Death Sucks (orig. 5.2.11)

No matter how you look at it, death hurts those left behind.  No matter how it comes... it just sucks.  Anytime I hear of a suicide, my heart simply shatters into thousands of pieces.  It's hard, because I'd never ever want anyone to think that my pain is so great due to a closeness that didn’t exist, but there is a hole there, no matter what angle I come at it.   

I’m transported, not by choice, back to a place and time that I don’t like revisiting.  My mind is flooded with memories of my  friend who decided to end his own life. I was in 9th grade, he was in 11th—I still see his face and am occasionally haunted by nightmares where he screams out my name and reaches for me from a cold darkness.  I remember vividly that helpless feeling; the confusion, the loss that followed in the days after he left.  The heavy, deep sadness that permeates every fiber of your being, with venom that slowly crawls through your veins, leaving you paralyzed under the shock. 

When I heard the news of an old friend who recently decided to end his life, it brought back it all back to the forefront.  It just hurts so badly.   Memories flood in and things that you thought you had forgotten seem as if they happened just yesterday!  I can see his face—that crooked smile, hear his voice.  I can even hear him laugh.  My God, that was over 15 years ago, but he’s right here in front of me!  My heart hurts and I have this horrible sickening feeling in my stomach.  That feeling that you never want to feel once, much less twice or more.  I hurt for his family and for his close friends.  Oh my goodness do I hurt for them.

As someone who has personally struggled with depression, it makes me all the more aware the existence of that very dark place.  I’ve been to the edge of the darkness; that scary place where you wonder why you exist?  That place where you cry out for peace or for a hand to hold your own or for someone who can understand.  How can anyone understand when you don’t understand yourself?  You try to walk the road, quietly and unnoticed—yet you want someone to notice.  And even when they do notice, it still doesn’t seem like enough.   To be so afraid of what you feel, but more afraid of what friends will think if you tell them.  And worse yet, how do you tell them?  How do you explain the darkness, the sadness, the pain? 

Hope stepped in and intervened on my behalf. Somehow, through the darkness, I never let go of hope.  I have a physical reaction when  think of someone who has lost hope.  I tense up, I hold my breath, and my body gets really agitated.  I just ache when I think that someone feels so alone or hopeless--it truly breaks me.  An overwhelming feeling of helplessness pervades.  What could I have done then and what could I possibly do now?  The only thing I know to do is to promise myself never to forget who they are, that they existed, or the influence they had on my life.  

We each find different ways to remember the people we’ve lost.  And no matter how we lose our friends and family, there still remains a hole that can never be filled by another human being.  I’m going to do what I can to shine a light in the darkness.  It's all I know to do.

Check out the organization To Write Love On Her Arms... donate in remembrance of a loved one or in honor of a loved one who daily battles with depression, addiction, etc.   Let them know how important they are in your life story!

To Write Love On Her Arms is a non-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide.  TWLOHA exists to encourage, inform, inspire and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery.