I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that my life has been so busy over these last eight months that I haven't blogged anything. Probably best not to go tugging at that particular thread.
Right, so let's at least do a quick update. I've had that fucking suicide run down post up all year long. Hadn't realized I've left it up there all this time. I mean I knew it was there just forgot how far back it was when I wrote it. And nobody said anything which means they aren't reading or they just didn't care to point it out. Meh.
Update 1:
I'm still alive. That's a victory.
Update 2:
Still working at my shitty job. That is a defeat. Or maybe a stalemate. I'm not sure.
Update 3:
I moved out of the house and into my own place this summer. The psychic energy, full of suffering and misery, was driving me mad. I finally abandoned it and it was the best decision I'd ever made.
Update 4:
Back to the job, I'm currently enrolled in a voice over training course after attending an introductory workshop at a local community center. It's costing a pretty penny but I consider it an investment. I'm very excited about it and I think it's what I've been waiting for.
Update 5:
I started dating this girl back in the start of July. At first we said we were going to take things slow but the more time we spent together the more we hit it off. She's amazing and I love spending time with her. She's also very curious about kink, though she's never tried it, and the prospect of showing her and exploring things with her often has me bouncing in my seat.
I think that's everything. Life still isn't great. Still got a lot of problems, especially with work the last few weeks. I'm hoping the voice over training will help me get out of there, let me find a career in something I can enjoy and that doesn't suck up all of my life.
And I still have my friends and my family. And I'm still alive. That's the most important thing, I think. Where there is life, there is hope. It can be hard for me to remember that some days but not as hard as it used to be.
Maybe next time I'll give a more in-depth look at what's going on. For now, I should get some sleep. Or do something productive. Sleep is for the dead.
Friday, August 16, 2013
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Suicide, Depression, Love and Hope
Fuck.
Where do I even begin with what's going on in my life? I looked at the date of my last post and realized how long it's been since I wrote in this blog and also realized how much my life has gotten flipped upside down in only three months.
Most of the people who might read this blog are from Twitter and some of them know about the things I'm about to talk about. Some don't know the whole story, which is what I'm about to lay out here. So strap yourself in, this isn't going to be pretty.
For the last five years I've lived with my grandmother and my uncle. As my grandmother has gotten older, her health has failed her and she reached a point where she couldn't take care of herself. So my uncle took on that responsibility, which eventually became a full time job. As a result, they had no income of their own since he couldn't work, so I lived with them to help with the bills. I didn't have to do this, since I was making enough money to survive on my own, but I take care of my family.
That isn't to say that it's been easy for me. My uncle, I have recently learned, has long dealt with depression even before he moved in with me and my grandmother. However, he refused to recognize he had a problem and seek help. As a result, over the years, his attitude has driven people away from him and alienated his family. Whereas most people living in a situation like ours might talk all the time, my uncle and I barely spoke. At times it was like we pretended the other person wasn't there and simply went on about our business.
Unfortunately, 2012 became the worst year of my life. A few months before that year began I began to spiral down into a depression that drove me to the brink of suicide. I've already written about my experiences with that, so if you want to know just look back through my blog. I sought help from my doctor and eventually came out to my friends what I was dealing with. Their love and support, as well as the support of all my Twitter friends, have kept me alive. That doesn't mean it hasn't been easy. It still isn't easy today, despite the fact that it isn't as bad as it was. But the last few months have tested the very limits of my sanity.
My grandmother passed away in October this year. Her health had been rapidly declining for a few months before this but it was still a shock at the suddenness of her passing. And it was hard on all of us but while we grieved for her, I was happy she was finally at peace and wasn't hurting anymore. Hearing her crying only a daily basis for the last few years and knowing there was nothing that could be done to help her feel better tore my heart out again and again.
With my grandmother passed, I decided it was time for me to leave. I loved my uncle but I couldn't stand living with him anymore and he didn't need my support. Despite being up in age, he wasn't helpless and would be able to find a job. It was time for me to have my freedom and, at 31 years old, live on my own for the first time.
