A Time for Compassion

(source)

Like the rest of the world, I awoke to the news this week that the tragic crash of the Germanwings flight 9252 was due to a deliberate act of the co-pilot, and my heart sunk.   My immediate thoughts were for the families of everyone on board - there would be so many questions, so much pain.  All these beautiful, innocent lives lost in a horrific and random act, how incredibly unfair and what an enormous trauma for their loved ones to have to make sense of. 

Among those lost, were every day people including students, teachers, families, opera singers, tourists, university graduates, babies, journalists, business professionals and newlyweds. People with so much to live for, people who will be greatly missed. So many families who will never be the same again, so much grief. 

However my heartbreak was not only due to my sympathy for those whose lives had been lost but also because I knew I would have to brace myself for the inevitable media circus of assumptions and speculation on what lead this man to this catastrophic act. 

This is a difficult topic to write about because it ignites a range of complex and personal emotions, all of which are valid, and there is potential to offend or cause hurt to those who have been affected by similar events. There will be readers whose loved ones were taken due to the actions of others.  And there will be readers whose loved ones, for various reasons, caused others to pass with them.  So I’d like to ask you to join me in making this a safe place for anyone who might feel personally affected by this topic.

I lost my husband to mental illness, he was not of a rational or sound mind when he took his life.  He couldn't see the devastation his death would leave behind and the ongoing pain and trauma he would inflict on those of us who love him.  This is because he had a disease which robbed him of his mental capacity, logic and reasoning.  I have had to come to understand and accept this, however part of my challenge is having to face comments from people who are ignorant about mental health and use words like 'selfish' and 'weak' when speaking about suicide.  

I don’t have the added burden of other lives being lost due to his actions and couldn't pretend to imagine how difficult that would be. So my heart also aches for the family of the co-pilot who have lost a son and are now left to both try and make sense of how he came to be in such a dark place and carry the weight of the hatred and anger being directed at him.  

Please let me be clear here, I am in no way defending or excusing the actions of anyone who takes another  life. This is never ok and there is never a justification for a murder/suicide.  More often than not these horrific incidents are carried out by people who aren't just mentally unstable, but who are trying to consciously cause pain, instil terror or control others due to reasons such as religious extremism or racial hatred. 

Most of us will never know what drives someone to carry out an act such as this. However the fight to raise awareness and reduce the stigma around suicide takes a few giant steps back when public conversation jumps to the assumption that this person was evil and fails to acknowledge that these tragedies are caused by a vast range of reasons, including someone being mentally ill and not accessing the help they need.  

This doesn't excuse or justify their actions - it doesn't make it any less painful for the families left behind. But as a society that is trying to make sense of such events and identify how they could be prevented in the future, it is important to remember there could have been many different causes. 

It's devastating news and, as humans, it’s natural for us to talk about these events in a bid to make sense of them.  So of course people are going to talk about it... but I feel my face burning and my heart sinking, as words get bandied around like ‘selfish’, ‘evil’ and ‘cold-blooded killer’.  The water-cooler gossips in my office and media reports are always quick to jump to the most dramatic speculation but there is never a call to wait with open-minds and compassion, until further facts are known.  

A colleague of mine lost her good friend a few years ago when she took her life, and her daughters, in a very public way that caused shock in our community.  This woman had been battling severe depression and it is her loved ones' opinion that her actions were driven by her belief that she couldn't go on any longer and would be sparing her daughter from the grief and shame that would be associated with her mother's death.

Speculative, nasty and inflammatory comments in the media about the incident added so much extra pain to their grief. In no way is it logical or 'right' but they could never consider her to be a hateful or violent person or a bad mother and their grief was compounded with the despair that she would always, in the eyes of the public, be remembered this way.

When something like this occurs we have the mammoth task of needing to process what has happened and find some peace in a place where there is no logic.  This is not something that our brains are wired to do.  We have an instinctive need to pigeon hole or diagnose or label a situation in order to file it away in our sub-conscious and lay it to rest.  When this is not possible, when the cause is either quite complex or beyond our realm of every-day comprehension, what are we to do? 

