"May all the family and friends left behind by suicide remember the sweet times and never blame themselves for not knowing that your light only kept them from seeing the darkness; not you."
-Stephanie
Anthony Bourdain has committed suicide today. Kate Spade committed suicide three days before today. I woke up this morning, rolled over to my nightstand where my phone rested. I needed to make sure that the cool morning air hadn’t caused me to oversleep. It’s the last day of acapella camp for one of my littles. Oversleeping would be unacceptable. I pressed the home key to get the time, but the words “Anthony Bourdain Dead from Apparent Suicide” caught my eye first. I am up now. No need for the time or alarms. I am up… Heartbroken by the death of a man I did not know.
Three days ago when Kate Spade hung herself in her Manhattan apartment; I refused to absorb that. I made a conscious decision to avoid social media posts, tv and print regarding it. Not that it’s of any consequence— I like Kate Spade designs. I didn’t follow her closely, but I loved her use of color and fresh perspective. In my head, if I didn’t fully feel the death of Kate Spade I could keep the ever healing scab left by the death of my sweet, dear Natalie intact. Natalie, who stepped in front of a train on July 4th because… Independence… Freedom.
When the news of Anthony Bourdain’s suicide came across my phone a piece of that scab was torn off. I was immediately upset with myself because I couldn’t swallow it this time. I was overwhelmed by the news much like I was when I heard the news of my friends death. I ran to the bathroom, sat on the toilet and cried silently… careful not to wake my husband with old grief. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to know. It’s just…. What could he do? I needed to feel this.
I had tripped… fallen on the same knee. The pain and the hurt once held together by the scab of time is now open— I cannot swallow it down. I cannot put a bandaid on it. It is open. I am open. Now the pain of a heartbreak I had never known before Natalie’s death is again very present because another very bright, brilliant human being could not see their own light.
My friend killed herself. It’s hard, still, to believe she intended to take her life. For a long time I told myself it was an accident. She had been out having fun. She stumbled, lost her balance and fell in front of the train is what I told myself. Accidents happen.
Like last year when Chris Cornell died. I was immediately sad for his friends and family because 52 is just TOO young for anyone to die… not that you ever get enough time with those you love most. Still, 52 is infancy.
I have to admit I was hoping it was a drug overdose— An accident.
It would still be his fault, but an accident. I needed it to be his fault. Blame is like some sort of fucked up salve. You put it on shit, become absolved of all responsibility, empathy and emotion to the thing that went wrong and move on. Blame is an awful weapon of mass emotional destruction.
If Chris had died from drug use; that would feel better to me. How smug and naive of me. You know, my friends are mostly drug free. Like, they don’t do drugs that cause fatal overdoses. When I found out he died by suicide that touched a place in me. I was trying to create space and distance between us, but suicide was pulling me to him like a wench. I could not break free.
I know the heart wrenching impact of suicide and the extreme, desperate heart and mind space one has to be in to make that choice. I also have friends who suffer from depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder and perhaps other mental illnesses I know nothing about. I worry about them. I worry when they get too quiet and when they stay away too long. I wonder if my phone is gonna ring with the grief of a parent or sibling telling me they’ve chosen their own final act on the stage of life— I am sometimes terrified by the knowing… the knowing that no matter how beautiful, intelligent, witty and resourceful I find you— that if you don’t see it in yourself what I think doesn’t matter.
While the impact of hearing about each new suicide is quite severe I am hopeful that change in ideologies occur. The stigma surrounding depression, anxiety… mental illness must be erased. People who are suffering need to be able to say, “Help me. I’m drowning.”, without folks stopping to determine if this is how drowning people should behave. No one says to the person choking on the wetness of pool water to pray about the water filling their lungs. NO. They jump in and swim like hell to the person who keeps going under the water.
If you’re a person who can’t swim that would never stop you from attempting to help a drowning victim. You would holler for other people to come help. You would look for something to pull them out of the water. And you would never ever say, “My goodness Susan has a wonderful husband, a beautiful family and more money than she can count. What a drama queen! Why won’t she just get out of the water? Why is she drowning?
You would never ever say these things because you understand that a drowning person can not stop drowning with out intervention. Depression is like drowning. It’s being in the middle of the ocean, swimming from Africa to Antarctica. You’ve been stroking and kicking through water that feels thick like molasses. Each stroke begins to feel pointless. The voices tell you how far you’ve gone, but that the distance left is still too great. The voices tell you you might as well quit because no one is on the other side waiting for you anyway. The voices tell you fuck this; it ain’t worth it. The voices tell you you’re too tired for the journey. You know all the things to do to stay afloat— you just can’t. That is the depression. That is suicide.
Every time I hear of another life lost to suicide it reminds me of a girl I once knew. She was AMAZING… funny, witty and kind. So so kind. A gifted artist and florist... And I told her how awesome I thought she was. I have said, “What the fuck, Natalie!” like too many times. Why would she do this? I wish you had called. I wish I had called. I'm still trying to reconcile my feelings four years later. It's quite complicated.
I'm sad. I'm angry. I'm confused. I'm regretful. I'm grateful. She accomplished in death what she could not in life... Peace. They have all found the peace they did not know or could not maintain in life. Look around the pool, folks. See if your friends are in their flailing. If they are… don’t judge… don’t talk to other people… don’t just watch. Jump in the water. Swim like hell and try to pull them out. You will never regret jumping in, but you will always always regret watching them drown from the sidelines.
If you are suffering from depression please seek help. Reject guilt and shame. Reject stigma. Choose life… Choose you. You are worthy of joy. You are loved. You matter. The voices are lying. You will be missed. You are irreplaceable. You can be healed. You are so much more than you see. You deserve peace. Live this life. Freedom can be found by living the fullness of your truth.
May all the family and friends left behind by suicide remember the sweet times and never blame themselves for not knowing that your light only kept them from seeing the darkness; not you.
To my beautiful Natalie, I see you in EVERY bloom. I still compare the work of every florist to yours. I finally realized they will never measure up because your love is missing. I wish you had known the kind of peace and joy that is attainable in THIS life. I wish you had known how deeply you were loved and how truly special you were to us all. I love you girl and I am still missing you SO...
Stephanie
