Suicide Search

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.

Dear Bipolar

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 life’s, 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.

And guess what? 

Fuck you Bipolar!

Sincerely,

M

(If you or someone you know suffers from mental illness (Including if you have a parent that is mentally ill but you are not, they want to study YOU), PLEASE consider organ donation to the Harvard Brain Bank <-- click="click" font="font" here.="here.">

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

My husband 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.)

Written March 10th, 2011

Written March 10th, 2011

I had a pretty weird dream about S. last night.

I dreamed we were going to celebrate S.'s dad’s birthday. I called S. in heaven, to tell him about the party, and see if he could come.

I went to the party, and S. was there. S.’s brother looks exactly like S... Anyway, S.'s brother was crying, saying sorry it’s going to be a rough party with S. there. S. started talking about killing himself. He was saying he couldn’t believe how bad he bled, that blood was all over him, and all over the ground.. and everyone at the party was looking at him like mmm.. kay?

We were then sitting around the kitchen table eating.  S. was saying how bad of a hangover he had from partying the night before. And I said “Wait, you still get hangovers in heaven??” He started poking his arm with a fork, gave me a really weird look, and said “What do you mean in heaven?”. I turned to my mom, and said “I’m having a horrible dream, aren’t I?” she shook her head yes and said something to the effect of I’m sorry. I dreamed I woke up in the house I grew up in. I was in my childhood bed, bawling hysterically. My mom came in, and was holding me and playing with my hair. I asked her for a glass of vodka (k in my dream, its middle of the night), and she goes and gets it. I start drinking it, and then my family was talking about going 4 wheeling, and me saying I wasn’t up to it. I remember my cousin bitching at me, saying I never want to do anything.

I was jolted out of my sleep by my work cell phone ringing. It was like 5:30am, my co-worker was calling me to tell me she wasn’t going to work today because she was sick.

Once I hung up with her, I was hysterical. I haven’t cried that hard in months. I laid in bed for probably a good 45 mins just hysterical.

It’s so weird how in my dreams I always know he’s dead, and he is here to visit. It’s a horrible feeling waking up to a empty bed after dreaming about him.

Blog Post From Mar. 28th, 2011

March 28th, 2011

So I had a interesting dream Saturday afternoon. I dreamed that S. was here visiting me from Heaven (in my dreams, I always know he’s visiting from heaven). Anyways, I asked him why he doesn't come and visit me more. He said because he killed himself, he is being punished, so he has to get approval from god to come see me. He said he is in counseling working on himself and his relationship with God, and he is hoping in the future he will be allowed to come see me whenever he wants.

 I told him that I went and saw a physic, and she told me that he messes with electronics to let me know he is there. I told him I don’t notice it, and he needs to make it more obvious that it’s him, and not just a electronic malfunction. He said ok.

The dream ended as it always does, with him telling me he has to get back to heaven, then I woke up.

 So I get up, and run to an appointment I had, I am sick as hell, but decided I couldn't put it off any longer. As I was pulling out of my neighborhood, the volume on my car stereo turns down, then off. That’s the second time I have had my car stereo turn up / down.

I truly question my thoughts on the afterlife at this point.

Anonymous Post - She changed

One of the things I've struggled with is having a hard time with reconciling who my wife was at first. She was the one who I fell in love with and wanted to spend my life with. She made me laugh. She appreciated what I did. She didn't play silly games to see if I'd prove how much I really cared. She didn't expect me to spend a lot of money on her or do lots of flashy stuff. She was smart, liked to read, and even better liked to think. She wasn't very outgoing, but she had a wicked sense of humor. She also liked it that I liked to make her laugh. She knew how badly it sucked to be cheated on, and as a result appreciated loyalty and wasn't going to cheat on me.

In the end, she was someone else. She was angry and withdrawn. More and more often, when I'd see her at the end of the day, she would talk for just a minute or two before saying that she was in too crappy of a mood at the time. Maybe we'd get to spend time together....later. She would sometimes start screaming and yelling and pounding on things when she'd get upset. Over time, it took less and less to get her upset enough to flip out like that. She'd say that she appreciated me doing so much to help out and take care of the house and all, but it seemed less and less that she wanted to actually be around me. Before she killed herself, she told me she was going to take off for a couple of days to work some things out. Little did I know she was leaving to kill herself. After all, she'd taken off once before and, when she came back, told me it'd been to work some things out.

Sometimes it's hard to put those together into a sense of one person. Abstractly, I intellectually know that both were true, and they were things about and done by her. The feel of it, though, is hard to put together. I don't know how to get those to come together so it's just one person I'm thinking of or recalling. I don't know how long it's going to take before that's going to happen. I don't know what it'll take to make it happen. I just hope that the time comes that it feels like it's just all been about one person.

