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Jun. 7th, 2023 09:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysobelContent warning: talk of death and suicide, treated somewhat detachedly
When I was in junior high (roughly 12) the vice principal -- a "putting the pal in princiPAL" kind of administrator and someone I vaguely adored -- got lung cancer. Some of the teachers arranged for student cards to be delivered to him at the hospital, I think in batches. Me being my (undiagnosedly AuDHD) procrastinatory self, I hadn't quite gotten around to making a card when he died.
When my parents told me about his death, I remember feeling ... mostly nothing. A pinch of guilt about the card (because ~clearly~ one student card more or less made the difference between life and death and therefore I was somehow at fault?) and otherwise just an overwhelming sense of I Don't Have A Script For This. No sadness (though I eventually did cry at the memorial service the school held), no anything really, except awareness that I was supposed to feel something, say something, do something. I hoped I had an appropriate facial expression.
(Later my mom commented that it had looked like I was about to cry. I hadn't been, but I felt some amount of relief that yes my expression hadn't been too badly wrong even though I had failed at the actual feeling of things.)
Last Sunday was a good day and I felt amazing. Monday I learned that someone I knew, someone in the Monday group I'm in, had committed suicide. She had some sort of deteriorating medical condition that meant she was now going blind; she had been uncertain about her finances; she had lost her husband a few years back (I gather, I never quite understood the full story but the rest of the group seemed to) and was having a rough time mentally; she had checked herself into a mental health care place a few weeks ago, including arrangements for her animals so they were being cared for too, but had been discharged recently and had gone back to her brother's. I don't know if she was still there or had gone home, but someone else in the Monday group had heard from a mutual friend and told us what she knew.
Other people in the group (which was meeting over zoom) looked shocked/ sad / disappointed/ etc.
I ... felt none of that.
My first thought was "lucky".
My immediate second thought was that I really fucking understood.
Regarding the vision thing: My progressive loss is mobility rather than sight but it would be like if I got paralyzed in addition to the immobility -- not just a worse continuation of what I had gotten used to, but a new paradigm. She was used to *crappy* vision but could still get places on a bike or on the bus or whatever, only now she was having to adapt to *no* vision. She was having someone teach her how to use a cane, how to use screen readers and voice commands, but those all takes practice.
Plus, I think when she had first been diagnosed she had a partner, and could get his support and help. This time of year was the anniversary of his death, and it had been hard last year because of grief, which had come back but also she's having to navigate the changes alone. I sometimes wish I had a partner (a good, non-abusive partner who could be a reliable backup for caregivers and good support for me) and sometimes am glad I don't (relationships are hard work, plus I'm broken enough that I don't know if I could do a relationship anyway, plus I'd be extremely vulnerable to abuse) but I think *having* that support, having someone commit to forever with you, makes *not having* harder.
And ... when I get suicidal ideation one of the things I hold onto is "my animals need me". I'd promised Monkey that I wouldn't make her move homes again if it was in my power to prevent; choosing to die would have broken that. And Yahtzee too... I can't abandon him. Loki would probably find a new home, though I like to think he'd miss me, and Phoebe definitely could, but the older two definitely were an anchor.
(Oddly I haven't felt as much grief over Monkey as I expected-- yes some crying a couple times, and an awareness of how quiet it is without her purring, but I haven't really felt bad? I fully expect losing Yahtzee will destroy me though.)
If she -- the person from Monday group, not Monkey -- had a similar feeling to her animals, I suspect that rehoming them for her stay in the facility may have untied that anchor.
So. Yeah. Understanding, a faint bit of resentment that she had suicide as an option when I don't really, a weird sense of relief that she's not distressed any more. I'm not really sad, and I don't know how much that's normal, especially factoring in shock, and how much is just me being broken (and also on-and-off-ly suicidal, but mostly just broken).
Grief is weird.
When I was in junior high (roughly 12) the vice principal -- a "putting the pal in princiPAL" kind of administrator and someone I vaguely adored -- got lung cancer. Some of the teachers arranged for student cards to be delivered to him at the hospital, I think in batches. Me being my (undiagnosedly AuDHD) procrastinatory self, I hadn't quite gotten around to making a card when he died.
When my parents told me about his death, I remember feeling ... mostly nothing. A pinch of guilt about the card (because ~clearly~ one student card more or less made the difference between life and death and therefore I was somehow at fault?) and otherwise just an overwhelming sense of I Don't Have A Script For This. No sadness (though I eventually did cry at the memorial service the school held), no anything really, except awareness that I was supposed to feel something, say something, do something. I hoped I had an appropriate facial expression.
(Later my mom commented that it had looked like I was about to cry. I hadn't been, but I felt some amount of relief that yes my expression hadn't been too badly wrong even though I had failed at the actual feeling of things.)
Last Sunday was a good day and I felt amazing. Monday I learned that someone I knew, someone in the Monday group I'm in, had committed suicide. She had some sort of deteriorating medical condition that meant she was now going blind; she had been uncertain about her finances; she had lost her husband a few years back (I gather, I never quite understood the full story but the rest of the group seemed to) and was having a rough time mentally; she had checked herself into a mental health care place a few weeks ago, including arrangements for her animals so they were being cared for too, but had been discharged recently and had gone back to her brother's. I don't know if she was still there or had gone home, but someone else in the Monday group had heard from a mutual friend and told us what she knew.
Other people in the group (which was meeting over zoom) looked shocked/ sad / disappointed/ etc.
I ... felt none of that.
My first thought was "lucky".
My immediate second thought was that I really fucking understood.
Regarding the vision thing: My progressive loss is mobility rather than sight but it would be like if I got paralyzed in addition to the immobility -- not just a worse continuation of what I had gotten used to, but a new paradigm. She was used to *crappy* vision but could still get places on a bike or on the bus or whatever, only now she was having to adapt to *no* vision. She was having someone teach her how to use a cane, how to use screen readers and voice commands, but those all takes practice.
Plus, I think when she had first been diagnosed she had a partner, and could get his support and help. This time of year was the anniversary of his death, and it had been hard last year because of grief, which had come back but also she's having to navigate the changes alone. I sometimes wish I had a partner (a good, non-abusive partner who could be a reliable backup for caregivers and good support for me) and sometimes am glad I don't (relationships are hard work, plus I'm broken enough that I don't know if I could do a relationship anyway, plus I'd be extremely vulnerable to abuse) but I think *having* that support, having someone commit to forever with you, makes *not having* harder.
And ... when I get suicidal ideation one of the things I hold onto is "my animals need me". I'd promised Monkey that I wouldn't make her move homes again if it was in my power to prevent; choosing to die would have broken that. And Yahtzee too... I can't abandon him. Loki would probably find a new home, though I like to think he'd miss me, and Phoebe definitely could, but the older two definitely were an anchor.
(Oddly I haven't felt as much grief over Monkey as I expected-- yes some crying a couple times, and an awareness of how quiet it is without her purring, but I haven't really felt bad? I fully expect losing Yahtzee will destroy me though.)
If she -- the person from Monday group, not Monkey -- had a similar feeling to her animals, I suspect that rehoming them for her stay in the facility may have untied that anchor.
So. Yeah. Understanding, a faint bit of resentment that she had suicide as an option when I don't really, a weird sense of relief that she's not distressed any more. I'm not really sad, and I don't know how much that's normal, especially factoring in shock, and how much is just me being broken (and also on-and-off-ly suicidal, but mostly just broken).
Grief is weird.