Helping Others to Help Themselves

The memorial plaque at our local library

July 31, 2013 was the worst day of my life. It was the worst day of my life because that was the day the Police Department came to our home to tell us that our precious daughter Moe had died of suicide at the age of 22.

Moe died of uncontrolled mental illness. She experienced severe depression, and was under a doctor's care for her condition. But we lost her anyway, leaving a Moe-shaped hole in my heart that nothing is able to fill.

Every day I mourn her loss in this world, and I would give everything to have her here with us again. But I can't do that, so instead I choose to perform service projects in her memory such as being a good ally to the LGBTQ+ community, and donating money to institutions she cared about, like our local library foundation.

And I also support AFSP's mission in helping people who are at risk overcome their lack of hope and help those who have been affected by suicide.

This is the fourth year I've been up to participating in this event personally, but this will be the seventh year the Maureen's Marchers team is hitting the road in my baby girl's name on the annual Out of the Darkness Denver Metro Experience. The money raised in this event will go to fighting suicide and supporting AFSP's goal to reduce the suicide rate 20% by 2025. This goal is especially challenging in our current situation, where people are feeling isolated, anxious and uncertain of what the future will bring.

The danger of suicide is especially high within the LGBTQ+ community. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, suicide is the second leading cause of death among youth aged 15 to 24 and the third leading cause of death among youth aged 10 to 14. Among youth who identify as sexual minorities, the likelihood of death by suicide has been estimated to be two to seven times greater than the likelihood of death by suicide among heterosexual youth. These kids need help, and it's up to us to provide it in any way we can.

Please help us honor our lost, beloved Moe-Moe and consider donating to the AFSP. All donations are 100% tax deductible and benefit the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP), funding research, education, advocacy, and support for those affected by suicide. The AFSP is a Charity Navigator 4 star charity, and they spend 83.6% of their total budget on program expenses.

You can donate to the AFSP by clicking on the donation badge on the right, or you can go directly to my fundraising page. This year I'm offering incentives for donations at the $50, $100, $200, and $500 range, including hand-knitted items in the colors of your choice to keep you warm this winter. 

"When you are sorrowful look again at your own heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight." ~ Khalil Gibron

Thank you for your support!

On the 7th Anniversary of Your Death

I'm really struggling this year. 

The times when I feel I just can't accept the reality of your death are more frequent this year, and right now I literally cannot remember a time when I wasn't grieving for you, and for myself. I want to crawl out of my own skin at the unfairness of it, at the grief that permeates every aspect of my life, at the pain of missing you every minute of every day. I can't stop crying, and this is the first time since the year following your death that I had to take time off work because I couldn't function at a high enough level to fake it through the day. 

The constant ache that represents your passing, along with the current state of the union and the isolation resulting from the COVID pandemic has pushed me into a full-blown depressive episode. I'm not sleeping, I can't concentrate, my aphasia is back. My desire to do anything, no matter how small, is nonexistent. 

I just don't understand. Why? Why couldn't you have come to someone, anyone, who loved you to tell them how bad you felt, how hopeless? Why couldn't you let us help you to find a way out of the darkness? When you weren't sick, I know you knew how much I loved you, how I would have done anything, LITERALLY ANYTHING, to save you, to defend you, including giving up my own life to save yours. Why didn't you tell me? 

I know depression lies, it lies like a motherfucker, and I know it was lying to you. I know you felt you were weak, that you just couldn't cut it as an adult, and I know you felt you were out of options. And I know that none of those things were true. I know that with the appropriate help, you could have gotten better, and lived your life as you were meant to live it, making the world better with your intellect, your passion, your drive. But depression robbed you of that future, robbed the world of your gifts, and robbed me of a daughter for whom I would have stormed the gates of hell armed with nothing more than my love for you and the ferocity that comes with being a mama bear. 

And I am so fucking angry. I'm angry that you were the one who had to struggle with mental illness to the point where your despair overtook you. I'm angry that you died alone and scared in an anonymous hotel room with a bag over your head, without those who loved you to comfort you and reassure you of our love. I'm angry that you didn't come to the end of a long, long life with your own family and friends surrounding you, celebrating a life well-lived, and a legacy anyone would be proud to have. I'm angry that I didn't see your pain, and your hopelessness, and your inability to see the truth about yourself and your own struggle. And I'm angry, so angry, that of all the families in the all world, losing a child to suicide is something that happened to us.

But I'm still not angry at you. I understand in my heart how much pain your were in, how hard you fought to hang on for the sake of those who loved you, how you just couldn't bear living anymore. Every day, my heart breaks for you in your final, hopeless days, knowing now what I didn't see then, and my heart breaks for me, robbed of my chance to save my baby girl from herself in the darkest days of her life. I know these things, and I know that the grief that is losing someone you love to mental illness is an equal opportunity tragedy, that every family and any family is at risk. 

But I still rail at the unfairness of it all. 

