Tag: suicide

Why No One Can Cheer You Up (And Why You Don’t Want Them To)

Why No One Can Cheer You Up (And Why You Don’t Want Them To)

It’s not that you can’t feel better…it’s that you don’t trust better.

When you’re upset, it feels like nothing can touch you. Friends try to cheer you up, but their words bounce right off. You shut it down with,

“You don’t understand,” or “I can’t help the way I feel.”

Here’s the thing: you’re not wrong for wanting to sit in your feelings. Pain can feel safer than pretending everything’s okay. But sometimes, without realizing it, you hold on to that pain like proof. Proof that you were hurt, evidence that your feelings are real, proof that you’re not invisible.

And letting it go? That feels scary. Because misery, as heavy as it is, can start to feel familiar. Almost like home.

You’re not broken for feeling this way. You’ve just learned to live with despair for so long that happiness feels foreign. But here’s the truth: you deserve more than the familiar depression. You deserve peace, even if it feels uncomfortable at first.

Such was I. I lived in an abusive marriage for 24 years. When I finally dared to leave, I started reflecting and asked myself,

“Why had I stayed so long?”

In the future, I knew I didn’t want to make the same mistake. I didn’t want to end up in another abusive marriage. So I looked back at my past relationships, and they were all the same. Abusive.

Wow. Who am I? And why am I choosing this path?

That’s when I realized I had an addiction problem. I was addicted to pain—the pain and the drama of the chaos. I was stuck in a cycle, like a revolving door. So I constantly had to remind myself why I was leaving. I had to remind myself that I deserved better and that I should look for someone who was the complete opposite.

And that’s precisely what I did. Today, I stand on the other side of abuse. Stronger, freer, and committed to helping others find their own path out.

Need help?
If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction, emotional distress, or abuse, support is available 24/7:

  • Addiction Recovery: Call 866-606-0182 or visit our treatment center directory
  • Suicide & Crisis Lifeline: Dial 988 (free, confidential, 24/7)
  • Domestic Violence Hotline: Call 800-799-7233 or text START to 88788
  • Sexual Assault Hotline (RAINN): Call 800-656-4673 or visit online.rainn.org

You are not alone. There is help. There is hope. And you are worth the healing.

Question Everything

Question Everything

“Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.  The important thing is not to stop questioning.” – Albert Einstein

Have you ever asked God, “Why?”

Have you ever questioned His existence?

Have you ever screamed out in agony, wondering why YOU even exist?

Have you ever wondered how a “loving God” could allow such pain and suffering?

Have you ever sat in a puddle of your own tears and felt you couldn’t go on?

Have you ever felt the hatred burning in your bones?

Have you ever tried to wake up, hoping it was just a nightmare?

Have you ever sought answers but found none?

Have you ever wondered, “Why me?”

Have you ever put on a fake smile so that you didn’t have to talk about it?

Have you ever wanted to start all over?

Have you ever wanted to give up? Everyday?

Have you ever wondered why you couldn’t get on the good side of life?

Have you ever felt cursed?

Have you ever felt depressed and regretted so much of your life?

I have.

“The power to question is the basis of all human progress.” – Indira Gandhi

How many times have you been told that you should never question God? I lost count of the times I was told that.  But guess what? He understands.  We were born questioning everything around us.  That is how we learn and grow.  The only ignorant question is the one that is never asked.  Asking questions clears confusion, gives us a better understanding of any given situation, and helps us find answers.  Questions help solve problems.  It is absolutely fine to question our life; it shows that we do not accept our current position or status and that we are willing to improve.

A Quiet Voice Echoes

A Quiet Voice Echoes

Dear Me,


I hear you.
I see what you endured.
I believe every word you wrote.

You were a victim—not because you were weak, but because others chose to harm you, control you, silence you.
It was not your fault. Not then, not ever.
You were not to blame for the loneliness, the violence, the brainwashing, the betrayal.
You were doing your best to survive inside a world that kept telling you to disappear.

