Today I am mad at him. My best friend growing up. The man that I pledged everything to but he chose to take his life instead. Most days this doesn’t affect me too much but today I woke up mad. I must have had a dream about him. Or we must have talked in that dream.
His decision to commit suicide rocked a lot of peoples worlds, but it also shattered my opinion of love for a long time.
I understand mental health. I worked in mental health for a bit. And where I work now still deals with it.
I understand his world had to be horrendous behind his chocolate eyes way beyond anything I could have known. I understand that in his opinion, suicide had to be BETTER then what he was dealing with. I understand.
Most days I even understand that his decision had nothing to do with me. That I didnt fail to make the one person, who meant the world to me, feel relief from that pain that he hid so well.
But then I have a day that I wake up mad. And those days I question everything. I question my ability to make other people happy. My ability to help my husband have any relief from his inner demons.
Those days I need to learn to breathe. Breathe deep, breathe slow, just breathe.