Tuesday, June 5, 2018

Untitled -- Read With Caution

I woke up sobbing again last night. It's happening more and more. This time was different. This time I was watching a movie, based on a true story, and it fucked me up.

I was in my dining room talking to my husband in the next room over. I looked into the mirror on the wall and saw myself behind me. I was hanging from the chandelier, legs swaying back and forth. I was dead by my own hand. This time it was a reality and not just a vision of what could be.

I began crying and couldn't catch my breath. I looked at my husband, who knew the person standing before him wasn't actually his wife. I looked him in the eye and he screamed, "I know!"

From then on, I was no longer there. I was hovering above watching; listening.

My kids.

My kids.

My funeral.

The sadness.

My sadness.


I know what needs to be done. There's just a lot happening. More than I can explain. I'll figure it out.

I need to say this though...it's not like going to the hospital is a cure-all. Perhaps the right one may be but most aren't. Life keeps happening while on the inside. And once you're discharged? Everyday life is the same. You jump right back in. It's not like you have access to another week of learning how to make life work for you again. You just go back to the way it was and it doesn't help. It's rather pointless.

People who die by suicide aren't selfish. They just want the pain to go away. They would take it being even a little lighter at first. The pain and the pressure inside wants to detonate.

Those thinking about death by suicide aren't selfish either. We spend every minute of every day thinking how our spouses and our kids will get on without us. We think about telling our spouses to tell the kids our death was an accident so they don't carry the guilt forever. But then we realize that's a lot to ask for.

This isn't the easy way out.

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