Survivors of suicide round table

I was asked to go Camp Widow East 2012 to lead the suicide survivor round table.

I jumped at the chance.
I didn't have to think twice about it.

Sure I was scared.
Thought "What if I cry??".
"What if I suck and I am no help to these survivors?"
I was pretty much terrified.

There was 11 of us. All different kinds of ages and suicides.
Some stories were similar.
Yet too complicated to compare to another.

I was taught so much from this group of woman.
I went into the round table thinking I could help them, if even in a tiny way.

Little did I know what I would learn from them.

I was reminded above a previous realization I had.
That was that S.'s suicide could have been worse.
Some of the things these woman experienced, should never have been brought into their life.
No one should have to experience these things.

Some of the suicides were a complete shock.
Some had a long battle with mental illness.
Some chose not to share their story.
Some have not told people their husband died from suicide.

Some are further out from the death date then me. And seeing how much pain they are still in, shattered my hope.
I keep thinking, eh, next year, I will be over this, and life will be beautiful.
Seeing these woman still suffering, was a shock.
It was a reality check.

I also knew suicide widows were in a different "class" then "other" widows.

But, I realized how different we actually are.
There is a betrayal that comes with suicide.
There is a sense of being abandoned.
There isn't a lot of people that "get it".
Even other widows don't get it.

Talking to these woman was hard.
Making them feel safe was hard.
I didn't think I could get them to feel safe.
I didn't think I could help them feel heard.
I think suicide widows are silenced.
Because no one wants to hear the awful reality of what suicide causes.

I learned that a lot of suicide widows suffer in silence.
They have no safe place to spill their anger, pain, embarrassment.

I was also struck by the fact that I am still ashamed my husband killed himself.
Ashamed that I wasn't a good enough wife or friend to keep him alive.
I know deep down in my heart, I did everything I could have to save S.
But I still feel like a failure.

I failed at the one thing that mattered most to me in this life.

Most of all, I learned I want to protect these woman.
I want to hug them every morning
And tell them it's going to be ok.

I don't ever want a widow to suffer in silence.

This is why I created the Anonymous blog
I want everyone to have a safe place to say whatever it is they need to say.
Without having to worry about being judge.
I want everyone to have a safe place to say anything - widowed or not.

"Secrets keep us sick. They keep us in shame and 
uncertainty."

Hiding suicide

I didn't sleep good last night.

I had a nightmare that seemed to last all night long.

I dreamed S. was back, and killed himself all over again.

Somehow I knew he was in my car, and I tracked down my car, and he wasn't in it.

There was pillows in the back seat, completely soaked in blood.


In the front seat, there was a bottle of some pink liquid. Something that I knew was some kind of poison to kill yourself with.


There was a suicide note (S. didn't leave one in real life). I can't remember what it said, but I remember it was like 6 pages long, and I was really pissed it didn't say anything about me. Not even an "I love you".

In my dream, I was frantically trying to clean up the blood. I had his blood all over me. Everything was soaking wet with blood. Everything I touched was wet.

I was soaking wet with his blood.

I was trying so hard to clean it up, and hide the fact that he killed himself AGAIN.

In my dream I remember thinking how ashamed S. was of his mental problems. I didn't want to world to know about his problems, because I knew he was ashamed. I didn't want the world to know he failed.

Again.

I haven't had dreams of S. and suicide. Not that I can remember. Now I have had one two nights in a row.

Today I am angry. Angry that I have to live with someone else's decision for the rest of my life.
Angry that it will never go away.
Sure it's gotten easier.
And will continue to get easier.
But I am fucking pissed that my reality is based off someone else's decision.

Pissed that it will never, ever, go away.

I am pissed. I am back at stage 3 - Anger

I know my brain is processing a lot. Things in life are going good, moving forward, but the lingering two year anniversary is eating at me slowly. How the fuck has it only been two years?

This didn't happen in this life. This was my last life. Somehow my past life and this life have gotten twisted together.

His suffering, my 3 years of suffering, his death, wasn't in this life.

Today I will call into work, get some sleep, and work on my crafty projects I have been working on.

Suicide all over again

I had a dream.

S. killed himself again.

Like he came back to life, and killed himself again.

My first thoughts were "Well shit, I've already done this, so this will be easy. I'll just do the funeral and everything the same as the first time!"

My second thought was "Fuck, he didn't fit in one urn the first time, which means I need to buy TWO urns again, what the fuck am I going to do with two urns which will equal FOUR urns??".

