DAY 15 - I am a suicide attempt survivor.

 

Our deepest wounds surround our greatest gifts.
― Ken Page

When I first published What I Want To Offer in 2018, I was nervous about its response and uncomfortable with the vulnerability of the writing.

Since then, it has become the most popular post on this blog. This personal essay about my own suicide attempts has been particularly helpful to those who have lost someone to suicide and are struggling with questions like 'How could they do this to me?' and 'Why wasn't my love for them enough?'

Because of this, I have gone from feeling uncomfortable with the essay to being honored that I can help loss survivors in this way. So, I am sharing it with you again, today. Click here or on the image above to see the essay.

Tan Lines and Courage

I don’t know that I look particularly good in this picture. I’d just come back from a walk. I'm sweaty and 'flushed.' Still, anyone who is familiar with my pictures on Facebook will notice something unusual.

A friend of mine just posted pictures of herself walking (for exercise), and she had all this adorable exercise attire. I don’t have adorable exercise attire. Generally I wear some shorts and a tank top of some kind. That’s OK. Works for me.

I do, however, have olive complected skin, so getting lots of sun means getting very dark. I wanted to show my friend that. No cute exercise clothing - but tan lines. They count as cute, too, right?

Taking selfies is not unusual for me. But something in my pictures shifted several years ago. People noticed. They pointed it out. They teased me sometimes.

Here's the thing. It’s not that I don’t smile. That’s not it. And I certainly smile and laugh in real life. But, I haven't wanted to post pictures with those 'great big toothy' grins. I’ve posted a few, but just to prove a point. (Yes, I know how to smile with my mouth open.)

There’s a certain amount of guilt that survivors of suicide loss are always juggling. Even when we know it’s not our fault. Even when we know everybody else understands it’s not our fault. So, not always, but every once in a while I still struggle with this thing: I don't want anyone to think I am genuinely happy, in a world without my mother and without John. Their unhappiness took them away from the world. Am I allowed to be happy in the world that they left behind?

This has been a brutal few years. I don’t wish these kinds of circumstances on anybody. But, as always, there’s been so much good too. There is someone who I love so so much, and she got very sick this year. She was in the hospital, but I didn’t talk about it on Facebook. I didn’t talk about it much, at all. But inside I was holding my breath, in a way that hurt. Holding it in a way that can only be described as jagged around the edges.

I don’t know how to steel myself for loss. They don’t matter, the efforts at steeling. What we tell ourselves about being prepared. Long illness or sudden loss. No matter, there is always a tearing of the heart when people we love are pulled out from under us.

I understand now in a way that I never did before, that making it through this kind of pain is not about being stoic or strong. More than anything, it is about having the courage to face each day even though we feel so completely broken.

The person I loved who'd gotten sick a few months ago, pulled through. I could breathe again. So, in a roundabout way, this summer I do everything I can to get outside and breathe in as much light as possible.

Today, I thought about John. Anyone who knows him knows that he was ridiculous about getting out in the sun. He would go outside sometimes, close his eyes, and turn his face to the sun. He would just stand there, soaking it all in. The hotter it was, the better.

When I got back from my walk today, I had a moment of thinking that if John saw these tan lines, he'd be happy.

I took that picture so that I could say - I may not have cute exercise clothes, but I do have cute proof that I exercise. But, that's not what this post is actually about,

It turns out, it is a reminder that this world is not just full of loss. It is full of happy outcomes, breathtaking courage, and great big smiles too.

Try to get outside and get some sun, people. Sunshine is full of everything good, and that is what I hope for all of you.

(PS - put some sunscreen on.)

The post above was originally posted on my fb page on July 10, 2021. I also shared it with my fb suicide loss survivor groups. I received a lot of feedback in those groups. One example (that carries the theme of most of the feedback) was this:

"Thank you for this. I needed to hear that I might smile again one day."

Because the post resonated, I am publishing it on this blog, too. 

  

*Note - In the interest of transparency, note that the picture above has been filtered with a standard orton filter. The same photo was used in the Facebook post, but it had no filter. If you are interested in seeing the original post on FB, you can find it here:

Mental Health Awareness Month. Because we are needed in this world.

Holding The Truth For You

Last Sunday, I received a message on Facebook from someone I'd never met. I was deeply touched by what she said. Her words could mirror my own that first year after John died. She speaks for so many spouses and partners who are new to suicide loss. 

Of her grief, the extraordinary pain of guilt intermingled with loss, and her acknowledgement of how important it is to not feel alone, I will say this:

She is why I write.

Sunday, 4/4/21

Hi Chelise,

I found your blog through a facebook suicide loss group. Thank you so much for it. I've been reading through your posts. I need them. 

My husband of 23 years took his life on Christmas, 2020. The only things keeping me clinging to life are my family, friends, support groups, and blogs like yours.

My guilt is all-consuming. My husband had what I would call functional depression and alcoholism. But the alcoholism was severely affecting our relationship. In the last few years, things were very strained. We fought a lot. I said hurtful things. He wouldn't get help, and I became angry, desperate, even bitter. All of the worst things. 

What I wanted underneath it all was just for him to get help, to be present for himself, for us. I wanted to have the man I saw when he wasn't drinking. Now he's gone. And I blame myself for everything I ever said, didn't say, did and didn't do. I feel I could have saved him. But I never had a clue suicide was a possibility. I knew nothing. I was a fool. 

I saw what you posted from another blogger: "I fought so hard to save her when she was sick. & while it took awhile, at some point after her passing I realized it was now time ~that I fight, to save me." 

I can't imagine ever wanting to save me. 

I feel I deserve a life of punishing myself. How can I possibly live on knowing he took his life, and our relationship could have been part of that. I love him more than anything in this world. 

Thank you for all you do. Your blog means so much. 

- Sarah*

Here was my reply:

Oh Sarah.

My heart hurts for you. We have so much in common. The first years after John died were riddled with so much guilt. So often, it was hard to breathe under the weight of it.

Please know that functioning depression does not mean that it is not life threatening - and it was not your job to fix that. It would have been impossible. His alcoholism increased his risk, not you and what you did or didn't do.

Guilt is common with all grief, but it is nearly universal with suicide loss. Your guilt is proof of being a suicide loss survivor, not proof of actually having done something to feel guilty about. There is something I often share with those who've lost their partners and who'd been struggling/fighting/setting firm boundaries with, or even leaving, at the time that their partner died. It is true for you too:

Your husband did not die because of the things you did or didn't do. And he was not dealing with mental health issues because of your fights. Your struggles with your husband were likely due to the same things that killed him - the alcoholism and the depression.

Partners have arguments. Even terrible ones. We have people in our suicide loss survivor group who were in the process of pursuing a divorce from their partner. It is not their fault that their partner died. There are many people in the group who were mid-fight with a husband when he suddenly completed right in front of them. Their argument/s, however ugly or painful, were not responsible for their partner's death.

I don't know what your exact circumstances are, but just like I know for certain that those people are not responsible for their partner's death, I know this is true for you too. If you can't yet take that in, please be very gentle with yourself.

And know that I, and so many other survivors, will hold the truth for you. You are not responsible. We will hold this truth for you until you are ready to take that deep breath and reach out for the self compassion that you so deserve.

💓 - Chelise

If you are a suicide loss survivor and can relate to Sarah's feelings, please try to take this in. You are not at fault. And you are not alone.

*Sarah is not the actual name of the woman who wrote me the letter. I changed her name in this blog post, for privacy reasons.