I had a random thought the other night....which I often do, hence my blog title...
This thought prompted by Robin Williams' suicide and the shooting in Ferguson.
What do they have in common?
No one likes to talk about suicide and no one likes to talk about racial issues.
What if we DID talk more openly, without accusations, without shaming, WITH honesty about everything...race, sex, mental health, child molestation....everything?
What if we all admitted that none of us can know what it is like to be in someone else's shoes...we all have completely separate, legitimate interpretations of life. I don't know what it's like to be black, you don't know what it's like to grow up red headed, you don't know what depression or suicidal thoughts feel like...we could LISTEN to those people with those experiences and believe how they feel, not try to accuse them of overreacting or being dramatic.
Why can't white people admit that life IS different for black people? Is it because to admit that will somehow make you responsible for that fact? If you deny it then you feel no obligation to do anything to change it... Do we really think slavery was outlawed, the civil rights movement came along and now everything is better? Do you really, really believe that a white man walking down the street gets treated the same way as a black man? This isn't about ONE instance in one town. Why do you need to argue that facts aren't in? The black guy was coming after the cop...the black guy was a thief...the black guy did this....why can you not admit that any random black person in America, on any given day, is treated differently than a white person? That is a fact. It has nothing to do with economic background..ask Oprah...ask black lawyers, black doctors...try being black for a day...you will not be treated the same.
So when a black kid is shot, why do we rush to frame it so that it was justified? Why are we so quick to assume guilt, when our justice system is supposed to built on the presumption of innocence. Why are we so quick to accept a black man being killed over cigar theft but so slow to have outrage at a white man robbing millions of their nest eggs?
I recently watched a video on facebook about the secret tool in marketing....I tried to find it to link it here but can't think of enough words to google it....anyway....the big secret was YOU! She basically said if we, the consumer, didn't stick our head in the sand, all of the marketing strategies in the world would fail. She discussed how they make meat sound healthy by saying "farm raised", even though there isn't a farm involved, how they make it ok to feed animals antibiotics by saying "We are using the latest advances in veterinary medicine" but none of that would work if we didn't turn a blind eye to what we know goes on...the overcrowding in factory pens, not farms, the unknown effect of using these antibiotics....we don't want to know, because it makes us UNCOMFORTABLE. So we make stuff up to justify our continued ignorance. We won't accept our part in the problem.
What else makes us uncomfortable? Child molestation...do you know what could help stop this? How about the Catholic church stepping up with some real solutions? How about priests working it in to their sermons monthly..or maybe right into the CCD program. So kids KNOW it's wrong and the bad priests can't get to them with bribes to keep them quiet...because that is UNCOMFORTABLE!!
Why do people kill themselves? No one has an answer for this but one thing is for sure, it is an uncomfortable topic. A woman my husband works with has a family member who committed suicide, when my husband brought Robin Williams up, everyone hushed him, whispering about protecting her. I am pretty sure that she was already thinking about it, maybe even wanting a sympathetic ear...and if not she can ask for it to not be discussed but treating her differently because you are uncomfortable isn't helping anyone.
We ask people every day "How are you?" and we all know that the "right" answer is to say anything positive, no one wants to hear "I'm not doing good, can you help?" That would be uncomfortable. But, what if it weren't? What if we made it ok to be honest? We have campaigns to help girls feel ok about their bodies, we have campaigns to help homosexuals realize they are ok just the way they are...why can't we make it ok to say "I need help, I am (insert emotion here)"?
None of us like to be uncomfortable...and that's bad enough. to avoid issues...but when we get to the point where issues are brought to the forefront and we actively deny truths or look for ways to make the wrong seem right....that's going too far.
One treatment for phobias is to slowly participate in what you are afraid of....afraid of riding in an elevator, start out just looking at a photo of one...then go look at a real one...then step into one....then ride one....
I challenge you to start thinking about what makes you uncomfortable and then start talking about it and maybe someday we can have national discussions on these topics and start finding solutions.
I can dream, right?
Monday, August 25, 2014
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Forgiving Family
I am going to guess most of you won't agree with me on this but, hey, it's how I feel, right or wrong.
I was talking with my mother about the whole Robin Williams thing. I try to talk to her once a week. She rarely brings up my sister, ever since we stopped talking a little over a year ago. But yesterday she mentioned that Robin's suicide is hitting my sister hard. I said this didn't surprise me.
Many blogs about his death that were written by people who have been there echo the same sentiments. I wrote a blog about my voices that was prompted by his death (which I published but didn't promote for reasons still unclear to me!). It just brings to the surface that we (those who have been there) are all susceptible to surrendering to that voice telling us suicide is the only solution. It can be terrifying. It can trigger a relapse if you were feeling good and who knows what it would do if you weren't.
