Coping in the now

Suicide is said to affect everyone differently. I discovered that I am very much an 'in the now' kind of person. I am devastated by the loss of my father, of his friendship and support. However in the now there is absolutely nothing I can do about it, and this has had a huge effect on my grieving process.

In the first week I was a mess. I clung pretty desperately to my partner, who did a brilliant job of preventing me from stopping and facing things. I hiked, I played board games, I snuggled my partner and my cat, and I suffered a pretty serious case of verbal diarrhea. I also broke down crying any time I stopped. Sometimes it was desperate gut-wrenching tears that made it impossible to breathe. Other times I would just sit with tears running down my face staring into the distance.

After seven days I went out and interacted with friends. My derby team gave me a care package, a bottle of booze and more hugs than I could have believed. After a ten days I went back to work. I had only told one co-worker, and I got to spend a day pretending nothing was wrong with the world.

Bereavement, Befuddlement and Bafflement Pt2

This post tackles the topic I intended to cover last week regarding coping with the suicide of my father.

Something I didn't expect from my fathers suicide was how it would make me view the people around me. Before my father took his own life, I always assumed that the people who were close to me would be there for me. That everyone would grow old before they died. That the desire to live usurped everything else. Now I'm not so sure. Now I'm constantly concerned.



I used to expect that people would be there when I woke up or came home. Not just expect it, but I knew without a doubt that people would always be there. Doing regular boring everyday people things. In the mornings you expect to wake up to people in bathrobes, making hot drinks and toast. After work you expect people to be cooking, cleaning, lounging on the couch. Boring everyday things. Now I expect the opposite.

I used to assume suicide was more by accident than design. That desperation made you act, but that undeniable will to live kept you from doing it properly. That the knowledge that while you're alive things can still get better would intrude just in time. I assumed those who commit suicide had succeeded by mistake. A lot of the methods are fallible and (it seemed to me) a lot of people act rashly, without plan or design.

My father did not commit suicide accidentally.

Bereavement, Befuddlement and Bafflement

This is a pretty dark theme for an opening blog, but it is also something that I really need to get off my chest. I'm sure a million successful endeavours have started this way, and a billion more unsuccessful endeavours started with a rant and were left in the dust.

I had someone close to me pass away from suicide. Almost seven months ago, my father lost his struggle with depression.

This blog isn't an obituary or an apology for the things that should have been said. I might write one of those in the future. This is about something I didn't expect as a daughter dealing with the passing of her father.