Sometimes one doesn't know if someone actually killed him- or herself, but perhaps suspect it. Here, with Anne, we know. But it was something none of us really suspected until after she died; I didn't think it was suicide. It was Dad who told me. I'm not sure I can convey how rocked I was by that knowledge.
I've known people who've lived with suicidal depression, have dealt with suicidal thoughts. I've known people who tried to kill themselves. I know that whatever my issues, and they are there, I can't truly imagine being so far gone down the rabbit hole which depression drills into your psyche to think dying is a good solution for anything. Anne lived that. Then killed herself due to that. And her family, extended family like me and many people closer to her, must live with that.
I hope never to be that far gone.
I was able to attend Anne's memorial. I have more anecdotes and stories about her thanks to those who were there as well. I'm able to see pictures of her and those closest to her when I visit my parents' place. I can hug those who were close to her when I see them, because they're good people who can use hugs -- we all can use hugs -- and do our best to look out for each other better.
This entry could easily lead to difficult thoughts, thoughts I'd rather not have, thoughts I'd rather not write. (I wrote a paragraph here that I then got rid of, thinking Do I need to say this? Would this be a non-helpful thing to say? Maybe. So it's no longer here. You never read it.) But: Anne deserved better than what her depression told her.
She deserved better, and had to have a fight with her mind to see that. And, ultimately, she didn't.
You deserve better. We deserve better.
Just...look out for yourselves and for your loved ones, OK?