My hope is that when people hear about these events in the news and find themselves trying to understand what caused them, they come from a place of compassion rather than judgement.  This man was not well.  His family are grieving his loss as well as coming to terms with the enormity of his actions. The one thing they will know for sure is that their son was suffering so badly that nothing made sense, including his reasoning for taking the life of another.  

So I am choosing not to quickly judge something I don't and could never understand.

Brave Love

I'm writing you tonight from my hotel room in Seattle – en route to a four-night stay in Alaska. I hadn't really given any thought to what I was going to write today for this post, as I've spent the better part of the day running around like crazy. It could have been about the usual stuff of Valentine's Day... like how bitchy I've been all week leading up to today. Or how I went into Walgreens yesterday for some picture hanging wire and was assaulted by the pink and red décor that vomited all over the store interior. Or about how sad I was when I woke up this morning or how hard I've tried to stay off of Facebook all day.

I am lucky that I've spent most of today at the airport, lugging around an ungodly amount of camera gear and luggage. After all, this trip is with my mother-in-law and her mother... which is very sacred to me. Two generations of his family and me. Our “Valentine's Dinner” was not exactly fancy. Some cheese and fruit in a tiny cardboard container with a plastic cup of white wine – some 30,000 ft in the air halfway between Texas and Washington. But that suited me just fine, nothing traditional. 

But what I really wanted to share is what my evening was about. And just why I am up at 3am Texas time still writing this. Once we finally got into our hotel room and settled in, I called one of my closest friends. It wasn't to share the usual laughter or the depression of the day's events. It wasn't for me to cry about how much I miss my late-fiance. But instead, she opened up to me about some very deep emotional stuff that she has been burying from most everyone in her life for a long time now. So much so that it has led to some very dark thoughts.

As she shared, I remained solid and unwavering. I listened to everything she had to say, and I assured her that all her feelings – even the suicidal thoughts – were okay. I mean hell, if anyone understands what it's like to not want to live anymore, it's widowed people – am I right?

I did not judge her. I did not try to fix her. I just loved her. And reminded her very strongly that no darkness inside her could be enough to chase me away. I will be here always to sit next to her in there as long as we need to until we can find that first pinprick of light together. And so we sat, together, for over an hour... until I began to hear the tone in her voice shift ever so slightly. Until I began to hear the weight in her voice just a hair lighter than before. Even manged to make her laugh a few times in there too.

After we got off the phone, I hopped in the shower and kept thinking of it all. I was so surprised at how calm I was. How unshakable my dedication was to this friend. And how well I was able to listen and make them feel safe and heard. The person I was before I met My late-fiance could have never done this. The girl I was then would have been so scared by the vulnerability of the situation that she wouldn't have been able to hear that friend. The person I was before Drew died did not have enough of her own darkness to be able to strut into someone else's so fearlessly either.

I started to realize... Drew was the first person in my life to model for me that kind of love. Real and deep and unconditional love. Always he was solid, and reliable, and steadfast as a friend. And over time, without my knowing it, I began to infuse those same qualities in myself. This happened even more so after his death - when others sat with me in my darkness, I learned again how to better do it. 

And suddenly tonight, I realized that perhaps I have more of his qualities in me now than I ever knew. And I saw what a truly vital gift he gave me in his death. I chose the possibility of pain for the privilege to love. It did not matter that I could be hurt if this dear friend one day chooses to end her life. Because loving her matters more. Because she matters that much. And because of his life, and his death, I was able to be there for her in a way no one else has been able to.

So this Valentine's Day for me was not about the chocolates or the flowers I didn't get. Or the person who wasn't here to hold or kiss. Yes, those things were there – and they were sad. But more so, it was about being able to give someone real love – deep, unconditional, open-hearted love – and meet them in their most vulnerable and fearful place. This year, Valentine's Day was not about what I do not have, but about what I have to give still. It was about Brave Love.

It's Just Not Fair

I was driving home from work recently, singing along to the radio in my own little world, when I passed a car the exact same model and colour as my husband's. Next thing I knew I was instantly transported back to That Day.