I am trying not to read into why my mom brought it up. Was she subtly hinting that it was time to bury the hatchet? The same phone call she also mentioned my two aunts that still aren't speaking.
So, whether intended or not, she got me thinking again. Will I ever speak to my sister again? Do I WANT to?
Here's the part you may disagree with. I don't believe that just because someone is family they need to be in my life. A toxic person is a toxic person. I did not turn my back on her. She threw me out of her life. She has made some half ass attempts to mend the fence. She still refuses to acknowledge the real reason that she got mad at me. She still clings to the excuse that it was because I said I would call her when I landed in Palm Springs. I said this at 3 am when she dropped me off at the airport...which she acts like it was a favor....she was paid 50 bucks...that's not a favor. If I said I would call, which I don't recall saying, even if I didn't call (I had just travelled all day on minimal sleep--could you cut me some slack?)...is that a reason to unfriend me on facebook, send me a nasty message when I question why I was unfriended? Is that how you treat family?
She doesn't "like" me. I am sure she loves me. I am family...you have to love family, right? Well, you don't have to like them and she does NOT like me. She doesn't like my sarcasm or my choice to move to the other side of the country. We are different. Her idea of a good time is getting smashed every weekend, hanging out at a bar. She's in her forties. I am passed that stage. We have only one common interest...Rick Springfield. We had a great time on the cruises we went on, but still we were different even then...she gravitates towards different personalities than I do. We don't "hang" in the same social circles.We have different parenting styles. We would not be friends if we weren't related.
I could live with the differences. I could accept it and say.."Hey we are family, it doesn't matter" But there's more...she is one of those "toxic" people. She is filled with negativity and focuses on the bad in her life, not the good. I would spend every day(literally EVERY day for years) on the phone with her for an hour, sometimes more, listening to her bitch about her ex-husband, her kids, her job, whatever...always bitching. To make matters worse, if I tried to suggest solutions, I would get shot down. Or if I pointed out perhaps she was wrong in a situation...I would get the cold shoulder for days.
She has been diagnosed as BiPolar. She half ass takes pills, refuses to find a good doctor...claiming money issues or time issues or that there aren't any good doctors...yet spends tons of money on stupid shit and finds time for other things she deems important. and has tried at most three doctors over 20 years. Her mental health not being one of those things she finds important.
At what point am I allowed to say "enough is enough" without being a villain?
Remember I never said it, I never abandoned her, as mentally exhausting as she was...she threw me out of her life.
I have had a wonderfully peaceful year...filled sometimes with my own demon thoughts, thoughts that respond to negativity. They prosper when fueled by others anger and bitching. Because I haven't had those daily bitchfest calls, I have been much happier this past year. Do I really WANT that back in my life? No, I am sorry, I don't. Does that make me a bad person? Probably last weekend the voices would have said yes...but today I say no. Does it make me selfish? Probably. But when it comes to my mental health, I need to do what's best for me. PERIOD.
And so, while I am sorry that she is bummed about Robin's death and I understand our sour relationship may be going through her mind, as it did mine...I can not help her. She has many others in her life who can, I just can't.
I was talking with my mother about the whole Robin Williams thing. I try to talk to her once a week. She rarely brings up my sister, ever since we stopped talking a little over a year ago. But yesterday she mentioned that Robin's suicide is hitting my sister hard. I said this didn't surprise me.
Many blogs about his death that were written by people who have been there echo the same sentiments. I wrote a blog about my voices that was prompted by his death (which I published but didn't promote for reasons still unclear to me!). It just brings to the surface that we (those who have been there) are all susceptible to surrendering to that voice telling us suicide is the only solution. It can be terrifying. It can trigger a relapse if you were feeling good and who knows what it would do if you weren't.
I am trying not to read into why my mom brought it up. Was she subtly hinting that it was time to bury the hatchet? The same phone call she also mentioned my two aunts that still aren't speaking.
So, whether intended or not, she got me thinking again. Will I ever speak to my sister again? Do I WANT to?
Here's the part you may disagree with. I don't believe that just because someone is family they need to be in my life. A toxic person is a toxic person. I did not turn my back on her. She threw me out of her life. She has made some half ass attempts to mend the fence. She still refuses to acknowledge the real reason that she got mad at me. She still clings to the excuse that it was because I said I would call her when I landed in Palm Springs. I said this at 3 am when she dropped me off at the airport...which she acts like it was a favor....she was paid 50 bucks...that's not a favor. If I said I would call, which I don't recall saying, even if I didn't call (I had just travelled all day on minimal sleep--could you cut me some slack?)...is that a reason to unfriend me on facebook, send me a nasty message when I question why I was unfriended? Is that how you treat family?
