A Bond By Tragedy

 I have been dealing with so much trauma, and I am having a hard time processing it. 

It’s so strange how one can be surrounded by loving, supportive people, and still feel completely alone in the world.  

About 2 weeks after Jason died, I had a meltdown that was pretty severe. I was hyperventilating, panicking.  I said, “I just want to talk to someone who has been through this. Because I don’t know how to do this.” My mama softly said, “Your grandma.” 

My grandma has been gone for 17 years, but the moment my mom reminded me of my grandmother’s history, I began to calm down.  My grandfather died by suicide when my mama was 8 years old. Years after his death, my grandmother had a boyfriend who also died by suicude. She went through it twice, and she made it through.

I feel a connection to her that I didn’t have before. Like we’re in a club that no one wants to join, but here we are. 

I still don’t understand how this could happen twice, as I’m sure my grandma didn’t understand either.  My grandma and I are different in the way that she never discussed anything with us about her husband, or her boyfriend. She never remarried, and did not date. She gave that up. 

It helps me to talk about it. It helps me to process what has happened, and trying to understand the effects the trauma has on me. I get overwhelmed easily, I can’t handle loud noises, I have vivid nightmares. Honestly, there are too many symptoms to name them all. I’m clean from drugs, and looking at situations while clean, is a whole new experience. I have to face the situation now. 

The truth is, I know I hold the key to my happiness. It is all up to me what happens. We stray from our path sometimes, and bad things and tragedies happen as a result. I have to start caring about Sarah more than I care about others. 

I feel selfish typing that last line. However, if I don’t practice self- care, I’m not capable of being good for anyone. My grandma picked herself up, and made an arrangement with Mama to live together and help raise me and my sister. I had 19 years of being raised by those 2 vivacious women.  My Grandma put everything she had into her family. It kept her focus on something else, rather than the tragedies of her past. 

I looked up at the night sky and talked to my grandma, and I feel she is telling me to put my focus on my family. They will help me get through this.

I’m not really alone…

There are a couple things I will do differently than my grandma. First, I am going to face these traumatic experiences head on. Also, I won’t turn my back on the possibility of finding love again. I love being in love. I truly hope it happens again one day. Until then, I need to focus on my family, and practicing self-care. 

I totally got this. 

What The Hell Am I Doing?

I know it’s been awhile since I have posted any craziness, and the simplest explanation is… Bitches be crazy.


I completely understand I am the one ultimately responsible for the outcome of various circumstances in my life. Every choice we make directly affects every single outcome. We have more power over our lives than most realize. I’m not saying it’s our fault when all bad things happen to us. I am saying however, we simply have more control than we either realize or are about to admit. It’s hard sometimes to know (and really know) we are in a shitty place in life directly influenced or caused by a decision or series of decisions WE MADE. I have no problem taking responsibility for my choices. Like others, I also struggle with the shitty occurrences I honestly do not believe I deserve or ever deserved.

My grandmother always said our family was cursed. I’m not so sure there is an actual curse, but I can definitely see how anyone could form that opinion. All families experience tragedy. Unfortunately, some experience a shit ton of it, while others sail through life relatively unscathed. It seems unfair. I hold on to the idea that I am only equipped with the limited knowledge a human being can grasp in our current form. Metaphysically, anything is possible. Perhaps the tragedies happen to us because we are here on this planet to learn certain things. Perhaps even, we are all here to learn different things relative to each individual soul.

My patience and tolerance of others is tested on a daily basis. Is this because I am mentally ill and anti-social or could it be my soul came to this planet wanting or needing to learn the virtues of patience and tolerance? I firmly believe everything happens for a reason. Maybe for me it’s dual reasons. Mental illness as well as my souls purpose.

The confusion within this mindfuck, is in the actual learning process. Sometimes stuff jumps out at me, flailing it’s arms and barking like a seal. Most of the time, I don’t have any fucking clue what the hell is happening and why the hell it’s happening to me, until so far into the shit storm it has become hindsight. It is never too late to change the course of your life though.

At this point in my crazy life, the only thing I know for certain is that something has to change because my life as it is right now, is not working for me at all. I am very unhappy. I have all the answers, I know I do. The solutions are all horribly difficult for me and of course they are. I have learned in life the things we need the most are the most challenging to attain. My solutions might seem like a cakewalk to some people, but for me the solutions seem impossible most of the time. If all of this was easy I wouldn’t value the positive results I get nearly as much. Anything acquired through hard work and sacrifice we naturally have a deeper appreciation for. I hate the process. I hate it, hate it, hate it.