Note to self: Marry someone that weights less then 200lbs so he will fit in one urn.

Weak or Bravery

A post got me thinking about this.

Do you consider suicide cowardly, selfish and weak OR something that requires A LOT of courage, faith and bravery?

Having gone through a very suicidal point in my life, I would have to say it's courage and bravery. As much as I wanted to die, I don't have the guts to hurt myself. I could never put a gun to my head and pull the trigger. I am too scared.

And holding your breath until you die, doesn't work. I've tried it.

I think to put a gun to your head and pull the trigger, takes A LOT of courage and bravery, and also having faith that the after life is better then what they were experiencing here.

I have never looked at it from the courage side. I just can't imagine pulling the trigger. Weak in a way, as they can not face another day, but also courage and determination to pull that trigger.

It has opened my eyes a little bit.

Maybe S. was too weak to face the world any longer.
But strong enough, mentally, to pull the trigger.

Grocery Shopping = Unexpected surprises

Yesterday I went grocery shopping. As most of you know, I would rather go to the dentist then the grocery store.
At least at the dentist, I only have to go every 6 months.

I was browsing through the store, trying to get out of there quickly.

There was a older gentlemen (probably early 60's) stalking the shelves on the isle I was on.

He said good morning, and asked if I needed help finding anything.
I told him good morning, and I was finding my way just fine.

I walked by, still looking at the shelves. Not really looking for something in participial. Just looking.

He came up to me and said "I'm sorry, but I have to tell you how beautiful you are".
I was fidgeting in my shoes and purse. Feeling a little uncomfortable.
He said "You really caught my eye".

I said thank you, trying not to show how awkward I felt.
I joked that I didn't even take a shower, had no make up on, my hair wasn't even pulled into a pretty ponytail. I joked that we need more guys like him around.

He said "Why?".

I said well, seems like guys my age, you have to be drop dead gorgeous, skinny, have a lot of money, and an amazing personalty. Which I must not have any of the above, as I can't seem to find the one.

I said guys are just shallow now days (Shit I sound old) and there are no nice guys left.
He said that's a real shame. Agreed.

We started talking a little bit, and he asked if I was married. I said I was for 10 years. He said "oh, divorce?".

I said no.. he passed away two years ago.

Of course I got the sad "poor you" look and a "I'm so sorry".

He asked what happened, if I didn't mind sharing.

I told him suicide.

This older gentlemen stared at me.

Then started crying.

He asked if he could share a story with me.
I said sure.

He said last year, he tried to kill himself for the 3rd time.
And lived.
And decided god had another plan for him.

He said he became sober at that time, has been medicated, and is doing a lot better.

I told him S. had 3 suicide attempts.
And was successful on the 4th.

I didn't have to say much more then that, as I think he knew I was saying "Your luck is over, and the 4th time is the charm".

We talked for quite a while, and I left feeling..
Like I was right where I was supposed to be, that day.

That for some reason, my world, and his world, were meant to smash into each other with major force.

I drove home wondering "What did he gain from our conversation?"

And "What did I gain?"

I gained - knowing you can't protect someone from themselves (which I already knew, but this reinforced it).

I thought about how suicide tends to follow me now.
Why?
Is it my "job" to help suicide victims?

I also learned that because a 60 year old guy tells me I am pretty, I need to learn to LISTEN and not get weirded out.

Somethings in this life I will never understand.

It could have always been worse..

Prompted by another widow's blog posting, I started thinking about how S.'s death could have been worse.

For anyone that doesn't know, S. committed suicide on 7/27/10.

How could it have been worse?

Well let me count the ways.

He could have taken me with him. Although in the early days I cursed at him for not taking me with.
He could have walked into a school, mall, etc, and taken unsuspecting strangers with him.
I could have came home to find him.
Instead he hiked up to a local min (that is a bitch to get to) and killed himself there.
The police could have never found his body.
I was lucky enough that they found his body within 48 hours. Can't imagine the pain of not ever finding his body.
He could have killed himself in front of me.
I didn't have to "pull the plug".
He could have experienced the person he loved  more then anything (ME) giving up on him and walking out.
Instead, I stayed.
I took care of him. For 3 very long years.
He could have killed himself at work.
He could have killed himself at school.
He could have suffered. Although I am not 100% sold on the medical results that he didn't suffer. (Who's to say your soul leaving your body isn't a painful experience?)
We could have been fighting at the time, saying hurtful things. (We weren't).
He could have killed himself while we were on vacation in Hawaii weeks earlier.
He could have not used that time in Hawaii to say his goodbyes to me. (Although I didn't realize it was his way of saying goodbye until months after his death).
He could have killed himself as I went into shoulder surgery, two weeks prior to his death. Leaving me unable to take care of myself and dealing with his death on top of my very painful surgery.
We could have had a loveless marriage.
We could have hated each other.
I could have went against what he wanted for his funeral (and remains).
Instead I stood my ground. I fought for what he wanted.
Even when his family was very angry at me for not doing what THEY wanted done for his funeral and remains.
I could have been completely alone. With no love and support from my friends and family.
I could not have a job.
I could be homeless.
I could not have my new heaven in my new home.
I could be in a mental hospital.
I could have let his death kill me as well.
Around the 8 month mark, as much as I thought about it, I didn't kill myself.