She doesn't "like" me. I am sure she loves me. I am family...you have to love family, right? Well, you don't have to like them and she does NOT like me. She doesn't like my sarcasm or my choice to move to the other side of the country. We are different. Her idea of a good time is getting smashed every weekend, hanging out at a bar. She's in her forties. I am passed that stage. We have only one common interest...Rick Springfield. We had a great time on the cruises we went on, but still we were different even then...she gravitates towards different personalities than I do. We don't "hang" in the same social circles.We have different parenting styles. We would not be friends if we weren't related.
I could live with the differences. I could accept it and say.."Hey we are family, it doesn't matter" But there's more...she is one of those "toxic" people. She is filled with negativity and focuses on the bad in her life, not the good. I would spend every day(literally EVERY day for years) on the phone with her for an hour, sometimes more, listening to her bitch about her ex-husband, her kids, her job, whatever...always bitching. To make matters worse, if I tried to suggest solutions, I would get shot down. Or if I pointed out perhaps she was wrong in a situation...I would get the cold shoulder for days.
She has been diagnosed as BiPolar. She half ass takes pills, refuses to find a good doctor...claiming money issues or time issues or that there aren't any good doctors...yet spends tons of money on stupid shit and finds time for other things she deems important. and has tried at most three doctors over 20 years. Her mental health not being one of those things she finds important.
At what point am I allowed to say "enough is enough" without being a villain?
Remember I never said it, I never abandoned her, as mentally exhausting as she was...she threw me out of her life.
I have had a wonderfully peaceful year...filled sometimes with my own demon thoughts, thoughts that respond to negativity. They prosper when fueled by others anger and bitching. Because I haven't had those daily bitchfest calls, I have been much happier this past year. Do I really WANT that back in my life? No, I am sorry, I don't. Does that make me a bad person? Probably last weekend the voices would have said yes...but today I say no. Does it make me selfish? Probably. But when it comes to my mental health, I need to do what's best for me. PERIOD.
And so, while I am sorry that she is bummed about Robin's death and I understand our sour relationship may be going through her mind, as it did mine...I can not help her. She has many others in her life who can, I just can't.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Those damn voices
Robin Williams' suicide really filled up the facebook feeds...there were some really good videos trying to show what depression feels like. I really liked the cartoon one about the black dog. There was the one with the black kid with the moustache who talked really fast. I would put links here but I am sure you have seen them. They are both on upworthy if you want to look them up.
They do a good job of explaining depression. But I don't think depression is the only reason for suicide. I think sometimes your brain chemicals can get screwed up and it doesn't necessarily feel like depression but still wears your brain out dealing with the thoughts.
I have been depressed, I have been suicidal and I have been what I am now and it's neither. I blame it all on the peri menopause but to be fair, lately some of the blame belongs on low self esteem. Ever since it took the blow back in February with the email I inadvertently discovered, the somewhat innocent and yet oh so powerful email. My self esteem had been on a roller coaster ride.
I am happy. I am not depressed. I have been there, I know what it feels like.
This comes out of nowhere, so I tend to blame the hormones, because just as quickly as it comes, it goes. Sometimes not quick enough and it exhausts me. It makes me ponder crazy ideas. Not suicide...not yet. But I do worry that one day that may seem like a solution. I am hopeful it won't creep up on me, that I will see it coming and take the right steps to stop it.
My real worry is that this isn't hormones, that it is the beginning of something I won't be able to handle on my own. That the lessons learned in therapy won't cut it. I refuse to go on any medication again because that doesn't cure it, it only brings different problems. I have considered therapy again. I don't think I am at that point yet. I worry about schizophrenia or just being plain crazy.
And then I use these worries to justify the crazy ideas. Ideas like not burdening my husband with a mentally ill wife. He already had to deal with my crazy when he met me and for many years after while I sought help. I don't want him to go through that again. I considered being homeless...just leaving...but with my ATM card, so I would have food to eat...I am apparently not THAT crazy yet. But who even thinks about things like that?
Running away won't get me away from me and that is where people get their suicidal ideas. I seriously haven't even considered it. Because I am happy. I really am. But I am also tired. Tired of the voices telling me that I am not good enough, telling me things just to irritate me, telling me not to trust Dave, when he has given me no reason not to.
I told my friends that I have had new voices...ones that speak in Spanish and even a black guy, talking in whatever the politically correct way is to say a black guy sounds....ever since I mentioned it, I haven't heard them... they are just background noise, repeating a phrase or two over and over. I don't know what it is, I plan to pay attention next time and write it down...they don't tell me to do things and they aren't saying violent things...does that make it less crazy?
