|Source - I took a picture of this heart (graffiti) last year. While searching the internet for a perfect "why"|
picture, I decided to take my photography and turn it into my own why picture. See more of my photography here.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
For the last two years my life has revolved around questions.
What if? Why? Could I have done something? Did I do something to cause my husband’s suicide? Would of, could of, should of, why me? Why my husband? What did we do to deserve this? Why was love not enough to save him? Why was life not enough?
I have beaten myself daily with questions. For two very long years.
This week while reading I wasn't ready to say goodbye (by Brook Noel and Pamela D. Blair) I realized I don’t live in the world of questions anymore.
Somewhere in the last 6 months the questions stopped.
I still question why? But I have come to the realization that unless I walk in my husband’s shoes, the world of mental illness, I will never understand.
I will never understand what it’s like to see dead people or hear voices. I will never understand what it’s like to have the voices in my head constantly tell me “You’re not enough. Just kill yourself.”
I will never understand how the love of my friends and family is not enough.
I (hopefully) will never understand the pain my husband was in. Pain so bad that suicide is the only way to make it stop.
I will never understand how he could leave me. I will never understand the thought process of suicide. Even at my darkest moments when I was suicidal, all I could think about was my family and what my suicide would do to them. So I will (hopefully) never understand the deep dark hole he was in.. where the hole is so deep and dark that thoughts of your family can’t even leak in to save your life.
I will never understand the stigma that comes with suicide. See, because my husband had bipolar disorder which is not a physical disease, people don’t get it. With mental illness people think “Suck it up, get over it. It’s all in your head.” People don’t understand that bipolar is more of a disease then a disorder... In my husband’s case it was a disease that killed him, not a disorder.
I will never understand the comments DGI’s (Don’t get it’s) make. “Just kill me now.” Perfect example - this week a sales rep said to me “I have so many customers screaming for product that I just want to kill myself.” There is a certain hand gesture people do that is very insulting and triggering. People don’t understand how devastating suicide is, and to joke about it is just.. There are no words for it. All I can say is it’s not a joke and it’s not something to laugh about.
There is a lot of things I will never understand. I just accepted that I will never have the answers.
So I stopped asking the questions.
Not questioning all of this has brought me peace… and quite. My brain is a lot quieter. I don’t get the racing thoughts as often (Sure, they still pop up, as soon as my head hits the pillow) but it's not a everyday, all day, process.
Somewhere along the line, the questions stopped so gradually, that I didn't even notice it. I had to see it in black and white on paper to realize the questions have stopped.
I find peace in knowing my husband was suffering so badly that his suicide was not impulsive. It was years of suffering that lead up to his suicide.
Sure.. I will always wonder why. But I know at end of the day, I will not get any answers.
I also know when it’s my time to go, it will all make sense.
That brings me peace.