wall of suicide

//

I feel like my heart has been jerked from my body and thrown out into the cosmos. I thought it would never return to me, that it, that I, was lost forever. Lost not only to myself but those others still here who relate to me and love me. Having your person die is a tearing away of cosmic proportions. There is no small part of you left unaffected or untouched.

Little by little, piece by piece, I am returning to myself and the pieces are rearranged. Nothing is what it was before. That wall between before he left and after he left, it is impenetrable, unscaleable, and unable to be busted through. The wall is not even an actual wall, it is though it is another time, another place, another dimension, and there is absolutely no getting back there, no matter how hard I try. This wall is final. It represents an ending, an ending of so many things. But the truth is no matter how much at times I just want to continue to wail at the wall, it is also a beginning point. Every step I take away from the ending point is a step towards what is to come and what is the now. It is something we scream against yet fight to accept all at the same damn time.

I don’t want the changes, yet I must have the changes to survive. I don’t want to love again, yet I actually really do. The emotional whiplash caused by your partner dying is almost indescribable. I’ve never experienced anything as horrific as finding out they died by their own hand and having to sit your children down and tell them their Dad is dead and why he is dead. Suicide is its own brand of horrible, it’s own breed of monster. It rips you to shreds until you yourself feel dead inside, yet slowly life begins to arrive at the door and, as blood does, it seeps back into every crack and crevice.

{zt}

>>>>>{this was a guest post a few days ago on the Widow Dark Thirty blog, found HERE}

keep living

//

i used to think i knew what happened when people died. i comforted myself with images of heaven, of a better place, of no more crying and no more pain. the reality is i don’t know what really happens when someone dies. i can guess, but i don’t really know. the old adages don’t bring any comfort anymore. truth is brutal to swallow.

i used to think i had experienced the worst traumas i ever would. i thought i had seen enough of my share. childhood sexual abuse, the divorce of my parents, acquaintance rape in highschool, clergy abuse in highschool and college, being asked to leave a church due to said clergy abuse while they encircled the hurting pastor and his family, the stillbirth of my second child, the miscarriage of my fourth child, losing the scaffolding of the christian faith and christian god that I had built and based my entire life upon…and then the sudden disappearance of my husband and his suicide eighteen days later.

i am sitting here tonight, six and a half months later, still trying to figure out how my life turned into this. supposedly there comes a point where you figure out how to stop asking the questions, how to stop trying to figure out what the hell happened, how to keep the internal tsunami at bay that still desperately wants to save him.

i cannot imagine another man in my life, although i want it and parts of me feel guilty for wanting it now. maybe i want it this soon because of how it all ended. but the reality is that i am not a loner. i don’t do life well without close friends and without a man i love who also loves me back. there is so fucking much i want and need to be different from here on out, but before i nail down all those specifics i just want another human being to look me in the eyes and tell me they see me and that they believe i’m going to make it up and out and away from this ground zero. i want to believe that i can trust again, that i won’t let fear dictate my life from here on out because of all the staggering losses.

there have been days i have wanted to box it all up and call it quits, but really that is not an option i want deep down inside, nor is it an option i would ever pursue. giving up, throwing in the towel, no fucking way. feeling hope again? i sure as hell hope so. feeling wanted again? yes, please. i didn’t die when he left our house quietly one sunday morning. i didn’t die when he pulled the trigger to end his own life. i didn’t die. i didn’t die. i didn’t die. i am alive. i am here. i get to be here. my life is no small thing. i don’t take my own life lightly, i don’t hold it carelessly. i’m here and i want to live. i want to keep living. and i will as best i can.

i wonder sometimes what becoming a widow suddenly and traumatically is supposed to look like and feel like. i wonder if i’m anywhere within normal or if i’m just totally screwed up and can’t even tell. i just don’t know. does anybody really? i know it’s not all black, there is still color. it’s not all tears, there is still laughter. it’s not all sadness, there is still beauty and enjoyment to be found. if you had asked me a year ago what i thought life without him would be like i never would’ve guessed right. it would’ve been too far outside my lived experience. but I can tell you now. it’s hell and it’s not hell, it’s a nightmare and yet it’s not, it’s horrific and maddening, and yet on some days it’s mostly just exhausting and confusing. and every now and then some normalcy seeps in the cracks of this shattered life and you see flickers of light that tell you that you are still very much alive, and life is still very much worth breathing for.

