Coming Out of the Dark

Why be afraid if I'm not alone?

Part 1: Friday Night, while sitting in my car for about half an hour in an attempt to put off walking into a place that I love, but that serves as a blatant reminder of how I can never go back to being the person I was before...

Nobody told me about the “grouch” phase of grief, but I am warning you right now that this is not a happy post. It's mostly me complaining for a series of paragraphs. I'm seriously considering finding an Oscar the Grouch costume for Halloween. But why waste money on a costume when I can just go out as my grouchy self?

Tomorrow morning I am participating in the Out of the Darkness Community Walk. It's an event put on by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. I almost didn't register because I didn't think I'd be in town this weekend. Then my plans changed, and for about a minute, I thought about how great it was that I was now able to sign up.

Yay! I get to wake up early on a Saturday morning to go to an event that I know about only since my husband killed himself. YIPPEEEEE!

Fuck. This. I am in a rotten mood. I can't even blame it all on the walk. The grouchiness has been slowly creeping in. The walk is just the icing on the cake. Except this isn't anything like cake. Cake is sweet and delicious. This is more like a stale biscuit covered in moldy...Vegemite… I don't even know if Vegemite is capable of molding, but you get the point.

I already warned one friend that if he gets a call from me tonight, it will be from jail, since I'll likely have been arrested for being an obnoxious grouch in public. He's received these texts before. I'm typically at Target when the possibility of my being incarcerated for causing a scene/having a nervous breakdown arises. I memorized his number months ago, along with that of my best friend Shaela. That's impressive, given my inability to remember just about anything these days. But I figured, now that it's just me, I'd better memorize some numbers in case I ever need to make a call from prison.

I like to be witty, but I'm not joking. I have had moments of such rage and frustration that I've walked a very fine line between keeping it together and flipping out, mostly for no reason other than having to share public space with other human beings, like at a store. I've been rude, aggressive and downright mean to a few people because I was so pent up with fury. Much to my surprise, I really wouldn't have cared if I'd been arrested, among other behaviors and consequences that no longer seemed to matter. I realized I'd be okay with it because at the source of all of it was a mess of emotions so overwhelming that making it out of Target withOUT causing a scene was a small victory. 

*After writing this, I did end up walking into that place that I love. I may have had to stop on the stairs and catch my breath first, but I went. And, of course, it was exactly what I needed because inside were some amazing humans, some of my dearest friends, who let me be exactly as I was. One gave me a hug that was so surprisingly needed that it had me gripping the sleeve of his shirt while simultaneously using it to wipe both my tears and my runny nose. Another simply looked at me and asked me to say all the things that I didn't want to say out loud. (Because, who wants to say out loud that they are afraid to be in crowds and spend half their energy creating escape plans in case somebody walks in with a gun and tries to shoot up the place? Anyone? Bueller?) The night finished with delicious Indian food and easy conversation with another dear friend who didn't mind at all that I burst into a rambling tangent about PTSD. It's hard to be a grouch with such loving people.

Part 2: Alas, Saturday morning, the grouch returned. It apparently wasn't looking forward to doing the walk, so I texted Shaela...

Me: Oh man, there's like teams here. And people with shirts, and I vowed to never wear a shirt with Mark's face on it LOL I think maybe next year this is a thing to not do alone? idk yet...
Shaela: Well I have been wanting to do it, so I will def. do it with you.
Me: I feel like I'm that person that people are sick of talking about the same thing. I'm sick of talking about suicide, in a way. And people are probably thinking I'm not moving on or am a mess. Or idk. I made all that up, but I do think about that.
Shaela: Hmmm... I don't think so. It's still super recent and is going to be a part of your life. If they do think like that then they aren't that understanding or just don't get it.
Me: Right. Mind you, nobody said anything to me lol stories...but yes. You deserve an award for being my person. 
Shaela: Haha yeah... and awww... thanks
Me: Not a lot of spouses here. Not many red beads (*Red denotes loss of partner/spouse to suicide)
Shaela: That's okay. You are representing for them. 
Me: What a terrible group to represent.

Needless to say, I was not too thrilled about my Saturday morning plans. It took all of a second to realize that the Out of the Darkness Community Walk is, go figure, a COMMUNITY event. If you know me at all (I mean the real me, not the happy-go-lucky person I spent years advertising on Facebook & every other proverbial stage, thus fooling the masses into believing that I am an extroverted people-person.), then you're probably not surprised to read that I chose to do this walk alone. Not only do I thrive when I've had down time to myself; if left to my own devices, I will stick firmly to the belief that I don't need anybody for anything. Ever. I know logically that's not the case, but my mind likes to trick me into thinking I am omnipotent, and therefore, independent. 

