Suicide has often been a familiar concept to me. But even now, writing the word itself is hard, it feels raw and harsh, like I’m saying a dirty word.
I remember being in middle school and feeling shaken by the fact that someone at my friend’s school had taken their own life.
What is it like? I wondered that when I was in 7th grade and my friends were going through the shock of the news, and the aftermath of the impact on their school’s community.
What is it like? In my years of college so far I wondered what exactly leads someone to feel that leaving this earth is the only way to cope with the pain, the loneliness, the anger. I have friends who attempted when they were younger, but they are here with me now to tell the story and share of a better day.
Last week, I found out what it’s like. What it’s like to have loved and known someone who makes the choice to leave this life through their own means. It’s like this.
It’s like I’m not sure who I can talk about this with. I don’t like feeling sad – I hate this deep, shallow feeling in my heart right now. I miss him, even though we haven’t talked in years.
I miss him like I miss summer in the middle of winter. I can look at pictures and just sort of remember how I felt and who I was in those moments, but that time – that season – is not current with me right now.
It’s like remembering the good memories we have, but then realizing that a memory is all it will ever be again. Wrapping my mind around how permanent it all is.
I don’t feel like I have permission to cry. I don’t feel like I have permission to be angry, either. With God, with him, with anyone.
I feel overwhelmed with what I think are the expectations of how I am supposed to feel, and I’m overwhelmed with the fact that mostly, I feel nothing at all. Nothing is easier.
It’s like it’s too hard to let myself fully understand that he’s gone. And why he’s gone. And how he’s gone. Why he felt like “gone” is the only place he could be at peace.
So many questions. Why did he leave that way? At that time? What happened to make him do it? What were his last words? Where is his soul in the realms of eternity? How does someone feel so alone and hopeless that this is the choice they turn to?
It’s like feeling guilty for all the things I didn’t do, didn’t say, didn’t pick up on those year during middle school when we were close. Wishing I could turn back time and pursue him more. Wishing I could go to his funeral. Wishing I could tell him he is – was – loved.
That’s what it’s like. Right now, at least. Hard. It’s hard.
august laperche 