September marks Suicide Awareness and Prevention Month
“It was not your fault,” people are always quick to say when they learn that my partner Alex died by suicide. It’s a kind thing to say, but it feels more like an involuntary response, almost like a reflex. Words that logically pair up with suicide: Not your fault. Deep down I already know that. Logically I do. Truly believing it, it’s a very different thing. During the weeks and months that followed his death, I found myself saying out loud “I’m so sorry I let you die.” Because a death by suicide feels preventable. Because something so horrible can’t happen out of nowhere. Our minds need to find something or someone to blame and when that’s not possible, we end up blaming ourselves. At least in this way, we can feel a sense of control over life and the world around us: If there’s something I could have done differently to save his life, it means there was a way for me to control the outcome. And who doesn’t love to feel in control of their life and their environment? But it’s only a false sense of control because we all know that sometimes terrible things happen in this world and it’s no one’s fault. Shit happens. Admitting that you can’t always protect the people you love, and even yourself, is a hard pill to swallow. Yet, as you start to accept the duality of beauty and pain in life, guilt loses its strength.
Even though guilt is at the center stage of a suicide loss, there are other difficult feelings and emotions for the bereaved to navigate. Already when someone dies, you can’t help feeling abandoned, left behind. That feeling intensifies with a death by suicide because it feels like your person chose to leave you. I remember hearing on a podcast the story of a lady who lost her partner to cancer. She explained how he poisoned his body with chemotherapy for months to have more time by her side. Upon hearing her words, not only did I feel anger towards my late partner, but also jealousy for their bond. Her partner fought with everything he had If only to be together just a little longer. My partner was in top physical health, a recent Ironman contestant, and chose to destroy his body over a long life by my side. “What’s the rush? We have our whole lives ahead of us,” he used to say. How could I not be mad? And feel inadequate for not being able to relate to her story. My partner was not taken from me by a terminal illness or a tragic accident. He chose to leave this world. But choice never feels like the right word when referring to someone in a suicidal mindset and I discuss more about this particular point in my previous post: Nothing Matters Anymore: A Reflection on the Suicidal Mind.
Then there’s an endless procession of questions. Maybe you were not around when it happened or it was something completely unexpected. Why did they do it? What was going on in their lives? Did they reach out for help? It’s normal to go into research mode and to want to find answers. Any information that can help you understand their decision might offer a sense of closure. But some questions will always remain unanswered and that’s when you have to find a way to let go. Other questions that come up are completely unhelpful though, detrimental even. I’m talking about those what-if questions. Your mind will go through every possible scenario hoping to find an outcome where your person lives. Too many iterations of this process can drive you insane. Believe me, I’ve been there. What if I had asked more questions the first time he threatened suicide? What if I had stayed with him that morning? What if I had found a better counselor for him? What if he had never met me? What if...? My partner is dead. There’s no way to know now and there’s no point in torturing myself. What-if questions have no answers and serve no purpose after the fact.
Allow yourself to feel any emotions that bubble up. Some of them might feel awkward, even inappropriate. I remember feeling some sort of relief the day I found Alex dead and instantly commanding myself to stop, “You can’t be thinking that.” Relief because being on suicide watch was a terrifying experience, because witnessing the joy of life slowly exiting his body was heartbreaking, because pulling his hand to run away from death every morning was exhausting. All I wanted was for the torment to stop, just like he did. So please don’t shame yourself for feeling whatever you need to feel right now. Grieving a suicide loss is already hard enough. Don’t make it any harder. Try to find others who have experienced suicide loss. Talking to people who can’t relate to your experience might increase your feelings of isolation and inadequacy. Even if they have experienced loss, you will quickly realize that a death by suicide is a very different kind of animal and their stories might make you feel even worse, just like it happened to me when listening to that lady who had lost her partner to cancer.
It’s been more than three years now since Alex’s death. Guilt doesn’t visit me as much as she used to. But whenever she shows up, I tell her that it’s okay, that I’m as scared as she is because life is uncertain and much of what happens in this world feels messed up, but that doesn’t make it my fault.
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