The other voices are the real problem and they aren't voices in the same way...it isn't someone speaking, it is me. Me telling me things that aggravate me, things I don't believe but get tired of hearing because it wears me down and makes me start to believe. Start to believe that it is really likely that I am going to go crazy, like padded cell crazy and that I should save Dave the heartache and get out now. Telling me I don't deserve him. Telling me I am selfish for leaving pharmacy. Asking if the happiness I feel is worth the price of making him feel the stress of being the provider now. Telling me I am not a good person. Telling me I don't like me.
This goes on for days and then boom it's done. Like the black dog video says....it's just gone. And I am free. Free to be happy, free to remind myself that none of it is true. Free to think only a crazy person contemplates being homeless....
So I can understand Robin Williams' death. People can't comprehend someone with so much to live for taking their own life. I don't pretend to know what his mind was thinking. I don't know if he was depressed. All I know is I understand why sometimes the only solution to end the voices is to end your life. It is a drastic measure and maybe he did a good job hiding the struggle before hand. I know I hate to burden people with my stuff. Mainly because people tend to downplay what you say. They don't say the "right things". They even laugh, a nervous laugh, an uncomfortable laugh, but a laugh nonetheless....it is awkward and uncomfortable and so you keep it to yourself waiting for the light to come back and bring you out of the darkness...it always does, but then I guess it doesn't for everyone.
We put statuses up trying to reach out, providing phone numbers and websites, but honestly, that isn't what is needed....I think once you get to that point you can't reach out for help...you need someone to reach out to you...if you know someone that has ever been even remotely close to suicidal, you need to be diligent in questioning them. Even when they seem happy, seem like they are coping.
We tend to think it's too personal to ask those type of questions...but I think it may be the only true solution.
Many will read this and think "She is oversharing. This is too personal" and THAT is the problem. It makes you uncomfortable to know I feel this way. It makes YOU uncomfortable to ask how someone feels, you don't want to know that they aren't all right...that puts a burden on you, a responsibility for their welfare. Or maybe you are just afraid they will feel you are intruding and get mad...if they really need help, they won't...and if they don't need help they are probably, mentally, in the right place to know you are coming from a place of caring and appreciate your concern.
I still haven't even decided if I will hit the "publish" button or just "save"...because even though I don't think many read this, I know reading it may change how you think of me, but is that a bad thing? For you to know I am human, that I hurt myself with these thoughts, that I am not always the confident, competent person you believe me to be.
Is today a day when I believe that what you think of me isn't as important as what I think of myself? Because if it is... you will be reading this...
In a week I wouldn't be able to write this, because the darkness will have passed...the black dog gone..and the memory of these thoughts will be pushed so far back, I won't be able to be this blunt and open, I will not only be happy but have trouble remembering when I doubted if I really ever was happy.
I am not depressed...I am probably not even crazy....I definitely have "issues" but at the moment I have got them under control.
I have already come so far out of the darkness this time that I don't even worry that the next time I won't...this morning I wouldn't have been able to write that...it is a worry I get during these "spells', a worry that this time will be the time I am forever crazy. Tonight I believe it was, once again, just hormones...I don't think I don't deserve Dave, I believe it's ok to not be a pharmacist and I know I have a good heart and am a good person. And I can feel this way even though tomorrow is the day my son goes back East....so THAT could have caused a depression but instead I am overall happy, with just a touch of sadness, knowing I will miss him but see him again soon.
They do a good job of explaining depression. But I don't think depression is the only reason for suicide. I think sometimes your brain chemicals can get screwed up and it doesn't necessarily feel like depression but still wears your brain out dealing with the thoughts.
I have been depressed, I have been suicidal and I have been what I am now and it's neither. I blame it all on the peri menopause but to be fair, lately some of the blame belongs on low self esteem. Ever since it took the blow back in February with the email I inadvertently discovered, the somewhat innocent and yet oh so powerful email. My self esteem had been on a roller coaster ride.
I am happy. I am not depressed. I have been there, I know what it feels like.
This comes out of nowhere, so I tend to blame the hormones, because just as quickly as it comes, it goes. Sometimes not quick enough and it exhausts me. It makes me ponder crazy ideas. Not suicide...not yet. But I do worry that one day that may seem like a solution. I am hopeful it won't creep up on me, that I will see it coming and take the right steps to stop it.
My real worry is that this isn't hormones, that it is the beginning of something I won't be able to handle on my own. That the lessons learned in therapy won't cut it. I refuse to go on any medication again because that doesn't cure it, it only brings different problems. I have considered therapy again. I don't think I am at that point yet. I worry about schizophrenia or just being plain crazy.
