I’m going to start with something positive: My parents said my sister was in great spirits tonight.
The second they got home, however, My dad found her suicide notes, and I have not stopped worrying since. I honestly don’t know why I’m worried. Is it because I saw my dad crying? Because I won’t see my sister for another few weeks because she won’t be home until the end of the week, when I go back to school? Because I’m not allowed to write to her (that is my main form of communication). I don’t know why I miss her so much, I’m snuggling with her plushy as I write this.
I plan to talk to my parents tomorrow, just regarding everything. They’ve tried to pay me lots of attention, But we’ve never had a sit down conversation about how we’re all feeling about this. That is my hope for tomorrow.
I can’t sleep, I’m so worried. I’ve also drank quite a bit tonight because I was angry earlier this evening (because of some stuff with my mom and XC coach, I don’t plan on drinking anymore though). I have so many feelings right now, and so many questions. Just wanted to rant.
The photo is blurry, so here is what it says:
Mary, my whole form of writing letters is for you. I knew you would get it this way. I’m so sorry. Run a marathon someday for me. When you are at the toughest part, think of me. Prove coach asshole you belong there and won’t give up without a fight. I want all of my money to go to you. I love you. Have some kids and tell them about me if they ever struggle. You get that one squishmallow. Protect Shrimp and Cinnamaroll for me, I love them both so much. I love you so much Mary. Don’t blame yourself ever. This was all me. Try to go on for me. Follow your dreams and don’t let this stop you. Yours truly, your sister
Everybody’s circumstances are different, so I’m only providing this info on the off-chance there is something helpful here.
Several years ago I reached out to my GP because I genuinely believed that I was going to end up committing suicide, and I was worried.
I’d had the occasional suicidal thoughts since I was a teenager, and like most people, assumed it was just a normal part of being a person. As I got older, they became more frequent - essentially becoming any time I let my brain go dormant.
You might wonder what had become so terrible in my life that I was obsessed with ending it? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
I had a young family, a loving wife, a nice house, a good job. I was happy, and had lots to be happy about.
The best way I had of describing it at the time was like a dual boot system - it felt like there was the normal me, and a different version of me that ran on the hardware when the normal me wasn’t actively using it.
This other me, however, had come to the definite conclusion that everyone I cared about would be better off if I died. It’d used the time lying in bed, stood on the tram, etc - the down time - to work out in detail exactly why, and by how much. It had a plan to minimise the distress and inconvenience to everyone who might end up involved.
Fortunately, I did reach out, though, and got referred to a psychologist. I was diagnosed with OCD and prescribed SSRIs. For me, they worked.
It was a genuine revelation that most people don’t think about suicide daily, that brains can go quiet.
Since being better, I’ve stopped thinking of what was happening as a dual boot system, and more like a badly tuned television. You get everything that should be there, but sometimes these extra ghost images. But it’s not because there’s anything actually there, it’s because the machinery isn’t properly tuned. The SSRIs just set the brain chemistry to what it should be, and the brain started working like it should.
Sorry, this has ended up a bit longer than intended.
I really hope everything works out for you, your sister and your family.