Then my uncle committed suicide.
At the time of his death I knew that he was dealing with his own depression and had been doing so for several years. But it was only after my grandmother's death and later, his own, that I learned just how deep his psychological issues ran. I also didn't learn of the financial problems he was having until after my grandmother's death, when he told my mother that he and my grandmother had taken a $45,000 loan out on the house to consolidate my grandmothers debts. As a result, they had been paying off a loan for years that I was completely unaware of, because one of my uncle's greatest problems was that he wouldn't tell anyone anything and wouldn't ask anyone for help.
I don't know when my uncle died. My work schedule is long and ever changing. I work four days at a time, twelve hour shifts, changing from days to nights and back every week. At this time I was working days, waking at 4 AM and not returning until 7 AM or later. On one of these days my uncle lay down in his bed and put a plastic bag over his head to smother himself. I also believe he may have taken a large number of pills to help him with this. However, because he did not leave a note where I could see it and because we rarely spoke to each other, he lay dead in his room for at least two days while I came and went to work. It was only on my first day off, after sleeping in late and waking to find him still asleep did I go to check on him and find him dead.
It's hard for me to describe how much this whole event has torn me apart. Sorrow for the death of my uncle. Rage for him giving up and refusing to try to put together a life for himself. Empathy for knowing what it feels like to have no hope and being at that point of taking your own life. Guilt for not knowing he was dead for so long. Guilt for feeling like I could have done something to help him. Guilt for not giving him every dollar I had. Guilt for not telling him I loved him and would have helped him if he would have tried for himself. Guilt at having to call my mother at work to tell her what happened and hearing her breaking down over the phone. Guilt at having nearly ended my own life and now seeing first hand the agony I would have left behind.
God, the guilt alone could have driven me to kill myself.
Over the last two months since his death, which occurred in early December, the guilt has become easier to deal with. I've spoken with my mother about it and after looking for records and paperwork I came across a letter my uncle had written "in the event of his death." As it turns out, he has dealt with his depression long before he moved in with my grandmother and I. My mother had attempted to help him and after he lashed out at her in anger he refused to speak with her for nearly two years. He had been considering suicide when he wrote this letter nearly six years ago and from what he wrote it was clear that he had become very bitter and cynical with the world.
At the same time, however, he refused to get help. He refused to believe that things could get better or try to find a way to make them better. I don't know why he couldn't do this. I'll never know. But I do know that, despite my guilt, his death is not my fault and that ultimately, his alienation of his family and his unending despair that drove him to suicide were things of his own making.
As for me, I'm now left with a house my mother doesn't want and can't afford. I've been trying to sort out how to deal with the loan that is still on the house as well as dealing with a multitude of repairs that need to be done as well. I'm not sure how things will turn out. Only time will tell.
I wanted to share this story for two reasons. One is because I need to exorcise my demons. I'm still dealing with my depression. My friends know of it but my family doesn't, and I worry about telling them for fear that it would cause my stress in their lives. In some ways this even has made my depression worse but in others it has made me stronger. I loved my uncle. I loved him not simply because he was family but because it was his influence in my earliest days that have made me the man I am today. I wouldn't have put up with his bullshit as long as I did if it hadn't been for the fact that he was, at his heart, a good man who deserved better. But his depression and the attitude it gave him was a toxic influence that I believe had a strong influence on my own depression eventually manifesting. I am now free of that poison. I wish it hadn't come at such a high price but, again, I didn't make that choice.
The second reason I want to share my story is that I know there are others out there who deal with psychological issues. They're afraid to come forward and ask for help, like I was. They worry that people will belittle or ignore them, that they'll treat them like lepers or like they're afraid of them. One of my greatest fears that kept me from telling my best friend about my depression was that he would come to fear me and wouldn't want me to be the godfather of his daughter anymore. But that fear nearly destroyed me and it would have won out eventually if I hadn't finally come out and admitted the problem I was having.
