Empty fury

I'm sure we've all been told that 'anger' is one of the phases of grief (coincidently, Stephanie wrote about these on Thursday). I say 'phases' instead of 'stages' because, in my experience, it’s not a linear process where you graduate from one emotion to the next.  Instead, it’s been a messy, complicated jumble that throws us back and forward, turning us inside and out.

Thankfully, I haven't felt a lot of anger, maybe four or five bursts in the past 10 months. But when it hits, boy oh boy, it's like a tornado has blown in hard and fast.  I’m having one of the anger storms tonight, so thought I’d vent here.

I've never been able to direct the anger at Dan. I wish I could because I imagine it might feel satisfying to blame him for this mess I'm in. But in my heart I know it's not his fault. He didn't take his life to hurt me, he wasn't in the frame of mind to understand he was ending my life too - my life the way I knew it anyway. His final note tells me that he thought he was saving me.  I want to be angry that he got it so wrong but I honestly believe he died from a disease that he just couldn't control.

If anything, when I try to direct the anger at him I end up feeling even more heart-broken because rather than point an accusing finger, I want to protect him. I want to bundle him up in my arms, kiss his sweet, gentle face and sooth him. I want to tell him it's going to be ok, he doesn't need to be scared, we'll work it out together. 

So no, I can't be angry with him. But I'm still furious and looking for somewhere to direct it.

I want to pour blame on Dan's doctor, who I can't help but feel let us down. Or the people he crossed paths with the morning he died  He was distraught, with tears pouring down his face, yet no one stopped him. I want to shake them and say 'why didn’t you ask if he was ok? Why did you fail us!' But I know it's not their fault either. If I didn't see it, and I was the closest person too him, how can I blame others?  I know they suffered from this too.

I want to hurl my anger at those close to me - my family and friends. Those who have done everything possible to help me but needed to make their own lives a priority for a rare moment, triggering my abandonment issues and making me want to shove everyone away. But I know they love me and are hurting to see me like this.  I know it’s not fair to lash out at them.

I want to pound my fists against the idiot at work, or the asshole who gave me attitude at the grocery store. I want to roar like a savage beast at everyone who still has their spouse to come home to at night, to console them after a tough day, cook them a meal or help with the shitty chores that no one wants to do on their own. But I know that wouldn’t be fair either.

I want to run, to burn the fury through physical exertion, but I don't seem to have the energy to pull my shoes on. I want to throw crockery plates at a brick wall. Hear them crash and watch them shatter. But I like my plates and the mess would bother me.

I want to destroy everything good around me, so my surroundings resemble my insides - barren and lonely and dark.

But I just don't have the heart. So I lie here defeated and cry. That primal howling cry that comes from deep within while my body writhes with pain. I scream in to my pillow, 'why!?' and 'please come back!' and 'no, this isn't fair - it's too much! I can't do it' until I fall asleep from exhaustion.

Then, in the morning, head pounding and puffy-eyed I'll get up, take a deep breath and go and do it all again.  One day at a time, one step at a time. Until the anger rolls in again.

Happy Birthday

From our honeymoon, proudly showing off my "new" initials.
Eight years later I am still proud of my last name.

Today is my husband’s birthday. He would have been 35 years old.

This day has been creeping up on me since Halloween.

I found myself having to count backwards to remember just how old my husband would have been.

When I realized he would have been 35 I laughed. I laughed because he would have been “old”.

I was thinking about what my husband would look like when he was 60 years old.. 80 years old.. and as hard as I try to envision what he would look like.. my brain cannot come up with an aged Seth vision.

My brain will always see him as 31 years old.

I was thinking about when we were married and planning on growing old together.. I never was able to see us old and gray.

It’s almost like I knew he would never live to be old.

With yesterday being International Survivors of Suicide day and today being my husband’s birthday.. I find it ironic and painful.

Ironic that my husband’s birthday falls the day after Suicide Survivors day.

Years ago I didn't even know a suicide survivor was a real thing, I would have thought a suicide survivor was someone that attempted and lived through it.. nor did I know there was a day dedicated to suicide survivors.

Years ago I never knew my husband would be dead by 31 years old.. and would be dead by suicide.

Years later here I am.. fully aware what a suicide survivor is. And fully aware there is a day to recognize the suicide survivors among us.

Now I find myself having to do math to figure out how old my husband would be.

Now I have to count backwards to figure out how long it’s been since he died.

Now I find myself dwelling in self care. Trying to get through his birthday. Then Thanksgiving. Then Christmas. Then New Years.