The last time I saw my husband, 11 months ago, was around 8am as he kissed me goodbye and left for work. But he didn't go to work that morning, he drove an hour away from our home, parked his car in a hotel car park, checked in and took his life.

Seeing that car triggered my grief and my brain went careering down that slippery slope: ‘What did he think would happen to his car?  Did he realize that I’d have to arrange to collect it?  Did he realize I’d have to find a new purpose for ALL of his possessions?  Did he know his parents would fly in and help me with that?  How did he think we’d be capable of sorting this out?  Why would he do that?  Why didn’t he TALK to me? What the hell happened to us?’

And I’m back.  Right there in that very moment where my husband’s suicide defines our existence – all there was and all there ever will be. 

So. Many. Questions.  He left a note for me, written on the hotel stationery (which indicated that he hadn’t planned or prepared for his death) but what about his parents?  His sister?  His friends?  They all wanted answers too.  Didn’t he realise they’d be just as devastated?

He left so many things unfinished – dirty laundry, paperwork, our weekend plans to visit friends at the beach.  He received and made work calls on his drive that morning, set up meetings even.  Did he know then that he wouldn’t be able to attend? 

I had planned to plant a garden in our backyard that day and sent him a photo of my handiwork via text message only 15 minutes before he died… didn’t he want to come home and see it? See me?  Hug me?  Crawl in to bed with me and tell me he was scared and let me help him and hold him?

These questions are such torture and I will never get the answers.  Why did this happen to him?  How did he get to that point?  When did he decide that this was his only option? If only I'd seen it, if only I'd stopped him from leaving the house that morning.

I’ve had intensive suicide bereavement counseling and I understand and accept that it wasn’t Dan that day, it was a disease in his brain, but in that moment I forget all the rationale and the questions build and build and build until I feel like I’m drowning in them. 

I finished my drive home with tears flowing freely and fell in to bed, muffling my howls with my pillow.  Until, almost like she I knew I was struggling, a message popped up on my phone from an old university friend I haven’t seen for more then 10 years.  We drifted apart but are Facebook friends now and even though she didn’t know Dan, she felt compelled to reach out when she heard the news and still checks in with me now and then. 

I replied to her message, confessing how distraught I was, telling her I couldn’t understand why and how this happened. 

In her reply, she said she understood more than I realized.  She opened up to me about her own depression.  Unbeknownst to me until that day, her battle was a fierce one, and ongoing one.  One that she had come close to losing. 

My beautiful friend told me that almost five years earlier she had been in a dark place, struggling with an abusive relationship and a stressful job.  Her depression was deep and she had thought abstractly about suicide but knew she would never, could never do that to her family.  It was not an option she would ever consider.  Until one day she had a sudden ‘brain snap’ and decided in an instant it was the only answer.  Within moments she had made a serious attempt on her life that failed purely because she had been in such a rush.  It was incredibly close though and only by pure luck and chance that she survived.  She eventually reached out to her family, admitting how serious her state of mind was and got the help she needed. 

Today, she still struggles with her disease, but she is strong and determined.  She wanted me to know that she came very close to a similar fate as my husband’s.   Under different circumstances he might have survived his 'brain snap' too, and gone on to get the help he needed.  We might be telling his story to other people who are suffering and giving them hope. 

It made me realise (again) that my husband wasn’t a man who took his own life.  He was a man who had a disease that took control of his body, and caused an incident that claimed his life.  I stopped thinking of his death as a suicide even, because in my mind that implies a conscious act or choice. 

This conversation with my friend calmed my raging questions but made me very sad.  Sad that she had been through such a terrible experience, one that lasted years and still affects her deeply.  Sad for so many others who are battling with mental illness and not getting the support and treatment that they need.  And it made my sad for my sweet, gentle husband.  My beautiful Daniel. My darling didn’t deserve to leave our world in such a tragic way.  If life was fair, he wouldn’t have died so young.  There wouldn’t be disease in the world taking such beautiful souls from us, there wouldn’t be accidents or murders or cruel twists of fate, there wouldn’t be so much pain.

It sucks.  Death sucks.  It’s just not fair. 

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.

The Next Chapter

My husband Daniel and I on our wedding day.

