Yesterday I was thinking, as I often do, about how much better it would be for people who love me if I wasn’t around.
Sometimes just trying to function day to day with HD, I screw up things around me so badly that the only way I can see to make the pain and shame of it stop is to end my life.
But then my son texted me.
A troubled friend of his (who I will call Jake) had spent some time in a psychiatric hospital. Four days after being released, Jake was able to buy a shotgun. (Welcome to the U.S.) After an agonizing, nightlong search, Jake was found in a car– where he had killed himself.
Suddenly everything became real.
I set aside mentally minimizing the impact my suicide would have on my children.
Thoughts of how Jake’s family and friends will be permanently scarred by his death edged out the rationale behind my plan.
I know that, despite the many roadblocks in his life, Jake had a life ahead of him that had worth and now that is gone forever. So now I grieve for Jake who, through his own pain, may have bought me some time.
Because, even possessed by a monster, I am forced to admit that I am still worth something to someone.