I’m officially half way through my six month slump that paralyzes me every year.

This time last year.. I was a very different person.

I was crippled by my husband’s birthday. I was crippled by the fear of the holidays coming up.

I was crippled by grief and fear.

Fear that I would not live through another year without my husband.

A year later here I am.. looking forward to the holidays. Looking forward to spending time with my family. And not planning on hiding in bed until the day passes.

It’s amazing what passing the three year anniversary has done for me, my life and my grief.

Somewhere along this journey.. Something clicked.

Something clicked to help me recognize my husband’s birthday.. something clicked to stop the paralyzing grief that his birthday brings.

Something clicked that allowed me to say “Happy birthday honey, I love you.”

Suicide Search

Source

Someone found my blog by searching the internet with “Every day I wake up thinking of suicide.”

When I started this blog I knew that someone in despair might find it. That someone, somewhere would feel the need to type those words into a search engine.  

My brain knew this would happen eventually, but my heart never let me believe it.  

Finding out that someone read my blog by searching the word "suicide” has left me shattered.

It scares me. It leaves me feeling that someone out there thinks suicide is the only answer.

It pains me to know there is someone out there that needs help, but I can't help since I have no way of knowing who this person is.

Through my pain I want to share what suicide has done to my life. So if someone searches “Every day I wake up thinking of suicide” they will hopefully find this blog, or find me.

I lost my life to suicide.

I did not lose my physical life or body to suicide. I lost something worse than that.

I lost my best friend, companion, soul mate, and reason for living.

I lost my husband to suicide.

The one thing I never thought I would lose.

My husband’s suicide ended his mental suffering (or so I assume), but it did not end his pain. Instead, his suicide pushed his pain onto everyone who loved him.  I can’t count how many people now suffer from the pain of his suicide.

I know my husband could not see any other option. He had reached the end of his rope with doctors and treatment.

But I firmly believe my husband had no idea how badly he was going to hurt me. Maybe he couldn't see past his pain to think about the pain he was going to cause others. But I know for a fact if my husband knew how devastated I would be, and still am, he would not have killed himself.

His suicide tore me to shreds. His suicide tore my soul out of my body. It shattered my life. It shattered my family and his family. It shattered his friends and my friends.

Suicide shattered our hopes and dreams.

It took away my reason for living. I almost paid the ultimate price for my husband’s suicide. I considered taking my own life.

I gave up on living. The only way I could think of moving on from this horrendous pain was suicide.

But, because I saw what my husband’s suicide did to my family I realized I could never do that to them. My only choice was to keep living. Well, not just live, but be alive and fight the urge to die.  To move on without my husband the best I can.

To the person that found my blog I have this to say - I wish you would have reached out to me. I wish I could have told you how completely devastating suicide has been to me.

I wish I could have begged you to get help. I wish I could have told you that it does get better. Sure, maybe you need some treatment, more than I can give you, but you can get better.

You are not alone.

Your suicide will shatter and devastate more people than you will ever understand. You do not leave this world alone. You might be alone physically when you choose to end your life but you will take your friends and family with you. 

We don't know what happens to us after this life. Sure, we have religion and our beliefs, which give us hope there is more after this life.  But we don’t truly know what happens.

How do you know suicide will end your pain? How do you know you won’t continue to feel the pain after you kill yourself? Then what?

How do we know we are not stuck between heaven and earth?  Or sent back to earth to learn this lesson over? How do you know that you are not forced to see the pain of your friends and family for all eternity?

How do you know your suicide will not cause more suicides because those who were closest to you can’t deal with their loss?

I've heard a lot of people say “Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” My husband’s problem was not temporary. But neither was his death. His problem lasted three years before it took his life. 

But his life is over now. There is no going back.  My husband died at 31 years old.

He will never see another rainbow. He will never hit the slopes on his snowboard. He will never go camping, jet-skiing, work or have a hot meal with me after a long day. He will never sit on the beach with me. We can never jump on a plane and go play somewhere tropical. He can't watch me grow and change, and he can't be there in my last days on this earth. He can't hold my hand as I grow old and frail. He can't have children and watch them grow. He will not see his parents age, and he will never feel the warmth of the sun.

He is forever gone. There is no do-over. There is no reset button. There is just death.

So for the person that stumbled onto my blog, I pray you are still out there. I pray you read this blog, and I pray you realize your pain is not yours alone.

I pray you ask for help.

