My brother’s suicide weighs heavily on me lately.
I close my eyes and I see the church, it was packed. And it was a big church. Packed. And many people, not just me, were really messed up.
People loved him. They *really* loved him. Lots of people. Did he have any idea? I don’t think he had any idea.
I suspect he thought no one loved him. That no one would miss him. That he was fixing some sort of huge error.
I’ve spent the last 2 years seriously studying childhood trauma as well as unearthing my own.
Trauma leaves you where your mind can see that a bad circumstance (a hurt relationship, loss of security or reputation) is uncomfortable….but your body tells you your very survival is at risk. And you know, logically, you’re getting conflicting messages. But the sensations going through every cell of your body are that this is life or death.
I mean. I can see why there is such a strong urge to escape. Be it drugs, alcohol, some other vice, or suicide.
People developed in trauma aren’t just trying to escape their hurt or sadness… They are trying to escape a body that’s constantly, exhaustingly, and inappropriately in a fight for its life.
I miss him.