Grief: A Meditation

For a time, sometimes a long time, grief can leave you in a fog.  Memories are all you have and the pain is gut wrenching as the sobs pull the breath from your lungs until they collapse in the dead weight of your chest.  

You don’t want to, but you get up everyday and you put one foot in front of the other and you move forward, resting often, sighing heavily, straining to act.

But, you are doing this a miniscule step at a time. Every inhale and exhale is a healing force. 

Where there’s breath there is hope. Where there is hope, I will create gratitude, for where there is gratitude, I will find peace. 

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An Open Letter to Those Contemplating Suicide

TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide

hemingway

An open letter to those contemplating suicide:

I have been where you are, and I know how you feel. Do not shake your head, please. I really do know…the gut-wrenching emptiness, the suffocating weight, the terrifying loneliness, the absolute certainty that you will never feel any better than this moment.

I know the maddening thoughts which peck away at your mind like a vulture picking and pulling rotting meat from a carcass. I know the horrifying realization that you have no control over your feelings; that no one can know the depths of your despair and worse, that no one can save you from the black hole swallowing your mind and soul.

I know the physical aches and pains, the dead-weight of every extremity as you try to simply move from one position to another; the grayness of the world, day in and day out; the tears, the endless stream of tears; the absolute void of anything positive; the loss of all things which use to bring you peace and joy. These things I know.

I have also been where they are, and I know how they feel. Please do not doubt me. I really do know… the feel of the hard floor hitting their knees after hearing the news of your death; the anguishing pit in their stomach as bile rises in response to the action you took; the constant and nagging nightmares of what your last thoughts were before you swallowed the pills, pulled the trigger, fell from the chair, jumped, or cut through your vein.

I know their flashes of imagery at how you must have looked while you died and right after; their regrets of things said or things not said, and never having the opportunity to tell you that you don’t have to do this; that you don’t have to choose a path that will cause so much horrific pain and devastation to those you leave behind.

I know the clutching of their hearts and their screams of “No, no, no!” I know how they’ll have to live the rest of their days wishing they could see you smile one more time; give you one more hug; share one more laugh, cry, argument or anything with you. I know that they will never stop thinking of you, or truly be able to fill the spot you tore from their being.

I know depression is a disease of perception, and it wants nothing more than to kill you. It is a disease of the body, attacking mercilessly. But it is also a disease that can be treated. No matter how many times treatment has failed, if there is breath then there is still hope.

Please do not take away the ever-present possibility of help. Breathe for one more day. Tell someone you are thinking of suicide, and then breathe again for another day. Tell someone else you are thinking of suicide, and breathe yet for one more day. Keep breathing and keep telling someone how you feel.

Be honest with those who can and will help you – family, friends, and professionals. If you don’t have those options, find another professional and another until someone can help you. Call a stranger, a hotline, go to a support group and ask for help; keep reaching out to someone; keep asking for help. Find people who will care. They are out there; keep searching and don’t stop until you find them.

And most importantly, keep breathing. As long as there is breath, there is hope.