I am not sure exactly how anything is going to turn out. I do know I will do what’s right by myself eventually and I will come to the conclusion I am meant to come to. I have faith in that. Right now I am going to relax and make note of what I know I have immediate control over. As my mother always says, ” You can eat an entire elephant, you just can’t eat it all at once.” I am starting on the ass of the elephant, I am sure of this. After I get this heaping helping of elephant ass, I’m praying the next piece of elephant is little easier to eat. I can only hope.

My Husband’s Suicide

This is something I have been waiting for the right time to write about. It’s hard to go back to that day. Every time I tell the story it takes me there. I can still feel the dread as the sun went down and he had been missing for hours. I knew something was wrong…

It was October 23, 2017. I woke up in a panic, I had overslept. I got ready as fast as I could, I had 45 minutes to be at the church. Keith was quiet which wasn’t odd for him. He was often quiet. He had bipolar I disorder, the most severe. I usually did a check-in with him in the morning. I asked him how he was feeling and if he had anything he wanted to tell me. He was usually pretty honest. He would tell me if he was thinking about suicide. He had had 3 suicide attempts in his life and I had been present for the second and came home and found him the third time. I had no warnings then I don’t know why I thought I would get one again, but I did. I didn’t check in that day. A decision that still haunts me. I didn’t even have time for our ritualistic hug and kiss before I ran out the door. I patted him on the top of his head and said, ” I love you, I’ll see you later.” He said, “Bye dear.” That was it, the last words we ever spoke to one another.

The class I was facilitating ended at 2:00. I stayed late to clean up from the food and visit with a few people. I called Keith to let him know I would be late but he didn’t answer. I drove home thinking what a beautiful day it was and that I should see if Keith wanted to go to the park and read, maybe take the dog. I walked into the apartment, it was still and quiet. I didn’t get my usual greeting at the door from him or the dog. I walked to the bedroom and the dog was in his kennel. I thought maybe Keith had gone for a walk. His cell phone was sitting on the kitchen counter, I just rolled my eyes. He often forgot it although he had gotten better about it. It bothered me that he didn’t leave a note, he always left a note. I waited about 30 minutes and when he didn’t show up I started making phone calls. I called his mom, dad and case manager with the facility that provided his mental healthcare. No one had seen him or heard from him.

I tried not to panic that afternoon as time rolled on. I got in my car and drove around looking for him. He would be unmistakable. He was 6’4″ and very thin and had a particular gait. I couldn’t find him. I was starting to panic. It was after 4:00. Keith’s mom decided to talk to the police. They said they would send someone out to my apartment soon. When it got dark I was a wreck. Where could he be? I knew he was on foot because I had the only car. He should have been back. My mom came over and then Keith’s dad. We all knew something was wrong but no one wanted to let our thoughts go to the worst possible thing. I put a chair out by the curb in the parking lot and sat watching the street so I could see him if he walked up. He never came.

The police showed up about 1:00 am. There was a lot of them so I knew it couldn’t be good news. We went inside and I sat in Keith’s chair, the one he was in the last time I saw him. The chaplain began telling me about a man earlier in the day that had jumped off of the bridge over the creek turnpike off of Yale Ave., and then he dropped the bombshell. The man was my husband. He had walked about 5 miles to that bridge. All I remember next was Keith’s mom on the ground in front of me holding onto me for dear life and not being able to believe what I had just heard. I even asked the chaplain if Keith was dead. It just wouldn’t register in my mind that he was gone.

The police followed us across town to Keith’s dad’s house and the police told him. He had left my house earlier in the night to get some sleep. I couldn’t go home. How could I? Keith’s shoes were by the door. His dictionary was by the couch where he could look up words quickly throughout the day. His toothbrush was in the holder in the bathroom. Traces of him were everywhere because he was still there, but he wasn’t. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that I would never see him again. I couldn’t be there. I went to my sister’s house to stay with her for a few days.

My life as I knew it ended that day. I knew I would never be the same. It wasn’t until I met my current boyfriend that I began moving toward a new life. I’m grateful for that. The pain I have endured during my life with Keith in trying to keep him alive and the pain of losing him was almost too much to bear. I miss him a lot. I’m sure I always will. He is ok now though I am certain of that. It is the ones left behind that continue to suffer…