Suicide, Six Months Later

Note: Six months ago my brother-in-law ended his life. This is a follow up to my previous post on the topic. I want to express my appreciation to everyone who has been supportive of my family throughout this difficult time. Thank you.

If you are struggling with suicidal thoughts, please contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK(8255). They are available to take your call 24/7. International readers should visit the website for the International Association for Suicide Prevention (IASP) to find local resources. We care about you, friends.

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I like Robin Williams in everything. I was raised on Mork & Mindy. I’ve never seen the man suffer a bad or boring interview. The most recent thing I saw him in was an episode of Louie where a guy they knew died and they went to his funeral, and then to his favorite strip club. The scene ends with Louie and Robin promising to attend each other’s funerals, “whoever dies first”. He had an imaginative, brilliant mind and was important to a lot of people in a lot of ways.

But I’m numb to the news of his suicide.

I’ve been having a very hard couple of weeks. Anxiety. Depression. Mood swings. The works.

Yesterday some careless asshat hit my lit sign outside of my office, hurling it to the ground, sending shattered glass everywhere. I wasn’t there at the time, but when I returned from lunch my super sweet office neighbor relayed the afternoon’s events — at which point I flew into a swear-fueled rage that quickly morphed into a public sobbing fit, my head on her shoulder, tears soaking her t-shirt.

“What can I do to help?” she asked, her arms engulfing me in a much-needed hug.

“Just be my friend.” I sniffled.

Because that’s all anyone can do.

 

Thank goodness for office neighbors like Jamie and Patty. They can fix anything.

Fixing what’s broken with a little help from my friends.

 

I’m not posting this for sympathy or responses. I just need to get it out, as our feeds blow up with RIPs and the tragic nature of it all:

People of the civilized world, take the grief you’re feeling at this moment and multiply it by a million. This is how it feels to lose a loved one (not a celebrity, not a movie star) unexpectedly and by their own hand. You probably can’t even fathom the idea right now, but it could happen in your own family tomorrow. Would you see the clues? Or keep yourself at a mental distance, locked in the safe room known as denial?

The shock of “losing” Cobain in the ’90s didn’t prep me for shit. The shock of a close friend losing his partner three years ago didn’t prep me for shit. I held my friend’s hand and cried by his side for months — years — as he attempted to pick up the pieces and get on with life…yet I didn’t learn a damn thing.

Last week I finally got up the courage to watch The Bridge, a documentary about suicidal folks who jump from the Golden Gate. It was intense, and I agreed with and could relate to a solid 85% of the friends and family members interviewed in that movie. This documentary is depressing as hell, but real and fascinating at the same time. The regrets, vulnerability, ignored signs – everyone’s story is different, yet eerily similar. Watch it and you’ll understand why I walk through my days with a renewed sense of hypervigilance: if you’re a member of my tribe and something sticks out as an odd behavioral change, I’m going to question it. I may come across as crazy, obnoxious, and possibly affected by PTSD, but that’s my new normal and I’m not sorry.

Robin, you were a bright star in a dark world, and I thank you for going there — you just weren’t an integral part of my life. My numbness isn’t intended as disrespect, but as my husband so perfectly explained as I struggled to put thought into words, “Petey meant more to me.”

And he was funny, too.

An Open Letter to the Unscrupulous Complainer

DISCLAIMER: This post is not about legit complainers and their legit complaints, such as the legit fly in the legit bowl of soup. This piece is not intended to dissuade any reader from reporting an actual crime, nor is it meant to serve as a rallying cry for those who doubt the validity of accusations brought into question by ensuing biological processes. The situations mentioned are intended to be broad and lacking in specifics, yet universally understood. To be clear, names aren’t named, because there are no names to name. (Apologies to my voyeuristic friends, but do take heart: Somewhere in the world, right now, TMZ is harassing a former child actor from a two-season 80’s sitcom.)

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Picture yourself at the end of a long day of work. The fatigue, the satisfaction, the comforting knowledge that your family will be fed and the lights will stay on in your home because you spent the day away from them to earn a living serving others. You grab your coat, your lunch bag, and head for the door when you get a text from your boss: “Come see me in my office.”

Finding it unusual but thinking little of it, you make your way down the hallway to find your manager. You’ve been staring at this carpet for years; you like it here, and you intend to like it here as long as possible. Jobs like this don’t come around every day.

You enter the office. Your manager asks you to shut the door and take a seat, and proceeds to hit you with a heavy dose of WTF: You got a customer complaint today. A serious complaint. A complaint that calls into question not only your judgment, but your grasp of professional ethics, and the very essence of your character. A complaint that could cost you a week’s pay, your position with the company, and your ability to remain engaged in the career you’ve been committed to for years. A complaint your brain is struggling to comprehend – because it is 100%, indisputably, ridiculously bogus.

You are told to remain home for several days, pending investigation. The long days and sleepless nights that follow are sheer torture, and worry has spread to the rest of your family like a third world virus. What if you lose your job? What if you can’t get a new one? What if you can’t pay your mortgage? What if…?

Dear unscrupulous complainer, it’s quite possible that you don’t have a clue, so I’m letting you know that this is a fairly accurate description of what happens when you file a phony complaint, particularly in a larger business involving one-on-one consumer/service provider interaction. And what, pray tell, did you get out of it? Seriously, please leave a comment below, because I’d love to know.

I bet you didn’t consider that the innocent person you smeared is prone to panic attacks and racked up a hefty doctor’s bill, thanks to you. You probably don’t give a damn that the utilities didn’t get paid that week, just in case that career we’re talking about actually got flushed down the toilet you threw it in. I’m almost certain that you don’t care that this service provider is going to be borderline paranoid and overly cautious in every single business encounter he or she engages in for at least the next six months, if he or she is lucky enough to retain employment.

But getting back to you, because you’re obviously the only person around here who matters: Why did you go out of your way to do this? Was your wallet feeling a bit light this morning? Are you lacking the perception of power in other aspects of your life? Do you need to read a book about transference? I happen to have some good ones I’d let you borrow, if I wasn’t convinced you’d accuse me of inappropriate book lending.

— Andrea

 

Andrea Lipomi is a licensed massage therapist and esthetician who lives and works in Las Vegas, Nevada. She also peddles massage therapy ebooks and NCBTMB-approved continuing education courses at ConfidentMassage.com, will travel hundreds of miles for a fantastic spa experience, and craves dark chocolate and Depeche Mode’s upcoming tour dates on an almost daily basis.