It's unfair that you're gone from my life, from the lives of everyone who loved you. It's unfair that you'll never know romantic love, the experience of sharing decades of your life with someone who is on your side, no matter what. It's unfair that you'll never know the love, the joy, the crushing responsibility, the pride that is parenthood. It's unfair that you'll never find your life's work, or have the chance to dedicate your life to a vocation, or experience the pride that comes from being at the top of your field. It's unfair that I'll never meet your partner, your children, your grandchildren. It's unfair that I'll never be whole again, that I will spend the rest of my life being broken by the grief that is the result of your illness. 

I love you. I'll love you every day for the rest of my life, with a grief so crushing that some days it takes my breath away and narrows my world to a tiny dot of pain that burns with the heat of a thousand suns. 

I miss you. I miss you so much sometimes I feel like it's killing me by inches. My baby girl, who I couldn't save, and whose loss I can't accept. 

Hello darkness, my old friend

Sometimes it sneaks up on me. Depression, that is. Sometimes there's some sort of triggering event, like the anniversary of Moe's death, or continuous emotional stress for long periods of time. But sometimes, it just sneaks in through the cracks of my life and settles in.

I'm not really sure why this happens. If I knew, I suppose I could try and apply some sort of prophylactic behavior to head it off. But I don't, so the best I can do is try and recognize it early when it comes, and do the things I know I need to do in order to get through the episode.

Some of these things are obvious. Getting enough sleep. Trying to eat well. Getting more exercise than I normally would. Removing emotional stresses from my life to the extent possible. Attempting to keep my mind in the "now." Practicing gratitude.

But mostly it's just a waiting game. I have to wait for it to pass. This was much harder before I was diagnosed, since I had no idea why I felt so shitty all the time. But now I know, and that allows me to apply some emotional maturity and intellectual discernment to the process. I know this will pass. I know I won't always feel this way. I know when I come out the other side I won't be as emotionally raw and fragile. I know this in spite of the lies depression tells, and I know this because people who care for me tell me it's true, and I choose to believe them.

Not believing them, or believing depression's lies, leads to a dark, dark road, and many people get lost. Their depression is so overwhelming, so consuming, the only thing they can hear is the lies it tells. I'm not valuable. I can't make it on my own. People are better off without me. This is just too hard.

In spite of my occasional episodes, I am very lucky to be able to wait it out. And I'm grateful.

Feeding the Elephant's Child

I went back to school last week.

I have a couple of certificate programs I'm interested in, as well as a bunch of general education classes I never got around to before graduating. Since I don't really have a plan, I enrolled as an enrichment student, and signed up for Database Design and Development.

So I've spent the last week reading the required texts, participating in discussion topics, and doing the assigned exercises. And a funny thing happened on the way to the database.

When engaging in my studies, I was taken by how much I've missed school. Even while scratching my head over relational algebra, I found myself in a profoundly happy state of mind.

I stopped taking classes right after Moe died. My ability to concentrate and focus was minimal at best, and I just couldn't do the work. After that, I just never went back, as I had other activities that kept me engaged.

However, as noted last week, some of that other activity has turned into a swirling black hole of emotional labor, and I want an opportunity to focus my mind against a topic in a structured way. If something is going to suck away my intellectual and emotional energy, then it's going to be something that makes me happy instead of making my stomach hurt.

So I'm going to continue to feed the elephant's child, for as long as I can afford it and my brain is capable of supporting the work. It sure beats the alternative.

Why this Weather is Making me Cranky - A Non-Comprehenisive-Whiny-Butt List

It's been raining a lot here in the Denver-Metro area. It started the day after we moved in to the Big Brown House and hasn't let up for more than a day or two since. This turn of events is starting to make my teeth hurt, so here's a non-comprehensive-whiny-butt list of why the weather is making me cranky.

1. We have no landscaping. Due to the late snow and continuing rain, the landscaping guys are really behind, which means that our yard is a lovely quagmire of mud. And we have a dog who needs to go out several times each day to take care of her business.

Our current strategy is four times a day walks on the sidewalk that borders the common landscape in the main road of our development. Jackson loves this, as she enjoys the outings. But she is a pokey-pottier. She will walk for as long as you let her without peeing. Obviously we have nothing to do with our time except take her out for four-times-daily constitutionals.

2. It's cold.I'm having to wear a fairly substantial coat when we go on Jax' walks. That's not that big a deal, actually, except I really don't like to run in the cold/rain. And since we're no longer 5 minutes away from gym, my cardio schedule is fucked. The plan was to run outside this summer, and then buy a treadmill as Fall rolled around.

This plan is not currently working. And we all know what happens to my state of mind when I don't get vigorous cardio exercise at least three days a week. I will probably have to start getting up earlier and getting to the gym until the skies clear.

3. Sunshine helps with my depression. For me, the best part of Spring is my ability to start exercising outside. We haven't seen the sun regularly in weeks.

These things are making me a bit short-tempered and emotionally out-of-control, which I hate.

C'mon, sun. I miss you.