Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Suicide Is Never The Answer.

So, I started this post with some lofty ideas and some emotional disturbances, but then I began typing it out - and none of it made sense (outside of myself - and even I was having a hard time deciphering). Instead of trying to sound it out in a soft blanket of dictation, I'm just going to address that which is uncomfortable - and socially unacceptable to discuss aloud.

But I have to discuss it, regularly. Because it has happened to me, to my family.

I'm talking about suicide - the secret that isn't so secretive anymore these days. We're groomed to shy away from the term; the concept is unbearable to think about, therefore we don't discuss it.

However, I am a suicide survivor.

This does not mean that I, myself, have attempted to commit suicide and survived the attempt. Instead, this phrase refers to the fact that I have survived a loved one who has committed suicide.

My father left us in June, and it is the hardest thing in the world to be the ones that are left behind - abandoned by someone that they loved so dearly.

It is not fair, it is not logical. I wont sugarcoat that. I cant say that everyone experiences this sort of event the same - on the contrary, even within my own family, we've all been trying to deal with the loss of my dad differently. No two people grieve in the same way - so don't let anyone tell you differently.

And really, this is not a topic that I rush to discuss, but I cant get the words out of myself verbally, so perhaps this is a venue in which I can try to unleash some of my confusion, resentment and outright rage.

I have shied away from talking about my dad in the past few months, because I imagine that if I talk about him like he's gone, then it makes it all the more real to admit that he really is gone. And I get so angry to think that he's never going to walk through the door covered in mud (he was a dry waller, so I mean that sort of mud) and dust.

It's even more complicated because I'm not an outright emotional person - at least, in expressing them. I feel things to an acute degree, but generally reserve emotional outbursts for the quiet solitude of my bedroom, or some other secluded spot. It worries people in my family, which is a just assumption - and perhaps I'm not dealing with this in the healthiest manner, but I am trying.

Every day is lived moment to moment, breath to breath.

It's exhausting to just exist, but add in a full course load, a part time job and the stress of ensuring that my mom is doing okay - and you get the heaviest stupor imaginable.

I have made some time for me - I went to a Seether concert in August, I just attended the Renaissances Festival last weekend, and I try to read my favourite blogs for an uplifting twist to my week.

I feel scrambled most of the time (something resembling this entire blog post, actually). And, of course, I still have to deal with new disappointments, endings, beginnings and pains that, while incomparable, only compile upon the constant stream of stress that I live within.

I really have strayed away from my original message for this post - but I'm not sorry that I did, sometimes all that is needed is talking (verbally or nonverbally is really not that important).

The main thing is: no one is alone - because there is always someone out there willing to listen. So please, if you learn nothing else from this rambling mess, please take away from this the message that you are not alone.

If you are feeling like you want to hurt yourself or are contemplating suicide, please call your local crisis center, because you are not alone in this.