Asking for help does not make you weak. It means you are courageous.  And through that courage you can find the help and desire to live.

Friends vs. Family

A friend posted this on facebook.

- She/He has been changed to they/them -

I have heard the horror stories. Of widows feeling forgotten, left out, treated like their widow status is contagious, by friends and family.

It has never happened to me.

Until now.

I have a friend, that I have been friends with since before Seth got sick. They have always been there for me.

Recently I knew their birthday was coming up. I anxiously waited for word on the party.

See, this birthday party is always so fun. I have never missed it. Even after Seth’s death.

As I waited for the invitation to arrive, I didn’t realize the party had been planned, was happening on a certain night, and I was being left out.

I was shocked when I logged on to facebook and saw pictures from the party. Our mutual friends were there. I frantically looked to see if I missed an invitation. Facebook event, email, text, snail mail.. to discover, I didn't miss a invite.

I wasn't invited.

I was hurt. I felt forgotten. I felt like maybe me being a widow was too much for my friends to be around and try to grasp. Maybe they don’t want to ignore the elephant in the room anymore. Maybe they don’t want to catch my disease – widowhood.

I have kicked this hurt around in my head for a while now. Trying to understand.

Through my birthdays, Seth’s birthdays, the death anniversary, I have never forgotten to invite them.

I mean really, how do you forget a friend?

I once forgot to invite a friend to Seth’s yearly memorial. Another friend asked why this certain friend wasn’t invited. I quickly realized I didn't forget my friend, I just didn't include her in the invite. I quickly added her to the invite, and texted her and begged for forgiveness.

She of course forgave me, and came to the memorial.. Phew.

If I forget a friend, another friend will ask me what’s going on, and I will realize I didn't include one of the most important people in my life. I would never forget a friend on purpose.. and I will try to correct my mistake.

So it made me wonder, as they were celebrating, did none of our mutual friends say “Where is Melinda?”

Through trying to understand it all, I feel forgotten.

I have heard all the horror stories of widows going through similar things with their friends and family. Being at 30 months, I thought I was passed the point of when people would excuse themselves from my life.

I guess even 30 months in, people change their mind. They decide to not be a part of my life.

But this far out from my husband’s death?

I expected this in the early days. When I first entered widowhood and my in-laws turned on me. I expected it then.

Being this far out, and it is just barely happening, makes me feel alone.

Very alone.

Makes me realize that the world around me is forever changed. 

And is forever changing with each day.

Who I thought were my friends and family, is still changing.

Makes me realize that people don’t want to be around a 32 year old widow. After all, "this" won’t happen to them.. and you sure as shit don’t want to catch my very contagious disease. You don’t want me to cough, spread my germs to you, and have your spouse drop dead the next day.

One of the very few things I remember from Seth’s funeral is my dad hugging me, my mom, and my brother. 

In a big, bawling, group hug.

Through my dad’s own sobs, he said-

“We will get through this”.

“As a family”.

“We will get through this”.

My dad was so right. As a family we are getting through this. I realize that my friends are not just friends, they are my family. We are getting through it as a family.

I realize I am still learning about the new world around me.

And how nothing ever stays the same.

Family isn’t always blood. It’s the people in your life who want you
in theirs; the ones who accept you for who you are. The ones who would
do anything to see you smile, and who love you no matter what. - Unknown

Dear Bipolar

Seth and I, before bipolar took away his amazing smile.

Dear Bipolar,

I am writing you this letter 1,622 days since you came into my life and stole my sweet husband’s soul.

This letter will reach you 908 days after you physically took my husband from me.

Since you have done this to so many peoples lives, you probably don’t remember me. I will try to refresh your memory.

1,622 days ago, you came into my life, uninvited. You were not invited in, I know I did not leave a door or window open, yet suddenly you were there. You stepped into my husband’s soul, turned my amazing and vibrant husband into a depressed, angry, anxiety ridden, empty shell of a person.

You caused my amazingly bright and creative husband to see dead people, hear voices, and caused him to think about suicide daily. Your voice was in my husband’s head. You ridiculed him at every turn. “You’re not good enough” you said.

You took the sparkle out of his eye.

You took the pep out of his walk.

You took away his smile. How could you take away that amazing smile??

You took away his trust and faith in the world around him, causing him to think the world was after him.

You even made my husband think I was out to harm him.

You entered our life when we were just getting started. You see, we were happy. We didn't need YOU. Yet, you kept working on my husband. Bit by bit, destroying him.

908 days ago, you put a gun to my husband’s head and took him away from me.

