Raw

I'm laying everything on the table with this post, so read ahead at your own risk. I was hesitant to write this and tell you so much about myself, but then I figured, "What the hell!" This is me. This is who I am, and I'm not afraid to hide it.

I was laying in bed reading last night when my mom hollered down the stairs at me. My brother had just called and told her the news. A friend of his that he's known since he was about 6 or 7 years old committed suicide. For those of you who know my brother, it wasn't someone he spent a ton of time with, but a good friend, nonetheless. His friend's name is also Zak, so the guys called him by his last name, Marold.

I guess my brother and his buddies were hanging out on Wednesday night at Jake's house. I'm not entirely sure who all the roommates are, but I know Jake, Marold and at least one or two other guys live in that house. While everyone was still there on Wednesday night, Marold went to his room while the rest of the guys continued hanging out til they all went home or went to bed.

Last night around 5 PM, Jake heard Marold's dogs scratching at his door so he went to let them in (or out, I'm not entirely sure). When he opened the door he saw Marold's hand, which was purple, and immediately called 911. Apparently Jake had enough sense about him not to look any further and that's all he saw because Marold had hung himself.

As soon as my mom told me this last night I started crying. I couldn't tell you the last time I saw Marold. It may have been while he and my brother were playing football when they were 10 years old. I cried because I felt so bad that he felt the need to end his life. But more importantly, I feel horrible for Jake. And I feel horrible for my brother and all of their friends.

Know that what I'm about to say next is extremely raw, and may be viewed as cold and without understanding. But also know that I will explain myself, so don't give up on me.

I'm hurting for Jake. That kid is one of the coolest kids I know. And he's one of the best friends my brother has had. He'd do anything for anyone. And the fact that he now has to deal with the aftermath of finding his friend dead is something that NO ONE should ever have to do. It's not fair.

I am extremely angry. I'm angry because Marold chose to end his life. I'm angry because he was selfish. I'm angry because he couldn't stop long enough to think about his family... or his friends... or the person who would find him. I think suicide is without a doubt, the most extremely selfish act that any one person can commit.

I don't know what the circumstances in Marold's life were. I don't know what drove him to this point. I don't know if he had a good support network. I don't know if he even knew what was going on in his head. I do know that if he had asked, or sought help, he would have gotten it.

I'm not coming at this from a religious standpoint, or the standpoint of a big sister, or the standpoint of a friend. I'm coming at this from the standpoint of someone who has been there. I know what it feels like to hurt so much, so deeply down inside your soul, that death seems like the only way to make the pain go away. I know. I've spent more than one or two months of my life feeling that way. But you know what? Everytime I had one of those unbelievable thoughts, the next thing that popped into my mind was how much my death would hurt my family and friends. And not just my death, but the fact that I had chosen to take my own life. How could I, with any conscience, end my life without any regard to those who love me?

Let me explain a few things. A few years ago (I think it was about three and a half) I went through the worst bout of depression in my life. I've suffered from depression since I was a teenager, if not long before that. I've been on medication for it since I was about 19 or 20, and know that I will never be able to function without it. During those couple of months that Fall, yes, I had thoughts about dying, but I never had a plan. That's what differentiates those from the individuals that end up in the psychiatric units in the hospitals. I thought about dying, but I didn't have a plan to end my life. My thoughts were more centered around "what ifs." What if I fell down the stairs and broke my neck? What if I got in a really bad car accident? What if I took too many pills? What if I didn't make that turn and drove my car off a cliff? And as soon as those thoughts passed through my head, I thought of my family. I decided I couldn't be that selfish, no matter how much I hurt.

I understand that there are those suffering from mental illness far worse than the worst that I've ever suffered. I also know how horrible it feels to be in the midst of it and feel like there is no escape or hope or anything that could possibly make you feel better. But I always had the presence to consider others before I considered myself. I guess that's what sets me apart, and why I'm alive. (God, this is getting really morbid, sorry!) I still suffer on a daily basis from my depression, but I am taking, and will continue to take the steps necessary to be healthy. It's not easy. It never has been and most likely never will be. But I'm trying. I'm giving it a valiant effort. At least I think I am.

I saw a billboard by my office that made me think. It says, "You'd never say, it's just cancer, get over it." It's an ad for an organization called the Depression Is Real Coalition and I think it's a great message. Mental illness is so looked down upon by our society and it's unacceptable. Mental illness is just as serious, if not more serious than cancer and heart disease and the like. As soon as our society starts understanding and accepting it more, the better off we'll all be.

I'm sad today. I feel bad that my brother has to deal with this. I feel awful for Marold's family. My heart and my prayers go out to all those that loved and cared for him.