When Michele invited me to write for Widow’s Voice I was incredibly honoured and also excited at the opportunity to help other widows and widowers, particularly those affected by suicide.  I was, however, very nervous about opening up and laying our story out for everyone to see; and potentially judge.  My husband Daniel was a conservative and private person, even with his cheeky sense of humour and warm, outgoing, friendly nature.  He was the ultimate gentleman – so respectful, fair, classy and not one to push his opinion on others or air dirty laundry in public (just to be clear, not that I consider depression to be ‘dirty laundry’ on any level).  

The day after he took his own life I started the never-ending, painful process of telling our world what had happened.  I had called his parents and sister the night he died, after he failed to come home from work and police officers eventually came to my door at 10pm notifying me that he was gone.  That was the most difficult call of all – telling his family.  I was in deep shock so hadn’t felt my own heart break at that point, but I heard theirs shatter and will never forget that night.

Telling our friends and work colleagues was a slightly different experience.  I needed to decide, how much would I share?  How could I say he’d died by suicide?  People wouldn’t believe it – he was so happy, popular and successful.  We were only married six weeks … they might assume he didn’t love me (and sadly, I heard that there were some comments made, questioning our relationship, but that’s for another day).  I knew he would be disappointed and embarrassed that this was his last chapter.  He wasn’t ‘that person’. It just wasn’t supposed to end like that for him.

So I decided it wouldn’t.  His story would go on because I wouldn’t let his death be his last act.  Instead, I would talk about Dan’s depression and suicide.  I would work hard to try and understand it myself and then share our story because maybe, if someone had of shared their story with Dan, he might have realised that what he was feeling wasn’t normal and wasn’t ok.  He might have been moved to ask for help rather than be silenced by the stigma of mental illness and the ridiculous notion that to admit that you’re not feeling ok means you’re weak or broken; or being an unnecessary burden; or attention-seeking.

I would look people squarely in the eye and say "I lost my husband to depression.  He took his life after five weeks on anti-depressants, after becoming convinced that he had dementia and was becoming an inevitable burden on myself and our families."  I would brace myself against the waves of pity, shock and disbelief that came when I dropped that bomb and be patient with the ignorant or insensitive comments that sometimes followed, attempting to educate others and push them out of their own pre-conceived assumptions of why people succumb to this disease that is mental illness. 

Please don’t think that because I manage to talk about my experience that I find the process easy.  I cry every day.  I couldn’t function for months … still can’t some days.  My family and friends carried me through the darkest days and the horror of his death still haunts me.  Just when I start to think I’ve finally made peace with his suicide and can now divert my energy to processing my grief, there it is again, asking ‘why’ or ‘how could this have happened’ or ‘what if’.  These questions will never go away, but I’m not as scared of them as I was before and feel better equipped to make my peace with them and let them pass.     

So above all else I am grateful that Michele has put her faith and trust in me to talk about Dan’s suicide and my grief here, in the hope that it helps others walking this path beside me.  And I’m grateful to you, for reading, for being part of this community and reminding me that I’m not here alone.  Thank you, I look forward to sharing my story with you.     

Suicide Widow

Source

I am filling in for Amanda today. The current heat wave has knocked out her power! Amanda stay cool (get it?!) and I will try to stay warm!

Recently I have had a lot of suicide widows reach out to me on Widow’s Voice and facebook. “I have no one to talk to, I have no one that gets it. I can’t talk about the suicide to my friends or family. They change the subject.”

I get it.

The thing about suicide is.. it’s complicated. Very complicated. Which leads to very complicated grief.

We are often hushed, because suicide is a “sin” therefore we shouldn’t talk about it. Suicide makes people uncomfortable. Because in the real world, it doesn’t happen (insert sarcasm here).

Let me get this straight.. I’m not supposed to talk about my husband’s death? I’m supposed to lie about how my husband died? To make other people comfortable?

You got to be kidding me.

Seriously people, stop putting that kind of burden and grief on us! We have enough grief to deal with we don’t need to try to make you happy and as comfortable as possible.

