Suicide and the Hemingways
As is usual for me the departure of my sister and brother in law on Thursdays after staying the night each week, I feel sad. I am consumed with the idea that perhaps they won't leave so early when I know they are early birds. Today they left at ten in the morning but at other times they leave even more early. I am truthfully left a little less joyful and my heart feels a little hurt. It takes me at least a couple of hours to reqroup and be in gratitude for what I get of their time every single Wednesday when they could give that time to anyone or keep it for themselves. They drive here over an hour to see me and it feels like a sacrafice to me. Living alone is OK but when people come and then leave I feel it more acutely because I am alone. It does not help any for me to feel sorry for little Elliott but I do. I want him to be happy and so I do my bestt to find my joy once more. I put my joys and my sorrows in it's appropriate box and today it was such a slow process that I did not wash up until almost three in the afternoon. But I did it and I am proud of me for doing it.
Sometimes it feels sad to me that I don't hear from friends for weeks at a time or what feels like a long time. I would be OK but I personalize it and I get upset over the fact that they've not called or checked on me. One has family right on the way to my house. I know after thinking for a little while that each person has their life and that their life did not change because mine did. I have to check in with that little boy that is hurt and feels abandoned and allow myself to cry and grieve what was as it seems that things are not like they were, certainly my body for one. I don't like to think about my colostomy bag hanging on the side of my body all the time as a remiinder of my disability and yet it happens often that I do think about it. It is a feeling of not being complete or good enough, of being damaged. I rarely cry about it anymore usually changing it as fast as I can and hoping I get through it with as little resentment as possible. It is hard I admit it, really hard sometimes. My leg was a little more swollen today than usual so this added to the mix of feelngs. I ask myself: "Who will love me like this, in this condition?" With all that is wroing with me physically who would ever want me? It all comes back to the people who do love me in spite of the one person I'd hoped would love me through this time. It all comes down to Elliott loving Elliott and that there is no other alternative.
I say I don't need anyone yet the truth is that I need like any other person. I say that I am OK being alone yet there are times when it is painful and dark for me. I say that I am doing well when in fact there are days when I keep wishing life was over or that I did not have this desease. I say that the facts are the facts and the truth is the truth but there are moments when I don't believe what I am serving others. I share that I am in gratitude and yet at times I am so angry and disatisfied I cannot even think about being thankful. There are days when I don't eat anything until it is four or five in the evening. Thank god for the meals my sister provides for me and the leftovers she leaves for me. There are days when I just feel like I cannot go on and I literally force myself to move, keep moving, keep showing up.
Today I finally was able to finish seeing the documentary on the Hemingways. These girls were famous models and actresses. They came from a line of very famous men like Ernest Hemingway. They also came from a long list of family members who killed themselves and were alcoholics. I could not get through the entire movie and finally after four days I did. I thought about what it was like for them to be molested, to have so many people commit suicide in their family and to live that life of priviledge at the same time. I thought then about my sister Dora who killed herself by placing a gun to her head. We are no different really. The Hemingways or the Collazo's or the Rockerfeller's. We are all the same when it comes to mental illness and shame. It reminded me of that fact that we are not any different because we have more money or fame. In fact it seems like the most famous of people are dying faster than ever and at their own hands or their own doing. It made me feel better although I am not so proud to say it. It made me feel better that people who have lots of prestige and priviledge die the same as all the others, the same as I will. Money and status do nothing to protect us or avoid devastating situations in our life and with our families. Nothing about us makes us any more inclined to want to die or drink or eat too much.
I am so not alone with my sorrow or pain. I know it. I know that it took me four viewings to get through the movie "Running from Crazy" because it resonated for me in my pain center. I know that I am not any different from the Hemingways with only the caviat that I am not rich and famous. The rise of suicide in teens is astounding. In one area of Brittan there was a series of teens who killed themselves. Nothing can explain suicide yet we do have a need to address it when so many of us are dying at our own hands. The Hemingways are only one example of what is in need of healing in our world.
Sometimes it feels sad to me that I don't hear from friends for weeks at a time or what feels like a long time. I would be OK but I personalize it and I get upset over the fact that they've not called or checked on me. One has family right on the way to my house. I know after thinking for a little while that each person has their life and that their life did not change because mine did. I have to check in with that little boy that is hurt and feels abandoned and allow myself to cry and grieve what was as it seems that things are not like they were, certainly my body for one. I don't like to think about my colostomy bag hanging on the side of my body all the time as a remiinder of my disability and yet it happens often that I do think about it. It is a feeling of not being complete or good enough, of being damaged. I rarely cry about it anymore usually changing it as fast as I can and hoping I get through it with as little resentment as possible. It is hard I admit it, really hard sometimes. My leg was a little more swollen today than usual so this added to the mix of feelngs. I ask myself: "Who will love me like this, in this condition?" With all that is wroing with me physically who would ever want me? It all comes back to the people who do love me in spite of the one person I'd hoped would love me through this time. It all comes down to Elliott loving Elliott and that there is no other alternative.
I say I don't need anyone yet the truth is that I need like any other person. I say that I am OK being alone yet there are times when it is painful and dark for me. I say that I am doing well when in fact there are days when I keep wishing life was over or that I did not have this desease. I say that the facts are the facts and the truth is the truth but there are moments when I don't believe what I am serving others. I share that I am in gratitude and yet at times I am so angry and disatisfied I cannot even think about being thankful. There are days when I don't eat anything until it is four or five in the evening. Thank god for the meals my sister provides for me and the leftovers she leaves for me. There are days when I just feel like I cannot go on and I literally force myself to move, keep moving, keep showing up.
Today I finally was able to finish seeing the documentary on the Hemingways. These girls were famous models and actresses. They came from a line of very famous men like Ernest Hemingway. They also came from a long list of family members who killed themselves and were alcoholics. I could not get through the entire movie and finally after four days I did. I thought about what it was like for them to be molested, to have so many people commit suicide in their family and to live that life of priviledge at the same time. I thought then about my sister Dora who killed herself by placing a gun to her head. We are no different really. The Hemingways or the Collazo's or the Rockerfeller's. We are all the same when it comes to mental illness and shame. It reminded me of that fact that we are not any different because we have more money or fame. In fact it seems like the most famous of people are dying faster than ever and at their own hands or their own doing. It made me feel better although I am not so proud to say it. It made me feel better that people who have lots of prestige and priviledge die the same as all the others, the same as I will. Money and status do nothing to protect us or avoid devastating situations in our life and with our families. Nothing about us makes us any more inclined to want to die or drink or eat too much.
I am so not alone with my sorrow or pain. I know it. I know that it took me four viewings to get through the movie "Running from Crazy" because it resonated for me in my pain center. I know that I am not any different from the Hemingways with only the caviat that I am not rich and famous. The rise of suicide in teens is astounding. In one area of Brittan there was a series of teens who killed themselves. Nothing can explain suicide yet we do have a need to address it when so many of us are dying at our own hands. The Hemingways are only one example of what is in need of healing in our world.
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