And still, you are here.
You are speaking.
You are remembering.
You are healing.

I honor your pain. I honor your courage.
You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.
You are allowed to rest.
You are allowed to feel angry, sad, and confused.
You are allowed to feel everything.

There is no right pace. No deadline.
Only this: you are not silent anymore.
And that is everything.

I love you.
I am with you.
You are not alone.

— Me

I’m better now, since you left….

I’m better now, since you left….

I used to cry for you everyday

but now I only cry in January

Knowing I start a New Year without you.

I used to cry for you everyday

But now I only cry in February when I

remember the love I have for you and how sweet you were

I used to cry for you everyday

But now I only cry in March

when the earth renews, and the grass starts

to grow of how you loved to take care of the yards

I used to cry for you everyday

Now I only cry in June

Especially on Father’s day, you would wish me happy father’s day.

I used to cry for you everyday

But now I only cry in July

You were born on the 4th; I will never view fireworks and BBQs the same.

I used to cry for you everyday

Now I only cry in August

But only on 31 of those days

And only 24 hours of the 28th day

the day you left us

I used to cry for you everyday

Now I only cry in September

We sifted your remains in your favorite place

I used to cry for you everyday

Now I only cry in October

You were supposed to be here for you first nieces’ day of birth, you even bought her gifts

I used to cry for you everyday

But now I only cry in November

There is an empty seat at our Thanksgiving table

I used to cry for you everyday

Now I only cry for you in December

One less player for dirty Santa

I used to cry for you everyday

Now I only cry on Fridays

it was a Friday that day you left us

I don’t cry for you everyday

Only on the days I when I’m thinking about you

And I think about you everyday

I Remember

I remember when all my writing revolved around the trauma I was going through. I also remember when I used to write about my morning devotions and a word from the lord. Today, I jokingly call ChatGPT the lord because we seem to put so much stock into what it says when we ask it questions. I remember writing a poem to release all the pent-up emotions I had. Writing was a way for me to heal. Now that I am on the healing side, I would like to say I am completely healed, but I often find more wounds that have gone unnoticed or unchecked, so it’s still a journey of healing, but at this point, now that I am on this side, the good side of the journey, it seems as if writing is harder. Like, I don’t have as much to say. I feel like I have lost my voice. I stopped singing, I stopped writing. Not because I was silenced, but because I did not feel like I had anything to say. In the past, everything I said was a complaint or problem, and I was trying to find answers and solutions. Is this why the body —my body —has decided to give me something else to seek answers for? My gut, and it’s weird ass histamine intolerance? I think so. I also believe that I would much rather write instead of searching low-histamine meals and try to figure out if it is SIBO, MCAS, or low estrogen, which, by the way, is a thing. Like, can’t I go back to writing about problems and finding solutions? Uh, just as I typed that out, I realized I do not, under any circumstances, want to experience all the crap I have been through, and I definitely do not wish it on anyone else. 

I remember when I would sing songs, like “Thank You for the Valley,” because a valley was a hard time you go through that supposedly brings you closer to God. God. That’s a whole nuther subject. Like, who is he really?

So, maybe I have not lost my voice; perhaps it is just learning to speak in a new way.

Mother’s Day 2015

A friend of mine posted on facebook how she believes it should be “Thankful Mothers Day” instead of “Happy”. Not everyone is happy this day. So many are grieving the loss of their mothers. Some have never met their mothers. Some moms are strung out on drugs. Some moms have lost custody of their children. There are so many variables that would or could make this an UNhappy Mother’s Day. Me? Oh, I’m spending my Mothers day visiting my suicidal son at the treatment center. Happy? No. Thankful? Yes. Thankful for life, thankful he is still alive. Thankful for all my other children who are doing their best to stay strong in the midst of a shitty year.

