Someone I knew from the recovery group at my former church committed suicide this week. He had been dealing with mental illness for a while but everyone thought he had it under control. Tragically, that was not the case.
I found out about his death this morning and I’m still trying to process it. My friend, whose husband also took his life, warned me that the next time I encountered someone who had committed suicide, I would be transported back to Paul’s death. A kind of survivor of suicide PTSD, if you will. I didn’t believe her until this morning. Upon hearing the news, I sat in my recliner wavering between anger and extreme sadness. Memories of Paul’s suicide began to weigh heavily on my shoulders. I went through the rest of the morning burdened, unable to think straight, barely getting out the door to go to work. Continue reading