And then I use these worries to justify the crazy ideas. Ideas like not burdening my husband with a mentally ill wife. He already had to deal with my crazy when he met me and for many years after while I sought help. I don't want him to go through that again. I considered being homeless...just leaving...but with my ATM card, so I would have food to eat...I am apparently not THAT crazy yet. But who even thinks about things like that?
Running away won't get me away from me and that is where people get their suicidal ideas. I seriously haven't even considered it. Because I am happy. I really am. But I am also tired. Tired of the voices telling me that I am not good enough, telling me things just to irritate me, telling me not to trust Dave, when he has given me no reason not to.
I told my friends that I have had new voices...ones that speak in Spanish and even a black guy, talking in whatever the politically correct way is to say a black guy sounds....ever since I mentioned it, I haven't heard them... they are just background noise, repeating a phrase or two over and over. I don't know what it is, I plan to pay attention next time and write it down...they don't tell me to do things and they aren't saying violent things...does that make it less crazy?
The other voices are the real problem and they aren't voices in the same way...it isn't someone speaking, it is me. Me telling me things that aggravate me, things I don't believe but get tired of hearing because it wears me down and makes me start to believe. Start to believe that it is really likely that I am going to go crazy, like padded cell crazy and that I should save Dave the heartache and get out now. Telling me I don't deserve him. Telling me I am selfish for leaving pharmacy. Asking if the happiness I feel is worth the price of making him feel the stress of being the provider now. Telling me I am not a good person. Telling me I don't like me.
This goes on for days and then boom it's done. Like the black dog video says....it's just gone. And I am free. Free to be happy, free to remind myself that none of it is true. Free to think only a crazy person contemplates being homeless....
So I can understand Robin Williams' death. People can't comprehend someone with so much to live for taking their own life. I don't pretend to know what his mind was thinking. I don't know if he was depressed. All I know is I understand why sometimes the only solution to end the voices is to end your life. It is a drastic measure and maybe he did a good job hiding the struggle before hand. I know I hate to burden people with my stuff. Mainly because people tend to downplay what you say. They don't say the "right things". They even laugh, a nervous laugh, an uncomfortable laugh, but a laugh nonetheless....it is awkward and uncomfortable and so you keep it to yourself waiting for the light to come back and bring you out of the darkness...it always does, but then I guess it doesn't for everyone.
We put statuses up trying to reach out, providing phone numbers and websites, but honestly, that isn't what is needed....I think once you get to that point you can't reach out for help...you need someone to reach out to you...if you know someone that has ever been even remotely close to suicidal, you need to be diligent in questioning them. Even when they seem happy, seem like they are coping.
We tend to think it's too personal to ask those type of questions...but I think it may be the only true solution.
Many will read this and think "She is oversharing. This is too personal" and THAT is the problem. It makes you uncomfortable to know I feel this way. It makes YOU uncomfortable to ask how someone feels, you don't want to know that they aren't all right...that puts a burden on you, a responsibility for their welfare. Or maybe you are just afraid they will feel you are intruding and get mad...if they really need help, they won't...and if they don't need help they are probably, mentally, in the right place to know you are coming from a place of caring and appreciate your concern.
I still haven't even decided if I will hit the "publish" button or just "save"...because even though I don't think many read this, I know reading it may change how you think of me, but is that a bad thing? For you to know I am human, that I hurt myself with these thoughts, that I am not always the confident, competent person you believe me to be.
Is today a day when I believe that what you think of me isn't as important as what I think of myself? Because if it is... you will be reading this...
In a week I wouldn't be able to write this, because the darkness will have passed...the black dog gone..and the memory of these thoughts will be pushed so far back, I won't be able to be this blunt and open, I will not only be happy but have trouble remembering when I doubted if I really ever was happy.
I am not depressed...I am probably not even crazy....I definitely have "issues" but at the moment I have got them under control.
I have already come so far out of the darkness this time that I don't even worry that the next time I won't...this morning I wouldn't have been able to write that...it is a worry I get during these "spells', a worry that this time will be the time I am forever crazy. Tonight I believe it was, once again, just hormones...I don't think I don't deserve Dave, I believe it's ok to not be a pharmacist and I know I have a good heart and am a good person. And I can feel this way even though tomorrow is the day my son goes back East....so THAT could have caused a depression but instead I am overall happy, with just a touch of sadness, knowing I will miss him but see him again soon.
Monday, August 4, 2014
You think you don't matter? Think again
This blog is in remembrance of Marcos.