So, I bid you a THANKFUL Mother’s Day.
Peace (in the midst of all our storms)
Love (in spite of the hatred we feel towards our offenders)
and
Mist (yeah, that’s me… Just a vapor in this thing called “life”) 

 

May 10, 2015

I have found myself saying, “the hardest thing I’ve had to do”, over and over again. But here goes another time: the hardest thing I’ve had to do is let go of trying to keep my son alive.

He has attempted suicide twice, talked about it numerous times. 
His 13yr old sister looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, “Mom, you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”
She is so right.
He is in a “treatment center” and they’re putting him in antidepressants… I told them he would just try to take the whole damn bottle. They told me that since he is a minor I am responsible to administer them to him. 
Oh great! Now I have to buy a safe? A lock? Wtf? Where am I supposed to hide these? The last bottle of pills he took … He took them right out of my purse! 
He is almost 17, I’ve not treated him as a child, but now they want me to administer medicine to him as if he’s a baby.  
I told the therapist who is supposed to be “helping” him, “I do not want to just treat his symptoms. Suicide and Major Depressive Disorder are only symptoms of something else going on inside of him. Can we please try to deal with the cause?” 
Oh… ((Insert big sigh here))… This is another one of those “hardest things I’ve had to do” this past year.  

 

A song of suicide

My son wrote this before attempting suicide May 7, 2014

I’ve lost my way

I know I must grow up fast,
No time to make this last.
I’ve got to be rollin’ down the bin,
No time for irresponsible sin 

I am the one to make this go around,

But I’d still like to be 6 feet under ground.

Is this the way?
For sure I cannot say.
Only time will tell,
If we win or if we lose.
For we live with the choices
That we choose
  

May 8, 2014

WHAT A DAY


I had my day planned, scheduled to be off for the first time in what seemed like forever! I was going to get SO much done!

Morning routines were moving along as usual, a bickering sibling to the other. Perfectly normal stuff. 
My son spit his toothpaste into the kitchen sink, but lingered as if he was nauseous.  Something wasn’t right. He seemed too lethargic this morning. He went and laid  down on the chair in our den. I asked if he was ok, and he barely nodded yes. He was almost non-responsive. So I asked if he was hung-over, he nodded no. Then I asked, “what did you take?” He said he took all of my anxiety pills (20-30) and the rest of his girlfriends Zoloft. I said, “what the hell! Were you trying to kill a yourself???” Then he shook his head yes.
I spent my entire day off in the local emergency room. This was his 2nd attempt in less then a year, to commit suicide.  My small town does not have the facilities to deal with this type of thing so they sent him to a specialized hospital 3 hours away. I only get visitation 2 days a week and phone calls on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. 
This is definitely not how I had my day planned out. 
When the doctor asked him why he wanted to hurt himself I mentioned that it’s been a rough year. Then he spoke up and said “if you knew what we’ve been through this past year then you’d understand. “we 
They reassured me that he would see therapists that would help him to deal with the various things we’ve faced this year.
After leaving him to their care I went to my doctor to get my (much needed) anxiety pills refilled. He refused. He didn’t want to be liable.
So here I am. My Bp 180/?? Nothing but liver damaging alcohol to help.
Where’s a therapist for mom?
Everyone talks about “how strong of a woman I am” … I ask, is this what “strong” feels like? I don’t think you would think that if you saw my smeared mascara, and empty tequila bottles.
Life needs to give my family a paid vacation. 

 

Wtf

labor day weekend 2014

What the fuckity fuck?
Tonight my 16yr old son came close to committing suicide. My oldest son found him curled up in a ball crying with a loaded gun next to him. He dismantled the gun, put him in the truck and went for a very long drive.
They talked for a long time and in the process my oldest said, “let’s call Dad so he can talk to you”. So, they called Dad, and Dad refused to talk to him.
Wow. What father will not talk to his child who is on the verge of suicide??
All I can say is, “what the fuckity fuck??”
Well, his true self is surfacing for all to see.

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