Holiday Blues and a Fuck You!

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Fuck you, I’m not going to be sad this Christmas.  I’m not.  I’m not going to be depressed, I’m not going to battle the holiday blues.  Hello Christmas, it’s your friendly neighborhood atheist, and I’m full of Christmas cheer.  Most of the time, I get kind of depressed during the holiday season.  Not this year!  This is a big Fuck Off to Holiday Blues.

Usually around Christmas I miss people.  I miss my mother, my last happy memories of her were around Christmas.  She died in January, so usually I get real wrapped up in the last Christmas we had together.  I miss my friends I’ve lost, all suicides and all in the fall/holiday season.  Even as I would try to enjoy what I have now, I would get sucked into the past and sucked down into depression.

Not this year.  It’s not happening.  I’ve spent a lot of years mourning, and while there were happy moments over the years, I spent too much of my time in a funk.  This year is different.  While I’m still remembering those whom I have lost, I’m refusing to dwell on it.  There’s too much to celebrate this year, there is too much to enjoy and I refuse to dwell on people who are no longer here, and focus on the loved ones I do have.

I am excited for this year, I’m excited to give everyone their gifts, I’m jumping out of my skin.  I can’t wait until Christmas morning so Nood can open her gifts!  I think I’m more excited than she is!  Hell, I’m just excited to hang out with my kid all week.  I took this week off of work (by accident really, I needed to use up my vacation time… I’d rather take time off in the summer so we can do outdoors stuff), so I have 7 more days to spend with my monkey.  Then, of course we have New Years coming up.  I don’t have many resolutions (just to quit smoking), I’m just looking forward to starting the year off on the right foot.

So depression, this is my farewell.  I have plenty of winter to deal with you, just not right now.  Fuck you Holiday Blues, and Happy Holidays to everyone!

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I can’t convince you. (Possible Trigger Warning)

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I can’t convince you that you don’t want to die.  I can’t.  If you really want to die, you will, and nothing I say will be able to stop you.  You know what will stop you?  Yourself.  That’s it.  You have to make that decision, I can’t make it for you.  It’s pretty obvious that I want you to continue living, if you haven’t figured that out yet, than you haven’t been paying attention.  I love you, and I love you for many reasons, as do many other people along the way.  I’m sure that they don’t want you to die, but again, they don’t have a choice.  They never do.  It’s all up to you to die, or even, to live.

I can’t convince you that dying isn’t worth it.  Trust me it’s not, but I know pain, and I know pain can convince you that it is.  What’s a bit of physical pain on top of the pain you’re already living with?  I can’t explain that there are things that make life worth it, that there are things that are worth living through this hell for.  That sometimes the rain is worth it, or a dog, or maybe your family.  You won’t believe me when I tell you that those fleeting moments of happiness are worth all of the turmoil.  How can I explain that every tear is worth shedding just for that moment of happiness?  That moment you feel love?  Maybe you’ll understand that living is worth it just for a spring breeze?  Maybe it’s that cup of coffee on a cold night, or maybe it’s a notebook and a pen?  I can’t explain it, because you won’t listen.

I know you won’t believe that life gets better.  You can’t see it, you can’t see the future, and I can’t predict it.  I can tell you a million and three times, and you won’t believe me.  You won’t keep on living because I’m holding your hand, or because I’m here or because everyone else is here.  If you don’t live for the rare moment of happiness, there isn’t a point to living.  If you don’t believe that it’s worth it, you won’t try.  It doesn’t matter that life is indeed worth sticking around for, because you won’t listen.  I can sit in your car and tell you all the reasons you should stay, I can pull on your jacket, I can cry.  I can scream at you for hours, and if you don’t want to, you won’t listen.

I can’t convince you that you don’t want to die.  I can’t convince you that all of us want you to live.  Listen to me just this once though, let me tell you how it feels.  Not death, because I haven’t experienced it, even when I, myself screamed for life to end just to escape the pain.  I begged for life to cease, but it didn’t.  So I can’t tell you how death feels.  I can only tell you what suicide makes everyone else feel.

Have you ever held someone’s little sister, just to hear her sob out the details of her brother’s face as he hung from the rafters?  Have you ever held a mother who doesn’t understand why she couldn’t save her son?  She doesn’t understand why I couldn’t either, I was your friend, how could I have not seen?!  Do you know what it feels like to know that the back of her head is missing, so we can’t have an open casket funeral?  Do you know what it’s like to know that her brain matter stained the wall?  Have you tried to look a father in the eye after his eldest son took too many pills on purpose even though his toddler was in the same room?  Have you tried to console the child whose mother decided that he wasn’t worth living for?  Have you listened to the teenaged daughter talk about how maybe if she had just come home at curfew, just a few more times, maybe maybe maybe Dad wouldn’t have killed himself?  Have you struggled to live, to fight against all of the pain, all of the hurt, just to watch someone give up everything?  I can’t explain the pain, I can’t explain the deep ache that I feel in my chest as I remember watching the casket rolling away.  I can’t.