I met Marcos in November at work. I was new and it was apparent he didn't like me. My first impression: good looking kid, kind of cocky. I later discovered he was concerned that I would take his job or be trained first or something equally silly to me but important to him. He was so downright rude that a supervisor actually had to tell him to be nice to me. After working with him a few shifts, I got him to see that I wasn't so bad. We talked about the horrible repetitive music, which he would belt out loud when he was in his up moods. I figured out early on that he had "moods". I chalked it up to just his age. He was around 23. Maybe he was crabby after being out late drinking and not getting enough sleep, I didn't know and I didn't ask. Or if I did it was in the smart ass way he talked to others...what's up your ass?
We has some similar interests. He liked to work out but sporadically. Sometimes smoking got in the way, he said he had some health issues but didn't elaborate a whole lot, asthma type stuff. I would get on him about choosing the healthy way. He knew he had a drinking problem. He at one point gave it up. Keep in my mind I only knew him about 4 months, so he was on/off again in a short time. He was intelligent. He was good looking and he seemed to know how to have a good time. He didn't seem to take life too seriously, laid back. He just seemed like a normal kid with a shitty home life, who in different circumstances could have gone to college or trade school or whatever, but didn't have anyone giving him direction.
He could be in a really upbeat, goofy mood... except on those days when he wasn't. Then he was dark. The fun, lighter side gone, if you didn't know him he would look like someone else. He might come to work late, either by mistake, misreading his schedule, or just making his own hours. He wasn't that reliable. He seemed like he wanted to be a hard worker and thought that he was. He would brag about how competent he was. He really had an air of confidence about him. When he would realize his errors, whether being late or whatever...he would get very frustrated. He was very hard to talk to then. He would bang his hand against his head, even his head against the wall. He would call himself stupid and worry about being fired. He was inconsolable. I would tell him not to get so upset that it would be ok and to try to write his schedule down or to talk to a supervisor and let them know his concerns. But he wasn't really listening, he was caught up with his thoughts. I should have known what those thoughts were, that he was belittling himself, I have been there...making mountains of mole hills, being worried over things no one else could even see. But his confidence threw me.
I have been told that I seem independent and self sufficient and confident. I am not. Not always. I should have guessed he could be like me. I was fooled by his arrogance.
We really started to get along near the end. He could tell I wasn't your typical uptight middle aged broad, I would laugh at his off color jokes, listen to his interpretations of song lyrics, with genuine interest. I really felt we were getting along. I helped him with a project he was given once. To re do the pillow wall....we ended up pillow fighting. He shared with me some personal stuff about his relationship with his girlfriend. Questioning her jealousy. Things he said could have alerted me to the fact that he didn't feel worthy of her but I thought he was trying to get me to compliment him, which I did. I told him when a girl dates a good looking guy she is going to think other women are interested in him. That girls his age are really insecure, that he needed to let her talk and just reassure her that she was who he wanted to be with.
I don't know much more than that about his relationship. There was talk that she had broke up with him that night in late March. His last facebook posts are so haunting. One references that the only thing worse than drinking alone, is doing it in a bar, that you hate, with a crowded pool table, he tagged it with "feeling like the band's good though"...humorous even when down...like so many who cry out. Two friends commented. One knew he really needed help, he tried to get him to message him. His final post was simply "Bye guys"...that same friend still wanting to help.."message me"...sounding urgent in retrospect. He then, apparently, walked out of that bar and in front of a truck. Reports are he didn't die right away. And what I see is that face, late for work, saying "I am so stupid"...realizing the finality of this last impulsive move. He was so young. He had a good heart, he just needed help.
I think of him often. Songs that he sang will come on and I see him there, in the store, singing. with that smile, so full of life. Stocking the pillows I will remember our girlfriend conversation and wonder what went wrong. I see young guys on the street who look like him and boom there he is in my head making me wonder the what if's, the could I have made a difference by sharing my depression.
I still shed tears for him.
He quit a few weeks before his death but he had come into the store after that and I made it a point to tell him that I missed him. He laughed it off. But I persisted, I told him I knew he didn't believe me but that I really liked him and missed his wit. I asked a coworker to back me up, that I was just saying the same thing earlier that week...and she did. But still he doubted. Because he wasn't the confident, cocky kid I thought he was. He was insecure and just wanted to be accepted for who he was. Like all of us.
How many people do you interact with every day that you misread?
Especially in retail...are you irritated when a sales clerk isn't bubbly and friendly, do you ever think maybe there's a reason and not to give them a hard time but maybe shower them with kindness? Even the clerk who IS smiling at you...is it a real smile, what's behind that smile? Can't we all just be kinder to each other?