Sunday I woke up to such a sweet email. Here it is –

Hi Melinda,

My name is *Name removed for privacy reasons *, I'm a 33-year-old widow from Brisbane Australia. I lost my husband to suicide in July last year, only six weeks after we were married. It's been a very difficult six months, however something that has really helped me is the daily Widow's Voice blog. I have really missed your postings since you moved on and was wondering if you had a personal blog that I could follow or wrote anywhere else (I hope I've got the right Melinda!!)? I hope 2014 is a good year for you, bringing you much peace and happiness : ) Warm regards, *Name removed for privacy reasons *

When I read the email, I leaned back in my bed with tears in my eyes. Tears because I remember being “there”.. Two years ago.. When I was a year and a half into this.

Tears because I thought when I retired from widow’s voice, that would be the end of my story. Somehow my past would end along with my suicide widow blog. Somehow if I didn’t write about it anymore, it didn’t exist.. Right?

I thought that would be the end of me reaching out to pull a suicide widow out of the hell and isolation they are living in.

It never occurred to me that a month after I “retired” I would still be reaching out.. Again.

It warms my heart to know that my gut wrenching, soul scrapping, story and writings actually helped someone.

There is the other side of this.. people that find my blog through searching for ways to end their life. On this blog that I wrote, there is a comment that stopped me in my tracks.

May 16, 2013 at 10:38 PM

At least for another day, you just saved my life. Im a 24 year old homeless veteran with post traumatic stress disorder. The nightmares and flashbacks from Afghanistan are unbearable. Im so far beyond lost and I feel so alone. I need help but the Army just threw me away. I just dont know what to do anymore. Rock bottom was a few miles up from here

When I started writing my story, I did it to get it out of my soul. I did it to help myself. It never occurred to me that I would be reaching out not only to the widowed, but to people that want to end their life.

Reading the stories, hearing the stories, is hard. Seeing that someone is suicidal is hard. But knowing I “get it” brings me peace.

Just when I thought my “And then” was starting, I do a double take and wonder if helping suicide widows (or those that are suicidal) is a huge part of my “and then.”

Hold on friends. This is a long and bumpy ride. But I promise one day, bit by bit, hope seeps into your heart. 

It will catch you off guard and it first you won’t know what has happened. What changed? Hope entered your life.

Be well my friends, until next time!

Stigma

Seth is in row 6, #13 from the left. Source

This week I had an eye opening conversation.

I was talking with a co-worker and Seth’s death came up.

She asked me how I am doing with it all and I could only come up with “It sucks. It hurts really bad. It really really sucks.”

She then said “Melinda, I just don’t get it. You are such an amazing person. Seth’s suicide makes no sense to me. Why would he leave such an amazing person??”

I was speechless.

I just wanted to scream at her “He was mentally ill!! What does that have to do with me being an amazing person?? He was sick! That’s like saying someone with cancer won’t die because they have an amazing wife at home!”

I felt like I failed. I felt like I needed to defend myself and my marriage. And I decided not to.. because what I had to say to her wasn't friendly or professional.

And clearly she doesn't have the first clue about mental illness.

Stigma slapped me in the face.. again.

People have this illusion that if you have an amazing life and marriage, that life is worth living. That all the amazing things in life override mental illness.

Frankly I am sick of the stigma that revolves around mental illness.

I’m sick of suicide being shameful.

I’m sick of mental illness not being talked about.

I’m sick of the stigma.

I’m sick of how mental illness is whispered about behind closed doors.

I kept my husband’s mental illness private. Very few people knew what was going on with him. I whispered about it to my closest friends and family. Why? Because Seth was ashamed of it and I respected his privacy.

And when he killed himself, it left people completely dumbfounded because Seth “never seemed depressed” and I had hid his secret for far too long.

But what did that do? It kept him isolated. It pushed him further into a hole because he had no one to talk to. Because he was too ashamed to talk about it.

One of my favorite quotes – “We’re only as sick as the secrets we keep” – Maria Nemeth

Mental illness needs to be talked about. Not whispered about behind closed doors.

Suicide is at an all time high, yet it’s whispered about. WHY?

Do I really need to point out the elephant in the room?

