My heart is just breaking today. I feel shattered inside and very emotional. You see, I have never met or even spoken to Jarrrid personally. But I am a big follower of his. All three social media sites, podcast that he has been on, books he has written, and just the words that he writes on his Facebook page keeps drawing me to him. He is one of my favourite people that I follow and I look forward to his posts every day because I find that I can relate to him on a personal level.
But this happened.
I logged onto his website and this was there:
Jarrid Wilson, pastor and author of Love Is Oxygen: How God Can Give You Life and Change Your World, died by suicide on Monday September 9, 2019. The news of his death came the next day on World Suicide Prevention Day 2019.
I just stared at my screen and didn’t move. I didn’t know if it was real or if it was a Spam message or what. I knew that he struggled with mental health issues but I really did not expect something like this. But the more I read the more I realized that no. This isn’t a Spam message. This is the truth.
Jarrid was passionate child of God and church pastor, worked so hard to help others find their own way out of hopelessness, depression, and suicidal thoughts…but on Monday it ended.
Jarrid was a 30-year-old husband and father of two precious children.
If you or someone you know is in distress or considering suicide, there are places to turn for support right here in our province, including your doctor or Newfoundland and Labrador’s Mental Health Crisis Centre at (709) 737-4668.
The Canadian Association for Suicide Prevention website also has information about where to find help.
You NEVER have to struggle alone. Sometimes it’s easier to talk on the phone than it is face to face and that’s why these services are available. You can access them from all over the world, not just in Newfoundland. So if you are struggling, I urge you to take the biggest step of all and break your silence by confiding in someone.
I wish I had known about these services when I was in that dark place. But I’m glad I know now because I can share it with you guys. I hope you all have a safe night 💜
#SuicideHotline #SuicidePrevention #DontSufferAlone #SufferInSilenceNoMore #DepressionHurts #PickUpThePhone #SomeoneIsWaitingToTalkToYou
The evil head of bipolar has decided to surface this week and it has forced me to my knees in brokenness. I spent the past 2 days curled up in the fetal position in my bed, a dog on either side of me keeping me warm. I am a walking zombie, experiencing waves of emotion that leave me crumpled over in tears. I’m so detached that I have no awareness of what’s happening around me, often not even hearing David say my name. Buddy has taken to lying on top of my chest and I welcome his weight and warmth as it’s the only thing reminding me I’m still alive.
Bipolar disorder is hard.
I’ve gone a while without having an episode but when I do, each one is truly a battle of life and death. Yesterday I took a handful of pills. Not enough to stop my heart but enough to induce a 19 hour semi coma. My husband came to find me in a very deep sleep, curled up in the fetal position, and drooling and he wasn’t able to wake me. After a while he pulled me to a sitting position and got me to drink water. In a fit of rage he flushed all of the medication, leaving me without any for the next 2 weeks, until I can get it filled again. I’m screwed.
Then he sat up all night. My husband sat up the entire night, watching over me, afraid that I was going to stop breathing. But I didn’t. I made it through the night and he left me in bed and went to work at 6am with zero sleep. And that’s where I stayed until 4pm today. My only accomplishment has been a shower which I cried the whole way through.
If you have a god that you pray to, I ask from the bottom of my heart that you would whisper a prayer for me. I’m not doing so good …. and I’m really scared. I don’t know how much I can handle.
In the midst of the times that I have tried to take my own life, I had no fear.
I was not afraid of dying.
I was not afraid of pain.
I was just not … afraid.
But today I find out that my health is really not that great. A couple of days ago I was diagnosed with pneumonia and sent for blood work and then today I get a phone call and I find out more bad news.
And now that a sudden death is a very real possibility, I am scared.
I’m afraid of dying.
I’m afraid of pain.
I am just very … afraid.
National Suicide Prevention Month is observed each September and survivors often see social media plastered with the simple message that suicide can be prevented. As a survivor, this upsets me.
Short posts and memes say that by showing someone you care or by picking up a phone you can or may save a life. Notice the words “can” and “may” in those sentences? I feel that many people miss those words, if they are even included. Those words are crucial to the message because saving a life is NOT always the outcome.
Without the words “can” or “may,” anyone reading these messages who have never experienced the horror of having a loved one die by suicide can easily think that a person who has had this type of tragedy must not have loved enough or cared enough or have ever had those conversations with the person who had ended their life. Even worse, an individual who has lost a loved one to suicide may read those statements and be overwhelmed by guilt thinking that there was something more they could have done!
We know better, and hindsight is a huge struggle for survivors. As if we don’t already second-guess everything we said or did, over and over, while reliving the days leading up to the death of our loved one …
My best friend died from suicide. She struggled for many years with an eating disorder, self injury, mental illness and addiction. I tried to encourage her on a daily basis. I found counseling for her and offered suggestions for various treatments. I sought help for myself so I could better help her. Not only were we friends joined at the hip, but we were also roommates sharing the same apartment. She was the first face I saw when I woke up in the morning and she was usually there when I went to bed at night. We spent many sleepless nights talking for hours on end. She sat at the foot of my bed for comfort while I went through some of the darkest days of my own life, and I did the same for her. What more could I have possibly done to show her that I cared?
I have experienced a lot of guilt surrounding Ashley’s death. Then I see all these social media posts, blog entries, and pamphlets stating that suicide is preventable. I don’t think people realize how damaging it is and the huge burden of guilt that it creates for us survivors in saying things like this. I really think that instead of coming out and saying that it is preventable, all of these prevention and awareness campaigns should add the words “can” be prevented or “may” be prevented.
Please Stop. Read this carefully. Think about it.
The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of 'hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing.
The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant.
The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames.
And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump.
You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.
“I’ve been making a list of the things they don’t teach you at school. They don’t teach you how to love somebody. They don’t teach you how to be famous. They don’t teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. They don’t teach you how to walk away from someone you don’t love any longer. They don’t teach you how to know what’s going on in someone else’s mind. They don’t teach you what to say to someone who’s dying. They don’t teach you anything worth knowing.”
― Neil Gaiman
There was a death in our family today. Her name was Odie. She belonged to my mom, stepfather and my brother.
I have never encountered a dog with such a sweet, gentle soul. But now, at the age of 12, she has been found to be in complete organ failure.
And just a few hours ago she took her very last breath.
My little brother called and I answered to find him sobbing into the receiver. And of course that set me off. My little brother is special needs and his level of understanding is not the same as mine or yours. But Odie’s death is straight cut. No explanation is required for Bradley to understand this. His dog is dead.
And he is waiting for us right now to go over and see precious little Odie, to give her one last kiss ……..
Goodbye, little one.