I packed all my things neatly and stacked them on my bed, erasing every sign that I had existed once in the space. I didn't want anyone to have to go through the bother of sorting through my life afterwards, didn't want to be an inconvenience. I never wanted to be an inconvenience.
I left everything behind that day; everything but the letters from my gramma's that I folded up into my pocket and that bottle of pills and the voldka. I didn't cry at all on that 30 minute drive from Thunder Bay to Kakabeka Falls. I just remember hoping that for once I would do something right and that they'd find the letter on my bed only after I did what needed to be done. And empty. I felt empty inside. All the hurt, the pain the fear it was gone and I felt nothing. I parked the car and I walked into the forest, I picked there because it reminded me of my gramma's forest and I wanted the last thing that I heard to be the water. I sat at the base of a tree, my back against the bark, it was hard but somehow comforting and I started taking the Tylenol, chasing it with mouthfuls of the voldka. It burned as it went down, but I just closed my eyes and kept going until the both bottles were empty. I lost all sense of time. I pulled the letters out of my pocket and sat in the dark, holding them against my heart. I curled up in a ball, waiting. And waiting. Feeling sick. And anxious. I didn't know how fast this was supposed to happen, but somehow in my head I thought it would be immediate. It wasn't. I fell asleep at some point, and the nightmares came again in my sleep and I woke up, clawing for air to the sound of my name being called. I was disoriented, it must have been my imagination. But no, there it was again... and my brain so fuzzy couldn't make sense of it. Then the face of my angel appeared, but not the dropped from heaven, wings and things kinda angel - the living breathing kind. It was Terry my friend, my roommate had found the letter and called her. And I don't know how she found me in that big, dark woods but she did. She bundled me up and put me in her car...I don't even remember the walk, I just remember waking up in the hospital and being so very fucking angry. At the world, at her, at myself for not even being able to get this one thing right. I also remember having that disgusting charcoal and feeling like I wanted to die even more.
That happened close to 18 years ago, but that memory remains vivid in my mind. I had finished college program, my gig with the Children's Aid was ending and it was time to go back home. To my family. And I couldn't deal. Everything that I had run away from 3 years previously I had to go back to and I had to go back with debt and a sense that I still didn't have the skills to deal with it. I just couldn't do it. And what strikes me the most is that so many people say that suicide is such a selfish act for those that you leave behind, but I disagree because in my head at that time I didn't matter. In my head I was of no importance to anyone and my death wouldn't affect them at all. Was this based on logic? No. Of course not, I had just tried to kill myself logic wasn't my strong suit at that point.
So why is this coming up for me right now? Well partly because of the workshop we had on suicide last week but also because of some of the work I've been doing with my clients - both palliative and bereavement. I have sat with people who have lost a loved one to suicide and my heart has ached for them, but I think I've been able to give a little insight as to how that person might have been feeling at the time and hopefully given them some peace - I get that I can't fix it for them, but I can provide a measure of comfort. And I think at that time of how devastated my Gramma's would have been and not just them, all of my family and friends.... and how fucking sad I feel right now that I didn't know at 21 how very loved I was.....and how very hurt and broken... and fuck, now I can't stop crying.
Where was I? Right, the palliative client. I met this lady who suffered hugely with cancer, her family was worried about her, that she was depressed. I remember going into the room and pulling up a chair beside her bed and asking her how she felt. She described the physical pain she was feeling, of the suffering that had went on for so long and the loss, the loss of life and of self. Hers was the face of suffering and pain, physically, mentally and yes of the soul. There are times in this world where I feel ill equipped to deal with the situations life throws at me but when I stop and I listen to my gut - that whispering that comes from my heart I find the answers. I took her hand and squeezed it gently and told her what her family didn't want to - that it was okay for her to let go. That I saw her pain and I understood. And we both had tears in our eyes when she squeezed my hand back. She died a few days later.
That was all I wanted then, was for someone to see my pain. To tell me that they understood. It's all I want now. But I realize that no one is going to see my pain or me unless I take off the mask and let them see me. Well friends, my mask is off. This is me. I am hurting right now. I am mourning the loss of a relationship. I am dealing with debt. I am waiting for an appointment with an oncologist that might mean big health implications. I am struggling. I fell hard and got off track. I haven't been exercising or seeing my therapist - honestly, I can't afford it. Well there's a lie, it costs nothing to exercise. And yeah, it sounds horrible, but it's not. It's manageable because I've realized that I'm someone of value, that yes things may not be perfect but I want to live and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make this work and to fight for me. And words, they mean nothing without being backed up with action one step at a time - and my first step was at 5 am this morning when I got dressed and walked out into the dark, rainy morning and put one foot in front of the other. And I'm going to hold my hand out to those who love me because this journey, I can't do it alone. Won't you walk with me?
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