words cannot describe
Wednesday, July 13th, 2011the week of sheer hell that i’ve lived through.
9:30 AM last wednesday I got a text from my sister asking me to call her ASAP. I thought my grandma had died. I was ready for that.
Not for this.
It was about our 20-year old cousin, who grew up and still lived across the street from my parents house where we grew up and who’s one of my sister’s best friends — Jackie.
Jackie shot herself.
Immediately I knew it was over for her. And was hoping for a quick and painless death or for some miracle of God to let her recover — FULLY.
But I knew what she wanted. If she didn’t want it, she wouldn’t have pulled the trigger.
Before you think I’m a complete asshole, let me say this: I’ve suffered from depression. It runs in our family. A lot of us have felt the black pit it creates. I know what Jackie was feeling. I’m guessing not to the extreme at which she’s felt it for the past several months.
So there I was last Wednesday. Wondering what will happen. Finding out on Facebook that Jackie is gone (before she officially was — for the record, thanks to the magic of small town rumors).
But somehow, I’m okay with it. Why? Because I don’t love my cousin? Because I’m 3 hours away from everything?
Yes on the latter.
I’m not insensitive. I absolutely didn’t want Jackie to die. But i just knew that whatever was building up inside her wouldn’t go away. Day in and day out. Misery. For no good reason other than the fact that …
DEPRESSION IS A DISEASE.
Yes. For those of you who think otherwise, fuck off. Right now. And don’t visit my blog again. Facebook friends? Hurry up and defriend me. I don’t like ignorant assholes.
Depression’s like cancer. It can be treated, but some people may never recover. And some people deal with it their whole lives — even if they take good care of themselves and everything is seemingly fine.
You know what makes depression a disease? The fact that people who suffer sometimes have no reason to feel the way they do. And sometimes don’t even recognize that they are feeling bad. Their world just starts collapsing left and right.
Which brings me back to Jackie. I can’t say for sure, but I feel like there was no reason for her to feel the way I’m guessing she did. And it probably spiraled so far out of control that she just wanted it all to stop.
I’ve been there. There comes a desperate moment where you want to claw your eyes out just to make the inner dialogue and hysterical thoughts stop. It stops briefly when you sleep, but it comes back tenfold when you wake up. Mornings are the worst. I got help, and was able to recover for now. But I know it’s something I’m going to have to monitor closely for the rest of my life.
So, Jackie, I understand why you did what you did.
But that doesn’t mean that I don’t miss you. I wish depression hadn’t taken you, but it did. I keep hoping that tomorrow I will wake up and none of this will have happened. But I know that isn’t the case.
I vow to not let depression take me away again. And I promise that I will fight hard to not let it take my life, or any of my friends or family’s life ever again.
In memory of Jackie, to remind myself that I’m loved and to be sure in those desperate moments — should they ever come again — that depression doesn’t take me, I got another tattoo today.
It’s simply the word “love” on my right wrist. On my handwriting. I use my right hand for everything. I can’t pick up anything now without being reminded of Jackie, the love we all felt for her and the sadness we feel now, and the love people (including myself) have for me.
I am going to end this by saying this: fuck you depression. I will not let you claim another person that I love.
PS I almost forgot. Jackie was an organ donor. So now somebody has a new beautiful pair of blue eyes. And somebody else has a functioning liver.
