This morning, at 2:03 AM, I received a text from a friend that simply said, “Help Me.”
My girlfriend’s husband had made the decision to take his own life, for all practical purposes, in front of her, earlier in the evening.
For those followers who have read my earlier writing, you know my family has it’s own suicide story and those posts contain my feeble attempts at drawing a picture of what suicide does to those left behind in the wake.
My disclaimer here, as was before, is that I don’t claim to understand everyone’s situation, pain, etc. nor do I claim to be a mental health professional. OK? Ok.
So here I go.
Really? Really? I get the pain part. I get the distorted thinking part. I get so much.
But the angry part of me? The part of me that sobbed on the phone with my precious friend this morning – that woke too many times through the night and since then, the part who has been feeling my heart break for my precious friend has this to say:
And I say it with no hidden sarcasm and obvious anger is…
If you insist on choosing a permanent solution to what could be a temporary problem, get a GD hotel room – or better yet, a place away from your home and family – a place – where you can be discovered by professionals who are at least a little prepared to deal with such things.