget, I love you.
Live Now. Dream Big. Love Fierce.
Contact the Suicide Prevention Lifeline for help 24/7. 1-800-273-8255.