My friend showed me more love and compassion than I could have ever hoped and has continued to do so in the wake of my uncle's death. And, being as much of a geek as I am, he told me "When you can't run, you crawl and when you can't do that...you find someone to carry you." Browncoats for life.
I have vowed that no matter how dark things seem I will never again consider taking my own life. I will not inflict that pain on the people I love. And I want others to realize that as well. I want them to realize that the pain and agony they feel is not new and unique to them. Others have felt it, others still feel it and there are others still who will help you deal with it. Don't let your fear of what society may think of you prevent you from seeking the help you need, because ultimately you make the choice to end your life and bring pain to the people you love, even if you don't realize how much it would hurt them.
Thank you to everyone who has supported me and stood by my side. Thank you for your love and support. Thank you for never giving up on me.
Where do I even begin with what's going on in my life? I looked at the date of my last post and realized how long it's been since I wrote in this blog and also realized how much my life has gotten flipped upside down in only three months.
Most of the people who might read this blog are from Twitter and some of them know about the things I'm about to talk about. Some don't know the whole story, which is what I'm about to lay out here. So strap yourself in, this isn't going to be pretty.
For the last five years I've lived with my grandmother and my uncle. As my grandmother has gotten older, her health has failed her and she reached a point where she couldn't take care of herself. So my uncle took on that responsibility, which eventually became a full time job. As a result, they had no income of their own since he couldn't work, so I lived with them to help with the bills. I didn't have to do this, since I was making enough money to survive on my own, but I take care of my family.
That isn't to say that it's been easy for me. My uncle, I have recently learned, has long dealt with depression even before he moved in with me and my grandmother. However, he refused to recognize he had a problem and seek help. As a result, over the years, his attitude has driven people away from him and alienated his family. Whereas most people living in a situation like ours might talk all the time, my uncle and I barely spoke. At times it was like we pretended the other person wasn't there and simply went on about our business.
Unfortunately, 2012 became the worst year of my life. A few months before that year began I began to spiral down into a depression that drove me to the brink of suicide. I've already written about my experiences with that, so if you want to know just look back through my blog. I sought help from my doctor and eventually came out to my friends what I was dealing with. Their love and support, as well as the support of all my Twitter friends, have kept me alive. That doesn't mean it hasn't been easy. It still isn't easy today, despite the fact that it isn't as bad as it was. But the last few months have tested the very limits of my sanity.
My grandmother passed away in October this year. Her health had been rapidly declining for a few months before this but it was still a shock at the suddenness of her passing. And it was hard on all of us but while we grieved for her, I was happy she was finally at peace and wasn't hurting anymore. Hearing her crying only a daily basis for the last few years and knowing there was nothing that could be done to help her feel better tore my heart out again and again.
With my grandmother passed, I decided it was time for me to leave. I loved my uncle but I couldn't stand living with him anymore and he didn't need my support. Despite being up in age, he wasn't helpless and would be able to find a job. It was time for me to have my freedom and, at 31 years old, live on my own for the first time.
Then my uncle committed suicide.
At the time of his death I knew that he was dealing with his own depression and had been doing so for several years. But it was only after my grandmother's death and later, his own, that I learned just how deep his psychological issues ran. I also didn't learn of the financial problems he was having until after my grandmother's death, when he told my mother that he and my grandmother had taken a $45,000 loan out on the house to consolidate my grandmothers debts. As a result, they had been paying off a loan for years that I was completely unaware of, because one of my uncle's greatest problems was that he wouldn't tell anyone anything and wouldn't ask anyone for help.