I take some comfort in knowing my last words to him were kind ones. I am so glad we ended on a high note, not on one of his dark days.
I don't know that I will ever have the answer to why, why this one person's death has touched me so personally. I can speculate. I am in such a good place in my life right now, hormones be damned, stupid trust issue with Dave still a work in progress...but I am happy. And I know how happy I am because I want to live as long as I possibly can, and it wasn't always that way. Perhaps I see in him what could have been...had I ever been at the wrong place, at the wrong time when my suicidal thoughts peaked. It only takes one incident that is irreversible to take the chance of being finally happy away forever. In an instant, it can all be gone. I feel bad for people who don't want to live to be 100...can they say they are truly happy? It isn't a fear of death. Because I know there are unhappy people who want to live forever, too. But that's different. There are those who think "Whatever, I have seen enough, done enough...whenever I go is fine"...not me! I love life now. And I want every single second that I can take. And his death reminds me of what I would have lost have I ever followed through.
My sister is a different place ...she states, with complete believability, that if she were to die today it would be a relief. Of course, this is how she felt over a year ago, since I no longer talk about these things with her I don't know what she feels today. It would frustrate me to no end to have these conversations with her. There was no convincing her that this isn't a normal way of thinking. She seemed to think as long as SHE wasn't killing herself, it was perfectly ok to just want to die. What kind of life is that? To live believing that you would be better off dead? And not want to get treatment to stop thinking that way?
I learned from my therapist that I could not get "enmeshed" with others lives. It is hard when you witness stuff like that. And think you can make a difference. I never was able to get through to her...my sister....separated by only 14 months, so why do I think I could have gotten through to Marcos? An almost stranger. I suppose I couldn't have. But, oh how I hate to feel helpless. Parts of me feel drawn to help people like him, like my sister. That is a big undertaking at my age. A whole lot of schooling. And, selfishly, I fear it could ruin this happiness that I have found, because I really think getting away from the drama in my sister's life has lightened my life.
I wish Marcos knew that people cared...really cared...his life mattered. I can't imagine how his girlfriend feels or that friend that reached out to him that last night...
For those of you that have considered it...consider this...you matter to people that you could never imagine that you matter to...you really do. If we aren't offering help...ask...please ask...we want to help. We will help or we will help you find someone that can.
Rest in Peace Marcos.
I met Marcos in November at work. I was new and it was apparent he didn't like me. My first impression: good looking kid, kind of cocky. I later discovered he was concerned that I would take his job or be trained first or something equally silly to me but important to him. He was so downright rude that a supervisor actually had to tell him to be nice to me. After working with him a few shifts, I got him to see that I wasn't so bad. We talked about the horrible repetitive music, which he would belt out loud when he was in his up moods. I figured out early on that he had "moods". I chalked it up to just his age. He was around 23. Maybe he was crabby after being out late drinking and not getting enough sleep, I didn't know and I didn't ask. Or if I did it was in the smart ass way he talked to others...what's up your ass?
We has some similar interests. He liked to work out but sporadically. Sometimes smoking got in the way, he said he had some health issues but didn't elaborate a whole lot, asthma type stuff. I would get on him about choosing the healthy way. He knew he had a drinking problem. He at one point gave it up. Keep in my mind I only knew him about 4 months, so he was on/off again in a short time. He was intelligent. He was good looking and he seemed to know how to have a good time. He didn't seem to take life too seriously, laid back. He just seemed like a normal kid with a shitty home life, who in different circumstances could have gone to college or trade school or whatever, but didn't have anyone giving him direction.
He could be in a really upbeat, goofy mood... except on those days when he wasn't. Then he was dark. The fun, lighter side gone, if you didn't know him he would look like someone else. He might come to work late, either by mistake, misreading his schedule, or just making his own hours. He wasn't that reliable. He seemed like he wanted to be a hard worker and thought that he was. He would brag about how competent he was. He really had an air of confidence about him. When he would realize his errors, whether being late or whatever...he would get very frustrated. He was very hard to talk to then. He would bang his hand against his head, even his head against the wall. He would call himself stupid and worry about being fired. He was inconsolable. I would tell him not to get so upset that it would be ok and to try to write his schedule down or to talk to a supervisor and let them know his concerns. But he wasn't really listening, he was caught up with his thoughts. I should have known what those thoughts were, that he was belittling himself, I have been there...making mountains of mole hills, being worried over things no one else could even see. But his confidence threw me.
I have been told that I seem independent and self sufficient and confident. I am not. Not always. I should have guessed he could be like me. I was fooled by his arrogance.
