My facade faded and the cracks became exposed. I became an aged china doll. People saw it, but they didn’t say anything because I still lived in denial. I was fine, life moved on and so would I. Besides, I never got to hold him or see him. There was no reason why I couldn’t just go on with life.
I’ve gotten pretty good at lying to myself. So good, I didn’t even see the cracks until I was dying.
This is not a story, or it is. It’s my story. I died that day two years ago, but I was also reborn. Come to think of it, this has happened more times than I would care to admit.
People say suicide is selfish. I say yes, and no. When you are in the midst of all that pain and there is no light in that dark abyss. When all life turns grey and the brambles threaten to strangle you where you stand. Sweet juices of the joyful berries, pooling like blood at your feet. When the pain you cause those you love around is so glaring, you feel like a deer caught in headlights. Then, the answer is always no. All you are thinking is ending the pain for them and yourself. You can’t hurt them anymore if you are gone. You can't see the mess you will leave behind for them to clean up. The emptiness that will cause them more pain than you are feeling like you're inflicting now.
The other side is yes. When life is more glorious than you’ve ever remembered. Vibrant greens, purples, yellows, reds and blues dance around and beckon you to drink in their delight. When the laughter at Christmas dinner, the tickle underneath your child’s chin, the perfume of your Grandmother are memories that bring you true feelings of happiness. You know for sure what happiness is. Then the answer is yes. Yes, suicide is selfish.
Odd how the mind works in different phases of love and grief. In the past I wouldn’t have even thought of my daughter’s birthday the next day. Couldn’t do it then. My son’s birthday in a month. Couldn’t do it then. And it kept going on. That’s what I had to hold on to. The building list of who my lost life would affect.
Two years ago I died. I almost overdosed on all my meds, instead I focused on the yes side of things. I used just as unhealthy methods to get to sleep immediately so I could wake up in the morning. I couldn’t talk to my husband as he had never seen me like this. Or I thought I couldn’t. It’s amazing what we’ll convince ourselves of when we’ve given up all hope.
Two years ago today I died. Not all of me, I couldn’t allow that, for my husband, children and parents. But a piece did. The piece that held on to my child that was too pure for this earth. And two years ago tomorrow, I was reborn. Into someone who started learning to place her trust in those closer to her. Who began to open up to some of the right people. I learned it was important to find more positives in my day. To laugh a little more. To complain a little less. To surround myself with more positive people who want to see me succeed, and not merely survive. That I don't need to die, to change my situation. That the light is there, it's just that sometimes we need help seeing it. And those that love us, will always, always be there to help us find it. <3