Suicide

I'm sitting here in shock of the news of Robin Williams' death, his apparent suicide.  I've wanted to blog about suicide for awhile, but it's such a difficult and morbid topic.

Late last year I remember how dark my thoughts became.  How I was going to kill myself and that act was supposed to make everything better.  How I researched online different methods.  I didn't know what I was really searching for: the quickest way, the most painful, the least painful, the potentially irreversible in case I didn't really mean it.  I've come from a long way from those dark thoughts although I still experience them from time to time, but there are people in our lives who struggle with this every day on a constant basis.  Most I'm sure are suffering in silence.

The pain and thoughts become too much that death just seems like the next best thing, the ultimate escape.  I really believed no one would care, life would go on, no one would miss me.  Why would they?  It's just me.

People are going to say that Robin seemed happy, he was a comedian, was so successful, was so funny, made us smile and laugh...how could he take his own life?  It's rather simple, unfortunately.

For so long I put on an act of being happy and put together.  Everything is "fine", "no worries", I'm "just tired"...when really I wished I could scream for somebody to realize something is wrong.  But I always managed a smile, a laugh, a joke.  Just like you can't judge someone on the outside in regards to eating disorders, you can't judge someone on the outside if they are suicidal, anxious, depressed, or plagued by some other form of mental illness.

We are afraid to be viewed as weak if we acknowledge the fact that we struggle, but really we are strong.  What I've learned from this blog and being open and honest is that people do care and they want the best for you.  They are in your corner rooting for you.

Suicidal ideation is no joke.  If you ever start having those thoughts you must tell someone.  I learned that speaking my thoughts out loud actually took away some of their power.  I know it's so difficult to start the conversation, but if I hadn't started it I might not be here.  That conversation was a catalyst for me getting help.  It's an ongoing process, it takes time and effort, it takes journaling and crying and yelling and coloring and talking and hanging out with friends and watching movies and sitting through the yucky feelings until they subside (they eventually subside, patience isn't always my virtue though).

And even if we fight with all our might some of us don't make it.  I can't explain that.  I wish I could.

Rest in peace, Robin.  I pray your family, friends, and fans also find peace in your absence and will keep your memory alive.

I danced it out

Yesterday I found out a family friend passed away.  He had aplastic anemia and needed a bone marrow transplant to improve his chances of beating the disease.  I've known him since I was in fourth grade.  His son and my brother were best friends for a long time.  

I reconnected with Dave when he started doing theatre.  He became a "regular" like me with a specific church group.  It was strange at first to interact with him on an adult level.  I don't think it was strange for him, but it was strange for me because it used to be adult/child.  Now it's adult/adult.  I didn't have to call him "Mr. St. John" anymore and we could talk about grown up things.

I remember Dave always smiling and laughing and portraying happiness.  After I revealed my struggles through this blog, he was very supportive and reminded me that so many people actually cared.  His encouragement meant the world to me.

In a way I thought we were fighting together.  He was fighting aplastic anemia and I was fighting an eating disorder.  

I never thought he would actually die...

I never thought he could lose.

I thought we both were going to win our wars.

As I looked at my cell phone last night during rehearsal and saw the e-mail from my mom telling me of his passing I couldn't breathe for a moment.  I had to read it over and over again.

No, no.  This isn't right.  He didn't die.  He's not gone.  We're both fighting, we're both going to beat this...  I didn't get to say goodbye...he can't be gone.  They just had a drive for him...

I remember the last time I saw him.  It was for the show I was helping with costumes.  It was time for the cast party!  He was originally in the show, but with his treatment he wasn't able to perform.  But the night of the cast party, he was in the audience.  I walked into the gymnasium after the show was over and smiled when I saw that he was chit chatting with everyone around him.  I was so glad to see he was there.  He said my name excitedly and asked how I was (he truly wanted to know).  We hugged and I asked him how he was feeling.  We both were having good days it seemed.  The cast party was so much fun and I remember he sang a song during karaoke.

I didn't think that was going to be the last time I ever saw him...

After rehearsal last night I went home to an empty house.  My husband is visiting his family this weekend.  I collapsed on the living room floor and sobbed.  

We were both supposed to win our wars.

I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep so I turned on my Imagine Dragons cd.  I started cleaning the house before rehearsal and I decided to pick up where I left off.  I was still crying and I realized I wouldn't be able to clean right then, right when Radioactive was playing in the background.

I threw myself to the floor and I danced my grief out.  I don't know if you could really call what I was doing dancing, but whatever it was the music was moving my body.  You might say I was having a tantrum and releasing my frustration and anger and shock and despair and sadness...  

Then there was a moment I couldn't dance anymore.

All I could do was cry.

Slowly, but surely I got up and started cleaning, pausing for moments when the tears seemed to take over.  Finally exhaustion over came me.  I slipped into bed and fell asleep knowing this wasn't some terrible nightmare.

My heart goes out to the family and friends of Dave St. John.  You will be truly missed.