We really started to get along near the end. He could tell I wasn't your typical uptight middle aged broad, I would laugh at his off color jokes, listen to his interpretations of song lyrics, with genuine interest. I really felt we were getting along. I helped him with a project he was given once. To re do the pillow wall....we ended up pillow fighting. He shared with me some personal stuff about his relationship with his girlfriend. Questioning her jealousy. Things he said could have alerted me to the fact that he didn't feel worthy of her but I thought he was trying to get me to compliment him, which I did. I told him when a girl dates a good looking guy she is going to think other women are interested in him. That girls his age are really insecure, that he needed to let her talk and just reassure her that she was who he wanted to be with.
I don't know much more than that about his relationship. There was talk that she had broke up with him that night in late March. His last facebook posts are so haunting. One references that the only thing worse than drinking alone, is doing it in a bar, that you hate, with a crowded pool table, he tagged it with "feeling like the band's good though"...humorous even when down...like so many who cry out. Two friends commented. One knew he really needed help, he tried to get him to message him. His final post was simply "Bye guys"...that same friend still wanting to help.."message me"...sounding urgent in retrospect. He then, apparently, walked out of that bar and in front of a truck. Reports are he didn't die right away. And what I see is that face, late for work, saying "I am so stupid"...realizing the finality of this last impulsive move. He was so young. He had a good heart, he just needed help.
I think of him often. Songs that he sang will come on and I see him there, in the store, singing. with that smile, so full of life. Stocking the pillows I will remember our girlfriend conversation and wonder what went wrong. I see young guys on the street who look like him and boom there he is in my head making me wonder the what if's, the could I have made a difference by sharing my depression.
I still shed tears for him.
He quit a few weeks before his death but he had come into the store after that and I made it a point to tell him that I missed him. He laughed it off. But I persisted, I told him I knew he didn't believe me but that I really liked him and missed his wit. I asked a coworker to back me up, that I was just saying the same thing earlier that week...and she did. But still he doubted. Because he wasn't the confident, cocky kid I thought he was. He was insecure and just wanted to be accepted for who he was. Like all of us.
How many people do you interact with every day that you misread?
Especially in retail...are you irritated when a sales clerk isn't bubbly and friendly, do you ever think maybe there's a reason and not to give them a hard time but maybe shower them with kindness? Even the clerk who IS smiling at you...is it a real smile, what's behind that smile? Can't we all just be kinder to each other?
I take some comfort in knowing my last words to him were kind ones. I am so glad we ended on a high note, not on one of his dark days.
I don't know that I will ever have the answer to why, why this one person's death has touched me so personally. I can speculate. I am in such a good place in my life right now, hormones be damned, stupid trust issue with Dave still a work in progress...but I am happy. And I know how happy I am because I want to live as long as I possibly can, and it wasn't always that way. Perhaps I see in him what could have been...had I ever been at the wrong place, at the wrong time when my suicidal thoughts peaked. It only takes one incident that is irreversible to take the chance of being finally happy away forever. In an instant, it can all be gone. I feel bad for people who don't want to live to be 100...can they say they are truly happy? It isn't a fear of death. Because I know there are unhappy people who want to live forever, too. But that's different. There are those who think "Whatever, I have seen enough, done enough...whenever I go is fine"...not me! I love life now. And I want every single second that I can take. And his death reminds me of what I would have lost have I ever followed through.
My sister is a different place ...she states, with complete believability, that if she were to die today it would be a relief. Of course, this is how she felt over a year ago, since I no longer talk about these things with her I don't know what she feels today. It would frustrate me to no end to have these conversations with her. There was no convincing her that this isn't a normal way of thinking. She seemed to think as long as SHE wasn't killing herself, it was perfectly ok to just want to die. What kind of life is that? To live believing that you would be better off dead? And not want to get treatment to stop thinking that way?
I learned from my therapist that I could not get "enmeshed" with others lives. It is hard when you witness stuff like that. And think you can make a difference. I never was able to get through to her...my sister....separated by only 14 months, so why do I think I could have gotten through to Marcos? An almost stranger. I suppose I couldn't have. But, oh how I hate to feel helpless. Parts of me feel drawn to help people like him, like my sister. That is a big undertaking at my age. A whole lot of schooling. And, selfishly, I fear it could ruin this happiness that I have found, because I really think getting away from the drama in my sister's life has lightened my life.
I wish Marcos knew that people cared...really cared...his life mattered. I can't imagine how his girlfriend feels or that friend that reached out to him that last night...
For those of you that have considered it...consider this...you matter to people that you could never imagine that you matter to...you really do. If we aren't offering help...ask...please ask...we want to help. We will help or we will help you find someone that can.
Rest in Peace Marcos.
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