“Every 40 seconds somewhere around the world someone dies by suicide, that’s 99 people every 66 minutes. Every day, that’s almost 100 people in the United States alone, and over 2160 worldwide."

Why are we whispering about this??

Same Discussion ......

                                                   

                                                          source
...... same passion.

I had a discussion this past weekend that I've had several times before.
It's a discussion that I am so passionate about ...... that it brings tears every single time it occurs.

All it takes is four words.
Four words that set me off quicker than most any other words can (unless they're negative words about my children).
The words?
"Suicide is so selfish."

Yep.
That's all it takes to make me whip my head around and set the record straight.

The first thing I instantly know about a person who utters those words is this:
They.
Have.
No.
Clue.

None.  They have never, ever experienced anything close to real depression.  They have never grieved the loss of half of their selves, of the person they loved most in the world, of the future as they imagined it.
They've never grieved hard.  For a spouse, a child ...... for anyone.

Because once you've grieved that kind of loss ...... you know those four words are nothing but a judgmental, ignorant lie.

Here is what I believe.
No ...... here is what I know.
From experience.
The person who uses suicide to end his/her life (for the majority ... I realize that there are always exceptions) is NOT making a choice based on selfishness.  In fact, I don't believe that it's actually a choice for that person.

That's difficult to understand unless you have experienced such deep, deep, painful depression.
It's a depression that causes so much pain that the person thinks they cannot take one more minute of it. Every breath brings pain.  There is no future ahead of them ..... only very cold, very dark blackness.  Darker than the deepest cave.

Not only is the pain (emotional and physical many times) too much to endure, but there is a sure knowledge that every single loved one would be so much better off if they no longer had to deal with this depressed, hopeless, future-less person.
When someone is that depressed, this thought is more than a thought.  It's a fact.
So the act of taking one's own life not only ends their pain (and they believe it's the ONLY way to stop the pain), it also ends the "suffering" that everyone else is going through by being around them.  Suicide, as seen by this person, is a way to put everyone in a much better place.  It's not selfish at all ...... it's the most selfless act they can think of.  No longer will other people have to be "dragged down" with him/her.  Everyone ...... every single person (yes, even their child/ren) will be so much happier, and have a better chance for a happier future, if they don't have to take care of a depressed person with no hope and no future ...... and nothing to give.

When those thoughts come to someone, the act of suicide is no longer a choice.  In the majority of cases, suicide is not planned.
It occurs because of where that person is, down in the bottom of that cave, and because something happens which causes them to just "snap".  Something as ordinary as cleaning out a linen closet that's covered in dust because the house is being re-modeled.  One look at how much dust there actually is can make a depressed, widowed person's mind just snap, and that snap brings the sudden, certain knowledge that they can't take anything else.  Not for one more second.  From that point it's like their actions are on "automatic".  There is no choice.  There is just the knowledge that this HAS to stop. And there is only way one to make it stop.  It's like the mind can now only focus on this one thing and it forces the body to follow along.  It sometimes is almost like this person becomes a robot and follows the brain's command, no questions asked.  No thought of questioning it.  Just following it and stopping the pain.
That's all.

I know that in my "before" ...... I was one of those ignorant people.  I didn't understand what depression actually was ...... what it could do to someone.  I just thought all you had to do was "pick yourself up by your bootstraps" and move forward.
I am ashamed of the "before me" for such thoughts.
But I had no experience with depression ...... or death, really.

And then ...... I did.
My life, as I knew it, ended.  In less than 24 hours my "before" turned into my "after".
And soon after than ...... I was no longer ignorant.
I understood ...... all too well.

So now I am passionate about helping others understand.
Others who've had no experience, lucky them.
I don't believe that everyone needs to experience this hell-on-earth kind of grief to understand.
They just need people like me ...... like you.
They need people like us to explain it to them.
To tell them exactly what I've written here.
To set the record straight.

I will continue to be passionate about this topic.
And most likely ...... I'll continue to cry when I passionately talk to someone about it.
But I'm ok with that.
Because the record does indeed need to be set straight.

I hope others will join me ...... in having the same discussion.
With the same passion.