{zt}

old woman of grief

//

you’re fucked you know

there is no way out of this

there is no waking up

this is not a nightmare, it’s reality

look at me

look me in the eye

we have to do this together

take my hands

let me help you

you can’t pretend i’m not here

you can’t wish me away

i’m here and i’m not leaving

I can’t leave

I’m here because of love

love is here too

and she isn’t going anywhere either

did you think it was just you and me here?

oh no no no, open your eyes dear one

you are very much not alone here

and neither am i

there’s love, kindness, courage, rest, as well as anger, betrayal, depression, and misery

i wish i had a magic wand to wave

but i don’t

i know it’s hard to accept the reality of me

but i need you to

you need you to do so

he does too

come sit with me and stroke my hair

put your head on my shoulder

you can rest here

you can cry too

i won’t ask any questions

and you won’t have to explain

just come

{zt}

everywhere yet nowhere

//

you are everywhere yet nowhere

upon waking you are on my mind

falling asleep filled with images of you

our wedding picture in the living room

family picture in the dining

grief is like food coloring into water

there is no chance of remaining untouched

it colors everything, every space

nothing left alone or unchanged

even when I make my coffee thoughts of you come in

simple things, complicated things, you are in them all

and yet I cannot find you

I cannot hear you or see you

I wonder where you really are right now

are you here in the streaks of sunlight?

the warmth of the light on my skin even when the air is so cold?

or are you actually nowhere? 

I hope you still exist somehow, someway, somewhere

I’ve begged to hear from you in my dreams but nothing comes

no secret signs or magical assurances

your absence is more present than you

everywhere yet nowhere

{zt}

hello suicide

//

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 an Everyone’s Agnostic podcast interview follow-up 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.

{zt}


grief as water

wp-1490149811272.jpg

//

Grief is ever-changing like the moving water in a river or ocean, never stagnant or completely still. There is always something happening, something stirring under the surface or above, or both. Sometimes grief is a like a river in how it winds and twists and turns. Sometimes grief is like an ocean with its strong currents, undertows, and merciless waves coming again and again and again. Sometimes grief is like a ferocious hurricane over the waters, gathering force and spinning out of control, bent on destruction of some sort or another, affecting whatever is in its path. Sometimes grief is like the constant drip drip drip of a leaky faucet, always there and annoying in an innocent dutiful naive manner. Sometimes grief is like a rainstorm on a tin roof that sings a comforting song with its melody.

I hate grief. And yet. It is cleansing and clarifying, and altogether terrible and sweet and relentess, all rolled up into a world of its own. Like water can be, at times it is comforting and warm; but it can also be jarring and dangerous, even life-threatening. It is a world I never feel I belong in, yet when I visit I no longer feel a stranger there, I feel like it is a place I have been before and know well, yet wish I never had to visit again. And yet. I often feel connected in ways in the throes of grief that somehow feel solid, that allow me to feel close to what and who I have lost. That closeness seems at times to fade or go in and out of focus, like a tether to that long lost loved one, or a camera that just cannot seem to find its sweet focus spot anymore, the connection changes as the grief changes. Some days it is undeniably strong and unavoidable like the pain of a fresh burn; others it is a faded other-world-ness dream of a life lived in an alternate space, a space that often seems just out of reach if I try to touch it. Grief crashes, drowns, tricks, surprises, contorts, burns and cracks, and yet it also envelopes, hugs, clears, strengthens, and straightens. Grief is ever-changing.

//

No man ever steps in the same river twice. For it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.

{Heraclitus}

//

It is Good Friday, my third one since I knew there was no real personal Jesus or God in the sky watching over me or in my heart as close as my own breath. I wonder if some people think I am no longer a Christian because life just didn’t work out how I wanted, because my baby died, because people were so cruel to me, but no, it isn’t those things at all. It is because noone showed up. It is because of the silence and the lack, the nothingness, the non-existent. The empty space unfilled by a God who was begged to sit down and pull up a chair. I was met by noone but myself in that most deepest of places, then I knew.