Besides.  I can’t convince you that you want to continue on, I can’t convince you that it’s worth it, I can’t convince you that I, we, love you enough.  I can’t.  Because you quit.  Now, all we all have left is a patch of brown grass, and a piece of rock that supposed to symbolize everything that was you.  Do you know what we have left of you?  Memories.  Memories, and pain.

I couldn’t convince you.  None of us could.

 

 

1-800-273-8255
Need Help?  Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.

More air for us… just stfu already!

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Warning:  This is my own personal opinion.  Said opinion will most likely piss all of you off, but quite honestly have you ever seen me give a backwards fuck whether or not people like my opinions?  Read on at your own risk.
(Beware, slight possibility of trigger.)

Imagine having a friend who taught you a great deal about your favorite music.  Who taught you how to deal with anxiety, depression, poverty, among other things.  Imagine having a friend who would sit with you over night in his car because you needed someone.  Imagine having a friend who you’d pick up in an instant so he had someone to talk to.  Imagine having a friend that was perfectly content sitting in the garage, singing old Social D songs with you instead of going to the bars.  Imagine that.

Now imagine finding out he killed himself.

Imagine not truly believing it.  It doesn’t hit you until you go to the wake, and even then it doesn’t hit right away.  You see everyone there, two hundred plus cars, winding down the street.  It seems like a party, but no one is smiling.  It still hasn’t hit.  You walk through and say your hellos and walk up.  Look.  It’s the casket.  It’s closed.  He hung himself.  Not fit for an open casket.  His leather his hanging there.  His wife and kid couldn’t handle it and went home.  His sister hugs you, his mother cries on you.  It hits.

The kid who beat up 4 guys for you because they mistreated you.  Gone.
The kid who taught you how to hawk your hair higher than 6 inches.  Gone.
The kid who took you to underground coffee houses.  Gone.
The kid who slept in your car, and lent you his for the same.  Gone.
The kid who had a wife, grew up to be a great father.  Gone.

Gone.  Dead.  By his own doing.

Gone.

Suicide doesn’t just hurt you.  It hurts your family.  It hurts your kid, wife, husband, friends, co-workers.  It hurts for a long time.  Suicide is not a joke.  Neither is Depression, Anxiety/Panic Disorder, or anything else.  It’s real.

On that note.

Let me tell you a story.  Second thought, if you don’t know it (remove yourself from my life and google it).  The Boy Who Cried Wolf.  The idea behind the story, is if you lie, lie multiple times, repeatedly tell the same sad story, over and over again, eventually people won’t believe you.

I have a huge problem with pity parties.  Not the “Oh shit, my douche-bag-boyfriend-cheated-on-me ones, or the fuck-I-lost-my-job ones.  I have a problem with the “I hate my life and would be better off dead” tirades.  Okay okay, once in a while, go for it, we’ll all listen.  Everyone’s life sucks at one moment in time.. but you know what?  If you “would rather be dead” because your girlfriend didn’t text you back?  You can go fuck yourself.

Repeated cries for attention are annoying.  Repeated status updates/texts/what the hell ever saying you hate your life, no one likes you, blah blah blah piss me off.  You all should know me by now, if your life sucks… make it better.  Sure, bitch up a storm… but if YEARS later you’re still bitching, just shut up.

This kid on my fb has been posting crap like that for years.  The smallest things he blows up and makes it the end of the world.  When I first met him, I did my best to reach out to him, repeatedly.  After he emotionally attacked a few of my friends, not so much.  Years later I’ve finally have had enough of his “I wish I was dead crap”.  You know what dude?  No one cares anymore.  God forbid someone doesn’t drop their life to help you/call you/go out with you, the world will not end.  Christ.

Ugh.  I just hate when people say things implying suicide just for attention.  Threatening self-mutiltion not soo much.  I have NEVER known a cutter to broadcast to the world.   If you need attention, just say so, I’m not going to post “OMG what’s wrong?!” on every single status for 3 years.  No.  Stop.  Just STFU already.  Suicide is not a joke.  Talking about it is not the way to get attention.  Just fucking stop.