I’m not sure when I realized I stopped counting the seconds, the minutes, the hours… but I just realized I stopped counting the months at some point.
I actually stopped counting the exact time since John left. One day it was the 8th day of a month, and I didn’t even notice the 5th skipped by. Huh.
I’m trying to pass on that bit of hope to a lovely person, whom I adore, that things will get different. Things will stop moving so slowly, but feel like they’re going so fast at the same time. He’s recently lost someone in his life to mental illness as well. We’re still not sure if it was an accidental overdose of anti-depression related pills, or purposeful.
Doesn’t really matter.
He found her. She’d taken the pills and slept while she slipped away.
He and his daughter just lost her mother. A kind generous person, who despite her faults, did the best she could given how her depression lingered within her. A depression that was stronger than once thought. They weren’t together much anymore and were in the process of separating, but that doesn’t matter. A loss is a loss, and rips your entire being into shreds. My only comfort is that they have each other; this dad and this daughter.
I hope they realize that although impossible to believe right now, that raw pain will subside. As I’ve said in several entries, it doesn’t get better, it gets different. I’ve tried to tell him that there is no guilt. This is no ones fault. The only fault is mental illness. It’s a destructive son of a bitch and doesn’t care about anything.
I’ve told him to take it hour by hour, day by day, and before you know it, you’ll have made it through a month. Then another. Then another.
Every day has possibilities. Granted, one of those possibilities is breaking down into sad ugly cry face in the wrong place, but hey. Other possibilities are mostly good and happy.
I’m glad to hear that’s there’s actually been laughter in their home. Just the two of them. That’s amazing. I know they will be ok, as a team, or separate, but their strength comes from that team.
This dad and this daughter.
My fear for him comes when I think about people who don’t know enough about mental illness (who really does?). The ones who will try to blame him because of the marriage ending. The ones that think my John left us because of his job loss. They think that job loss actually causes suicide. They think that divorce causes suicide. If that were true, half of us would be dead.
Mental illness, wether chronic depression, acute anxiety or a culmination of mental abuse, addiction, low self esteem, whatever it may be; THAT causes suicide.
We need more research. We’re doing a lot, but obviously it’s not even scratching the surface. Sometimes the anti depressants are the cause of a downward spiral. Sometimes they help. They helped me but I didn’t get hooked. There’s always the possibility of an accidental overdose, as well.
This recent loss – this mom that slipped away – made an amazing contribution.
She wanted her brain donated for research.
This is a selfless, amazing act after she passed away. Her brain, with all of its’ firing synapses, with all of its kindness, confusion, love and hate, joy and loss, all of its ups and downs, will help someone. Maybe not today, but one day. That someone could be your future child, your future grandchild, and it could be a lot of ‘someones’.
I’m a tad angry at John because he’d planned on donating his organs as well, but they were unable to harvest because of how he died, and how long he’d been gone.
He could have helped so many.
One person can help so many.
It’s sad and beautiful that this mum donated her brain.
I’m just heartbroken that a girl is without her mother here in life.
But I hope this girl knows that she should be proud of her mum.
She did a wonderful thing.
She left the world her amazing daughter who by all accounts is strong and intelligent, and that by donating her brain to mental health research, she has helped her future grandchildren through science.
She has helped all hearts that hopefully, will never be shredded by suicide loss, so that one day, no one else is left behind.
Thank you, C.
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