I’m scratching and clawing my way to you right now in this very moment just to be here, to show up and tell you what a horrible mindfuck 2017 turned out to be. My amazing and beautiful husband of close to thirteen years died by suicide in August. It has been the horror of horrors. He went missing in July and we tried desperately to find him for about three weeks. I am almost five months out now from the two police officers coming to my door and telling me what I never dreamed in my worst dreams I would ever ever hear. I’ve missing writing here, and I’ve shared some on select places on social media, so this may not be a shock to some of you. Even now as I sit in a new state, in a new house, after a hellacious Christmas that at least my children enjoyed, I want to scream as loud as I can and run across the world to search everywhere for him, to find him, to save him, to bring him back.
On one hand I’m ready for 2017 to go the hell away, but on the other hand I’m not ready to enter a new year he will never experience, where he will not be here to make memories with. Life has not become all darkness, but the darkness touches everything on every level. I’m a fighter and I will keep fighting, but I never thought in my worst moments that life would become what it has become, that his life would come to such a traumatic end, when he was such an incredible beautiful soul.
I’m stopping now, it’s too painful and costs too much right now to say more. I leave you with a podcast interview I did about two months ago where I’m able to talk about what happened to my husband.
Please for fucks sake if you are reading this and feeling suicidal, reach out for help, don’t go it alone. Please. Stay. Stay alive.