Instead -

He knew true love.
I know true love.
We had a great life together.
He finally knew what it was to belong to a family. An amazing family.

- And the good that came out of the bad - 


He could have shot himself and lived.
And I would be by his side, taking care of my husband, that would be severely brain damaged.

Your concealed weapon permit is expired!!

S. got a letter in the mail today.

It was from the state, reminding him that his concealed weapon permit is about to expire.

The same concealed weapon permit I tried to have revoked on 3 different occasions.

Not only did they ignore the fact that he had bipolar, and 3 suicide attempts under his belt.. they overlooked the fact that...

He is dead. He shot himself.

Effin state.

Everyday

Everyday, I wake up, and think "Wait, what happened?".

You see, I was happily married for 7 years, to the love of my life. I never once thought "I shouldn't have gotten married".

My husband was (is) my world, and I was his world.

You see, one day in 2008, I woke up, and realized the man I married was not the man sleeping next to me. He was a person I did not know. The person that was my whole world, was gone, overnight.

After a long struggle, he was diagnosed with bipolar type 1.

For 3 long years, I watched the person I didn't know, suffer day in and day out. I quickly learned that mental pain is far worse then physical pain.

After three suicide attempts, my world collapsed at my feet. My husband shot and killed himself on 7/27/2010.

Over the 3 years of his illness, I became his nurse. His teacher. But far from his wife and friend. He pushed me away, I think not knowing any better.

When he died, I woke up and thought "Now what?". I'm no longer a nurse. I am no longer a teacher. I am no longer a wife, or friend. I am a widow.

Going from being someones nurse to them passing away, feels weird. You have your habits of taking care of your loved one. Medication, check, food, check, his mood, check. It felt like I partially lost my "Job" or my "Responsibility".

Not only did I lose my best friend, I lost my purpose in life.

I have always believed married is "Through sickness and health, until death do us part". I'll admit, I did not want to be married to this man I no longer knew. BUT (there's always a BUT or BUTT), I couldn't kick him while he was down by divorcing him. I hoped one day he would return to me, and the unknown man in my life, would disappear.

My husband over the 3 years told me time and time again, if it wasn't for me, he would have killed himself. When he did kill himself, I thought, "When did "I" become not enough to keep him alive?".

I have blamed god. I have blamed life. I have blamed him. But I have realized there is only two things responsible for this. God, and Bipolar. Not my husband. The person that died had died 3 years prior. I could not blame my husband, as he was completely out of his mind.

Sure, I have had my words with him. Screaming at him, "Are you fucking happy now??" or "Look what you have done to me, I am left to pay the consciousnesses of YOUR decision?".

I have become less angry with him, and more angry at god. I wake up every day, and ask god, "Why?". What have I done so bad as a person to deserve this life?"

Am I really a bad person? Do I deserve this lesson?

While trying to understand why I have been chosen to walk this path, I have discovered a couple of things about myself. I believe everyone is sent to earth, to learn certain lessons. I believe for whatever reason, I am supposed to experience this. And my husband was supposed to experience severe mental illness and suicide. I am starting to believe that my purpose now, is to help others. Fellow suicide survivors. Fellow widows.

But I still wake up everyday asking "God, why did you do this to me??"

Everyone said the first year is the worst. Some say the second is the worse. For me, the 3 years leading up to his death were the worst. The first year after his death was the second worst, and the second year is worse in some ways and better in some ways. I can function now. I can do the things I'm "supposed" to do. Go to work, go to the gym. But there are days that I get so overwhelmed with the life around me. Days that land me so overwhelmed I shut down.

These last couple of weeks, I am overwhelmed. I have so many things I want to do, yet no energy to do it.

I have learned being mentally tired is far worse then physically tired.

And I have learned there is no "vacation" when you are grieving.

It's always there. Always.