Seeking My Best Self

trying to make sense of my life – and lose some weight

Twelve Years Ago Today

leeTwelve years ago today, my husband took his life. Twelve years, and it still feels like a knife in my heart, like glass in my stomach. Loved ones NEVER get over suicide. Never. It changes our lives forever. I understand the hideous pain he endured, because with one shot of his gun, he transferred it to me to carry to the end of my days.

If you are depressed and considering suicide – TELL SOMEONE. Seek help. The ‘solution’ you are considering will destroy those around you.

For the rest of us, DONATE TO RESEARCH to conquer depression, the great killer of our age. There’s promising work out there, but it needs funding. Here’s just one example: Quinolinic Acid linked to Suicide.

And remember, it’s not a mental illness. It’s a physiological one.‪#‎endthestigma‬

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The Only Weapon I Have

robinR. is the nephew of one of my dearest friends (and by strange coincidence, close childhood buddy of Bryan) – by all accounts a creative genius, caring friend, loving person.

Today at age 28, his life ended. At his own hand.

I don’t know many particulars about R. I didn’t know him personally. I do know that he suffered from a physiological disease called depression that those afflicted will do anything – ANYTHING – to escape.

This morning, before I heard the news, I watched Robin William’s appearance on Inside the Actor’s Studio. He was brilliant, as always. Funny. Occasionally quiet and thoughtful. I’ve had a schoolgirl crush on him since the Mork & Mindy days, and as I watched, I wept to think of him forever removed from my world. Perhaps, I thought, it was time for me to talk openly about my experience as a suicide survivor (the phrase commonly used to describe those who have lost a loved one to self-death.) Maybe I might dissuade someone who was contemplating permanent relief from their relentless agony.

I’m not wondering anymore. Hearing the news about R, I know it’s time to speak and write openly, because depression is a killer that leaves desolation in its wake. I choose to engage this foe with the only weapon I have – my story. Perhaps the telling will dissuade others from seeing suicide as an analgesic. Perhaps it will stir research into depression and other illnesses. If nothing else, I hope it will cause people – perhaps you, dear reader – to donate to such research.

I have writing to do. And praying. Please pray for R’s family. Thank you.

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