Thirteen weeks


My dad took his life thirteen weeks ago. Everything paused, time especially.   I still think it is May,every day. I cannot believe it’s August, my kids go back to school in two weeks. I know we had summer, I have the photographs. Mentally and emotionally I haven’t experienced summer at all.


Life goes on. That is a fact. It doesn’t seem to care how you feel. I am now on blood pressure medication which is used for extreme anxiety,  to control my physical anxiety because regular anti anxiety medication only stops the mental anxiety. I throw up every morning if I don’t take that medication upon rising, all the medication wears off by the time I get up. I have lost 20 pounds since May 6th ,which is the day my dad choose to do that . Due to current and past traumas over the past seven months,  one trauma a month, I have cognitive trauma.


What is that? I will tell you it feels a lot like pregnancy brain at the end, you forget where you put things, math is impossible. Thank God someone has stepped up every month to help me sit down and go through and help me pay my bills, I am super special needs currently.  Extreme memory loss,  an inability to pay attention to more than one thing at a time. My kids are soooo frustrated with me right now.


I have never been in a place like this ever. My life has never sucked more. However I believe this is changing me. My dad’s decision to end his life made my whole life unravel, I thought.  What I really think is, it was broken before the suicide, it just highlighted the parts that needed to be changed, that I was really struggling to change before the suicide. It has given me insight into why I made the choices I did in my life and continue to want too sometimes.


I realise I am free with my dad gone in so many ways. I don’t have to worry anymore if he is going to commit suicide,  he did it. I don’t have to feel bad for how bad his depression is, he doesn’t feel the pain anymore. I don’t have to work for his approval,  it doesn’t matter. It sounds fatalistic as I read this but it is just raw emotion working it’s way through as I try to process through the madness.


I am looking forward to next week, it will be my first survivors of suicide group meeting. I hope to find resolve somehow there. Not knowing people who have gone through suicide is very lonely. I have no clue if what I am feeling is normal? Suicide is considered a violent death,  to process through it ,is a little different than natural death,  I have been told. I think death sucks across the board, personally.


I am sooooooo sick of people telling me how strong I am. What other choice do you have?  That is what I ask them. I suppose I could get in a corner and rock myself? That would be difficult to feed my children and parent them if I did that. Not that shit is smooth sailing all the time. All my children are grieving over their grandpa and their own personal traumas over the last seven months. There are definitely difficult days.


What I am becoming to believe is that wounds are entry points of strength.
Maybe when I think my life sucks, I should remember growth is painful.  I allow myself to feel angry at my dad. I allow myself to miss him, I allow myself grace when I can’t do anymore and call it a day even if it’s 8am. I allow myself to cry whenever, wherever.  It is healing, it is frustrating,  it is the path of being human.

Namaste ♡


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