I am angry today. I am crushed. I am gutted. None of it is true. Why am I fighting this dead horse that has been beaten to death with no life left in it? This is the strange odd way of grief. It has swooped in and stolen my breath away again. I am choking on my own silence, I find words hard to speak, hard to write, hard to find. The grief is burning today, it is flooding, and I am screaming silent screams as I thrash to find a limb to grab ahold of in this terrible awful place. Will I ever get over this loss of God? How long will I grieve Him? How does one let go of something that let go of you, of someone such as He? I wonder if I am slowly losing my mind sometimes, the grief is a bit maddening at times. I don’t want to be here, I want to be over this, over him, beyond all of it, in the peace and freedom that I have only tasted drops of. I don’t know where to turn, who to say anything to, isn’t everyone tired of hearing this? I will survive these tortourous waves, I will not be pulled under, I will keep fighting for myself and my life, there is much to live for, I know this, I deeply know this. But today is not a good day, this good friday, and yet, I am still here, and that in and of itself is a very good, a beautiful thing. I am where I am. I feel what I feel. Even now I fight internally to allow myself to just be where I am. To know what I know. To have lost what I have lost. Grief is allowed. It is necessary.

{zt}

**If you read this will you find a way in the big crazy world we live in to let me know? Just a very small hello across the cyber-lands? I need to know someone out there hears me and is just simply there, in my corner, cheering me on. Anyone there?

 

 

borrowed time

//

time aches and haunts and fills and empties all at the same time.

it all seems as stolen moments, the unending pull and tug forward. 

the madness of the days as they circle on and on with a momentum we cannot ease up or lessen. 

we are all on borrowed time.

the days rush past and slow for noone or anything.

there is a frenzy to take it all in before it’s our curtain call.

chaotic beauty.

a love forever chasing us as we chase it.

human to human.

here we are.

we have now.

{zt}

truth in the corners

//

grieving without god

it’s a new kind of horrible

another world of cognitive dissonance to find my way through

i used to tell myself i would see them again

get to know them, be reunited, that the ache would one day be resolved

there is no day down the road that will fix things, no pie in the sky, no god to make it all better in the end

coming to terms with this new kind of grief is its own flavor of cruel

what do i comfort myself with now?

no platitudes suffice

there is no pretty bow to wrap it all up with and sit it up on a shelf to wait for in the end

grief is so much messier now

so much the more incomplete, with missing parts and lost pieces

all the unravelled edges can’t be sewn back together again

there is much that has to be left hanging, left undone, left un-figured-out

what now?

how does one come to terms with the comfort becoming empty, tattered, and torn?

that the thing which was the healing balm, that which held it all together, is simply gone with no coming back?

now the glue isn’t holding anymore, it wasn’t ever really glue to begin with

i will never see my child again

i will never hold her again, never get to know her, never hear her laughter or see the twinkle in her eyes

she is really and actually simply and complicated-ly gone, just gone, out of my grasp forever, and there is no bandage for it, nothing is good enough, nothing works

and her too, the one gone even sooner that i never held or laid eyes on

what does one do with this ugly kind of grief, the kind my former theology shielded me from

even in the grief before i knew something was off about the comfort, it felt like pseudo-comfort even then, now i can no longer lie to my heart, to the grief

it’s time for truth-telling in the farthest darkest corners of myself

no more hiding

this thing called life

//

I didn’t go outside the other day

Not even a glance at the sky or the sound of a bird

It’s that thing I like to leave unsaid

It stalks me, breathes down my neck

Makes the walls close in and the spaces get smaller and smaller

I don’t think I breathe as deeply on those days of hiding from the sun

Is there someone else I’m hiding from

Or is it that I don’t know how to exist out there anymore after everything changed

No-one knows me, strangers everywhere

A stranger in the mirror staring back at me

I don’t know who I am anymore

And yet sometimes I get glimpses

Some days I don’t avoid the sun or the sea or the birds

Some days I think I can face the world

Those days when the pain isn’t swallowing me whole and I can breathe a little slower

You know what I mean

Like a map whose roads all disappeared

I’m wandering through life trying to convince myself I know the way and that just around the next bend I will come to the clearing

Like a raging storm at sea when your boat sinks and leaves you to fend for yourself

I’m a child learning to walk all over again, except this time there’s no one guiding me, no rules to follow, no straight line to try and stay on, I am the compass now, there’s a new north

Like a mother whose child vanishes, he is simply gone, slipped away in the thin air, no trace of him left lingering

What left was never there, what was lost was never really found, what was gained was never really granted

Like the mirage in the desert, the oasis seems so real, yet the more desperate you become to really drink the water, to feel it on your lips and have it slide down your throat, you go after it, only to find it fades into the scorched earth and you land hard sideways on the scratchy sand, left scraped and bleeding on the unforgiving ground beneath you

This recovery from the land of trick mirrors, from the maze of head games and bitter riddles

I stumbled out alive and went into hiding

Maybe one day I can become me again

Maybe one day I can forgive myself, trust myself, give myself another chance at this thing called life.