Don't get me wrong; I love people. But, being a people ...I mean, person... myself, I get how insufferable they can be, and mostly what's there for me on the surface is a general desire to be alone and not have to deal with the people and all their people-y ways. This is not a new thing for me. The only difference now is that I just don't care to waste any more energy trying to impress others with my cheery, smiley, people skills. Whereas before, I was preoccupied with ensuring that I be perceived as positive, happy and altruistic (But, oh, such a martyr!), now my main goal really is to live a life I love and inspire others to do the same. I don't care as much as I used to about what that looks like. Lately, it looks a lot like me staying home and reading as many books as I can. Other times, it looks like me lacing up my sneaks and going for a run. Sometimes, it looks like me eating an entire bag of popcorn by myself, without an ounce of guilt. Quite often, it looks like me working with....wait for it.... PEOPLE. I love them, and it IS people that make life worth living. But they also drive me nuts, and I don't need to force things anymore. 

This morning, however, taking part in the Out of the Darkness Community Walk did NOT look very much at all like me living a life I loved, let alone inspiring others to do the same. Nope. Not even close. I've long been aware of my resting-angry-and-unapproachable-face, otherwise known as the "Mahoney frown", a family trait I had the misfortune of inheriting. It has been passed down through generations on my paternal grandmother's side. Most of us are afflicted with it, which can make for some interesting looking family parties. But we have fun. One of my high school science teachers once told me, in front of the class, that I am surly. My response: "Yes, I get it from my Grandma."

I'm not necessarily known for looking like a grump. On the contrary, I'm frequently remembered for my smile. (That and my voice, which a student once told me is similar to that of "the blue fish in Finding Nemo".) But I assert that it is the stark contrast between my smile and my resting face that has my grin be so memorable in the first place. It's so noticeable that when NOT smiling, I'm frequently asked, "What's wrong?" or "Why are you upset?" As a child, this resulted in me making a rather binding decision that it was not okay to let people see me upset, thus beginning my successful, albeit misleading, existence as "the happy girl". But nobody at the walk this morning would've believed that, even for all the money in the world.

I saw my reflection while passing a window, and OH BOY! Grumpy McGrumperton was alive and well! People were clustered around with team shirts, hugging and holding hands, actively BEING community. All around the park were tents from various local organizations that each, in some way or another, is committed to raising awareness about the realities of mental illness and suicide, as well as bringing an end to suicide entirely. It was fascinating to witness so many people TOGETHER at the event. I'm not sure the official count, but I believe we totaled somewhere in the area of 2,000 walkers.

And I act like I'm alone in this...

I was far from alone, despite the Mahoney frown on my face tempting to ward people off. I mean, it worked because nobody talked to me, except for the woman behind me in line for the bathroom, where we chatted briefly about how long the wait was. #firstworldproblems There was also the woman who gave me my shirt. Our conversation consisted mostly of "medium" and "thank you", but it was at least a two-way communication. Beyond that, I said almost no words the entire 3+ hours I was there. 

Now that I look, there really wasn't much to say. Maybe that's rolled into the creation of events like this. We all know why we're there, and if you aren't sure of the specifics, look at the colored beads around people's necks. Each color represents a different loss or connection to suicide. You don't even have to talk. You can just look at someone and know. Though I didn't find many red beads, I did look for them. And I was comforted, as well as saddened, each time I found someone wearing them. It's a bit of a luxury, actually, to be able to connect with so many people without the use of a single word.

Despite the incalculable impatience I often experience now, I do also feel a great deal more compassionate for others. You just never know what someone is going through. The day after Mark's suicide, I zombied (and cried) my way around Target for over two hours, buying whatever I wanted and probably getting in people's way as I occasionally stopped in the middle of an aisle for no reason other than utter disbelief. Sometimes now I want to yell at those people, truly fearing that I might become so angry I'll need to be restrained. But I've also been that person. I found it hard to be annoyed with the crowd at the walk today, even though the sidewalks were way over-packed and the pace was painfully slow. But I was walking around looking like a grouch, and nobody bothered me. Why should I bother them? 

In the end, I'm glad I chose to participate. I even raised $160 since registering just four days ago. (Big thanks to Alex, Lynn and Shannon!) This money will help to fund programs that start more conversations about suicide and mental health. I've spent a lot of time these last several months educating myself on all things suicide: prevention, awareness, stigma, mental health, charities, books, studies, you name it. There's such a thing as the "field of suicidology", which is so little known that it is marked as 'misspelled' by most platforms and software.

There's a lot to learn, and I've found it to be rather time consuming since I also find it to be very anxiety-inducing. But little by little, and one event or one page of a book at a time, I make it through. I'm learning more and more about the already-existing movement to get more people talking about suicide. I can't say I'm looking forward to doing the walk again next year. I'll try most things once, but I don't do them a second time if they're not enjoyable. This was a far stretch from being enjoyable, but I'll probably do it again. Doing un-fun things comes with the territory of being human, but it can also make a big difference for other humans. And that makes it all worthwhile.

*For more information, please visit afsp.org