Razors pain you, rivers are damp.
Acids stain you, and drugs cause a cramp.
Guns aren't lawful. Nooses give.
Gas smells awful, so you might as well live.
As I begin yet another Monday, I am thinking about someone I have never met, and probably never will. Bobbi Kristina Brown. She is the daughter of Bobby Brown and Whitney Houston, and as I write this, all news reports seem to be indicating that she is, in effect, brain dead. She was found Saturday, face down in the bathtub of her home in Georgia. The whole situation is eerily reminiscent of the way her mother was found dead, nearly three years ago. It's all so sad. Bobbi Kristina is so young, a pretty, and talented girl, who could have enjoyed a bright future, but instead she apparently gave into the pain of losing her mother. Not much has been said about the incident, I am sure more will come out in the next few days and weeks, but right now it's all just so tragic, although I have to admit, it doesn't really surprise me much. If it wasn't deliberate, and it was an accidental overdose, either way, I wish she would have had some stronger support for her emotional needs. I wish she could have found a way to manage her pain, without dulling it, by putting a drug band-aid on it. I wish something could have been done for her well being.
I have been so lucky in my life. When I was deeply depressed, and considering my own life, and whether it was worth working through the pain I was in, I was amazingly lucky to find resources to strengthen me. At the time it all seemed useless, and it didn't make a lot of sense when my therapist spoke to me, in fact I told her that when she spoke, all I heard was blah, blah, blah. I knew she was speaking, but I couldn't seem to comprehend the words. She told me she understood, and it was normal to feel that way, but encouraged me to stay with it. She explained that I was indeed retaining the words she was saying, and their meaning, and that one day I would be able to understand them in context. And she was right. I did one day. I was in such deep pain, for a very long time, and then one day, and I was numb all over. I had zero emotion on most days, and for a while I couldn't pick out my own clothing. Nothing looked right together. It's called Anhedonia, and it lasted the better part of three years. I see now, that the Anhedonia is probably what saved me. I took a break from feeling anything, until I could face the pain, and process the skills I had learned to handle it.
The best piece of advice I ever got, in my entire life, my doctor told me when I was in the deep end of the emotional pool...
"Suicide is the ultimate FUCK YOU that you can't take back."
I hate suicide. I hate it's lies. I hate it's truths.
I just hate it!