HOPE: My First Daily Task *Trigger Warning*

It’s 5:30 am, I opened my eyes this morning and observed my surroundings, there was a cool breeze coming through my window, my pup was lying patiently on my chest, nose just inches from my face, ready to greet me with my morning kisses.  I could hear the birds chirping and saw the sun was out.  On the outside everything sounds so wonderful and peaceful doesn’t it? How oh how, do I get that to permeate to my inside?  

It’s 5:30 am, I opened my eyes this morning and observed my thoughts and my body.  I am still here, the pain in my heart is still heavy, I have to fight my way through another day and I’m so exhausted.  Here we go again.  I wish I could forget all the yesterdays and emotions that go with them.  Why did this happen?  I miss my Husband.  A flash or two of the event goes through my broken mind and sends surges of adrenaline through my body.  It’s too early to feel like this.  Maybe today I’ll have had enough and leave this world.  Oh, but the kids.  Will they be okay?  I think they might be but (deep sigh) what if it kills them, what if they can’t understand the pain I was in and the peace I sought so desperately?  What about my Dog?  Who will take care of her, she needs me too.  My sister, dear God, please help her get through the loss of me, she’ll be heart broken.  What if tomorrow things get better or what if I start therapy again and I can be happy again?  Maybe I should give today a chance. Do if for them at least.  Have courage to grow old. Then I look at Xena, my pup and tell her I love her and thank her for being so precious.  I weep and she licks my tears, presses her head into my chest.  Her love makes me smile, and then the small glimpse of hope I need to put my feet to the floor does it’s job. 

I’m ready to go about my routine until the same thoughts creep into my head in the middle of just composing an email, having a conversation or listening at a meeting…random intrusive thoughts, smells, sounds, feelings take me away, back to July 31, 2015 12:12 pm.  I’m standing 3 feet from my Husband Damon, he’s holding a gun in his right hand and it starts all over again.  

I am a 45 year old widow, single mom of 2 wonderful humans and I struggle with chronic PTSD after witnessing my Husband commit suicide by firearm on July 31, 2015 in the bedroom of our home.  His death, unfortunately, was not my first experience with suicide loss.  I lost my Grandfather in 1986 (by firearm), My Father on Thanksgiving morning of 2010 (by hanging), a great Friend on Thanksgiving Eve 2016 (by jumping) and my Uncle in December of 2017 (by knife).  Honestly, there have been more in my family but these are the ones I can speak to.  

I wanted to share a brief glimpse of what I experienced with my Husband’s death, its effect on me and how I swim through the tar of what I know to be life now. I often feel I am alone in my trauma, grief and depression because my illness tell me so.  I pray for amnesia, dementia or a cure for my flashbacks and nightmares, for the broken valves that cause the surges of adrenaline and the domino effect that cripples me after.  

Remembering I am not alone when I am in the throws of PTSD, depression and suicidal ideation is so difficult.  I’m terrible at calling people, I don’t want to burden anyone. I am incredibly thankful for a support group I was brought to in 2010, the Survivors of Suicide group in Hampstead, NH.  They are my family now, it’s the one place I can go, every Friday and know someone will be there.  I can say exactly what’s on my mind and find nothing but love, acceptance, kindness and understanding - all judgment free from people who have been in my shoes.  They tell me and show me that I am not alone and that I am loved.  They give me so much hope that I use some to finish my day and put the rest in my reserve tank to get me through the next.