I don't know when my uncle died. My work schedule is long and ever changing. I work four days at a time, twelve hour shifts, changing from days to nights and back every week. At this time I was working days, waking at 4 AM and not returning until 7 AM or later. On one of these days my uncle lay down in his bed and put a plastic bag over his head to smother himself. I also believe he may have taken a large number of pills to help him with this. However, because he did not leave a note where I could see it and because we rarely spoke to each other, he lay dead in his room for at least two days while I came and went to work. It was only on my first day off, after sleeping in late and waking to find him still asleep did I go to check on him and find him dead.
It's hard for me to describe how much this whole event has torn me apart. Sorrow for the death of my uncle. Rage for him giving up and refusing to try to put together a life for himself. Empathy for knowing what it feels like to have no hope and being at that point of taking your own life. Guilt for not knowing he was dead for so long. Guilt for feeling like I could have done something to help him. Guilt for not giving him every dollar I had. Guilt for not telling him I loved him and would have helped him if he would have tried for himself. Guilt at having to call my mother at work to tell her what happened and hearing her breaking down over the phone. Guilt at having nearly ended my own life and now seeing first hand the agony I would have left behind.
God, the guilt alone could have driven me to kill myself.
Over the last two months since his death, which occurred in early December, the guilt has become easier to deal with. I've spoken with my mother about it and after looking for records and paperwork I came across a letter my uncle had written "in the event of his death." As it turns out, he has dealt with his depression long before he moved in with my grandmother and I. My mother had attempted to help him and after he lashed out at her in anger he refused to speak with her for nearly two years. He had been considering suicide when he wrote this letter nearly six years ago and from what he wrote it was clear that he had become very bitter and cynical with the world.
At the same time, however, he refused to get help. He refused to believe that things could get better or try to find a way to make them better. I don't know why he couldn't do this. I'll never know. But I do know that, despite my guilt, his death is not my fault and that ultimately, his alienation of his family and his unending despair that drove him to suicide were things of his own making.
As for me, I'm now left with a house my mother doesn't want and can't afford. I've been trying to sort out how to deal with the loan that is still on the house as well as dealing with a multitude of repairs that need to be done as well. I'm not sure how things will turn out. Only time will tell.
I wanted to share this story for two reasons. One is because I need to exorcise my demons. I'm still dealing with my depression. My friends know of it but my family doesn't, and I worry about telling them for fear that it would cause my stress in their lives. In some ways this even has made my depression worse but in others it has made me stronger. I loved my uncle. I loved him not simply because he was family but because it was his influence in my earliest days that have made me the man I am today. I wouldn't have put up with his bullshit as long as I did if it hadn't been for the fact that he was, at his heart, a good man who deserved better. But his depression and the attitude it gave him was a toxic influence that I believe had a strong influence on my own depression eventually manifesting. I am now free of that poison. I wish it hadn't come at such a high price but, again, I didn't make that choice.
The second reason I want to share my story is that I know there are others out there who deal with psychological issues. They're afraid to come forward and ask for help, like I was. They worry that people will belittle or ignore them, that they'll treat them like lepers or like they're afraid of them. One of my greatest fears that kept me from telling my best friend about my depression was that he would come to fear me and wouldn't want me to be the godfather of his daughter anymore. But that fear nearly destroyed me and it would have won out eventually if I hadn't finally come out and admitted the problem I was having.
My friend showed me more love and compassion than I could have ever hoped and has continued to do so in the wake of my uncle's death. And, being as much of a geek as I am, he told me "When you can't run, you crawl and when you can't do that...you find someone to carry you." Browncoats for life.
I have vowed that no matter how dark things seem I will never again consider taking my own life. I will not inflict that pain on the people I love. And I want others to realize that as well. I want them to realize that the pain and agony they feel is not new and unique to them. Others have felt it, others still feel it and there are others still who will help you deal with it. Don't let your fear of what society may think of you prevent you from seeking the help you need, because ultimately you make the choice to end your life and bring pain to the people you love, even if you don't realize how much it would hurt them.
Thank you to everyone who has supported me and stood by my side. Thank you for your love and support. Thank you for never giving up on me.
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