Left me widowed at 29 years old.

When I am angry about my husband’s suicide, I blame you.

My husband would have never killed himself. But you were happy to do it.

Bipolar, I hate everything about you.

I hate your games, your mania, your depression, your psychosis, even your name. Bipolar = Two polar opposites. Did you leave something out when you created your name? I think you did.

Because of you, I do not get to see my “happy ending”. I do not get to live to be old with my husband. We will never have children or fulfill our dreams and goals.

Bipolar, your day is coming. I might not live to see that day. But your days are numbered.

A cure is coming.

It might be in the form of a pill, a shot, surgery, or hell.. maybe even a microchip.

When I get to the other side, my first duty is to get rid of you.

I will not let you destroy another person. I will not let you destroy another family.

Mark my words, your days are coming to an end.

And I will be watching, with my husband’s arms around me, with a huge bowl of popcorn and a huge beer when it all comes crashing down.

Sincerely,

Melinda

(If you or someone you know suffers from mental illness (Including if you have a parent that is mentally ill), PLEASE consider organ donation to the Harvard Brain Bank <-- Click here.

They are trying to find a cure for mental illness, but need organ donation.

Seth wanted his brain donated to the Harvard Brain Bank, unfortunately I could not fulfill that wish.

Please help with the research and study of mental illness for future generations.)

Suicide Survivor

Picture of me hugging my grandpa at Seth's funereal. 

November 2009, two days before my birthday, Seth had his 3rd suicide attempt.

I headed to the Grand Canyon. I kept the gun on my lap in case I got pulled over I would just shoot my self. I got to the Grand Canyon and enjoyed its bountiful views and watched the sun set. After all the people left I help the gun to my head for 3 hours. I was so afraid of the pain I couldn’t pull the trigger. I was so mad that I couldn’t do it. I left the park and stopped at the store out there. I ate dinner, tipping the young small town waitress $100.00. After dinner I bought some beer and got a room for the night. I thought if I got drunk enough I would stop being scared and I could just pull the trigger. Well I sat there drunk with a gun to my head for 7 hours.

I finally called Melinda crying and she talked me into coming home. 

My physiatrist got me on some new meds and I went through 8 sessions of Electric Shock Therapy. The treatment made me loose lots of my memory but I think it really helped me.

The ECT (Electric shock therapy) made the biggest difference, from what I could see, with Seth's depression. 

He lost some memories and his short term memory was shot. 

It was sad that he lost memories of us.

The ECT was pretty painful for him, he would have major headaches, but he finally had that spark back in his eye.

I don't know if bipolar or medication took away that spark, but it had been missing for a long time.

His memory eventually returned to normal, but he didn't get all his memory back.

I thought we could finally move forward with our lives.

July 27th, 2010, Seth had his 4th suicide attempt.

He did not live to share his story.

The love of my life, shot and killed himself,

July 27th, I was thrown into two groups I never put much thought into.

Widowhood

And Suicide survivor.

I was widowed at 29 years old.

Seth's story is sad and tragic.

Watching someone I love completely change into someone I do not know was the hardest and most frustrating thing I have ever been through.

Fighting so hard keep him alive, and in the end, it came down to his own choose.

There are times I feel guilty for asking Seth to keep fighting for so long.

He was suffering so much. 

But for my own selfish reasons, I wanted him here.

He always told me "if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be alive".

When the detectives came to the door and told me my husband was deceased, I should have died on that very spot.

I can't believe I didn't die right then.

I remember hitting my knees and screaming. I don't remember much more beyond that.

I have never experienced anything so painful in my life.

Every night, as I tried to sleep, I was convinced my heart would stop beating in middle of the night.

No one should ever face that pain. No one should LIVE through that much physical pain.

In my widow journey, the first year was the worst.

Around the 8 month mark, I fell into a deep depression.

I finally understand what it is to be a suicide survivor.

At the 8 month mark, I didn't care if I lived or died.

I welcomed death.

That is when you become a suicide survivor. 

When you are so depressed over your loved ones suicide, that you become suicidal yourself.

Fighting through that and choosing to live, made me a survivor.

I really could have took my own life, and joined my husband.

But I choose to live.

I just passed the two year mark in July.

In some ways it's gotten harder.

In some ways it's gotten FAR easier.

Through it all, I miss my best friend.

My best friend left his body 5 years ago, but has only been physically gone for two years.

I feel like I lost Seth 5 years ago, which in my mind, feels like a different lifetime.