The Day After Robin Williams’ Died

I sit in shock even as the news about Robin Williams’ death is sweeping the country on every possible news outlet. Shock moved to sadness and even though I didn’t know this marvelously talented man or his demons, I am feeling his pain. Everyone’s pain. The world is so fragile right now, you can feel it in the the heaviness of the air, the full moon,  in the tension of the world. For some of us, called Empath Intuitives, we feel more deeply, we take on other people’s pain as if they were our own but I am trying hard to separate this one.

I wrote this in response to my friend, the great Jenny the Bloggess, aka Jenny Lawson on her wonderful post about the death or apparent suicide of Robin Williams. Please take a look at Jenny’s site (I reblogged it here if it worked) to read the whole thing, if you don’t know Jennifer Lawson, you really should. My goal in life is to be mentioned on one of her side bars one day! She will cheer you up, crack you up and has been one of my inspirations. She has really creepy (sorry Jenny) habits/hobbies like taxidermied animals but she also does beautiful things for others and that makes you want to be as awesome as she is.

Not to mention, you have never really met the true Beyonce that we, in the Jenny Fan club know. “Knock knock Motherfucker.” You’ll see. It makes perfect sense.

Jenny wrote a heart breaking and heart warming post about suicide and mental illness and all of our challenges in life. This was my reply to her:

I’m usually good for a laugh or a witty response but sorry, I just can’t this time and that’s okay. I know I will get it back but Robin Williams’ suicide hurts in a place where childhood was, we grew up with him. WHY DOES MENTAL ILLNESS STILL HAVE SUCH A NEGATIVE STIGMA, IT SHOULDN’T. WHAT IF CANCER WAS SUBSTITUTED FOR MENTAL ILLNESS? I don’t understand. It is an illness like any other illness and needs to be treated by a professional. I have an anxiety disorder and take meds for it, like Jenny, and it is treatable. Sure, there are some bad days but there are some bad days for everyone. Isn’t it time that mental illness can come out of the closet and be accepted by everyone instead of being a hushed secret? Come on, people, give those of us who struggle with something different, ( I have an anxiety disorder) an encouraging word, a smile, a chance to say “I feel sad/anxious today.”

More money is needed for mental health providers but I’m sure Robin Williams could have provided that for himself. PLEASE, talk to each other or call a suicide hotline. If not for yourself, then for your children, your mother, brother, best friend, your partner, your pet, for me and for Jenny. There’s always someone waiting to listen. I promise. Signed, your friend, Laurie F. hibernationnow.wordpress.com

Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

1-800-273-8255

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  1. www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

    “Because Hope Is A Marvelous Thing” by me.

FWF, Kellie Elmore. Fire.

 

 

HER

 

Everyone says that teenagers are moody.  I’m not. I’m depressed or nothing. My shrink says I’m in a “Clinical Depression” my parents say I’m very depressed. I don’t care what they call it, I just don’t want to live anymore.

I’m 15, I hate my life or well, I used to, now I just want to leave and not exist. I have no friends.

 

Her

Her (Photo credit: Forty Photographs)

 

Not that anyone would miss me, my parents just wanted to commit me to a crazy hospital and lock me up or drag me to church, every single day and night. My little brother, Billy, well he is okay, he’s five and to him I am,  everything, silly jerk. He didn’t think I was as crazy as a bat but what did he know, he still sucked his thumb.

 

I wasn’t the shrieking, breaking- glass bloody kind of crazy you see on television, or the raging mad screaming in the streets throwing knives and pulling out my gun, feeling ugly angry. Nope, It’s like I lived in the air. I existed, I blended in with the beige lockers in the middle school hallways. http://magicinthebackyard.files.wordpress.com/2014/06/campfire.gif?w=290&h=290&crop=1

My secret plan kept me going, it was the only thing I had looked forward to for over six months now. Today was November 11th, my favorite day and I knew where I would be  tonight. I knew where I would go tonight after dark. I had the place, I had the alibi, people didn’t care about me and I didn’t care about them anyway. I didn’t feel loved or hated. I didn’t feel anything at all. I read that’s the worst kind of crazy-bad or maybe it’s something my shrink said. I don’t remember.

She once said that if I could have cried, “released my inner emotions” maybe it would have been better but I had no inner emotions that I knew about, nothing that I was hiding, no conflict or cover-up, no tragic past. I felt nothing, bad or good, I didn’t complain and I didn’t want attention. I was just empty, all the time.

All I wanted was to go to sleep forever, and I loved playing with fire. I wanted to leave this world in a way that made me disappear for good. I wanted a quick death so months ago I stole a can of lighter fluid from the hardware store. My plan was to spray my clothes and jump, go poof up in flames.

The fire was still burning strongly, I opened the can of lighter fluid, smelled it and it made me cough. I hadn’t squirted it on my clothes yet. I walked closer to the fire, just a tiny bit. The long hem of the left leg of my jeans caught on fire as I edged closer accidentally but instead of jumping in all the way I instinctively fell to the ground and smothered the flames.

What the hell just happened?  I didn’t know, why did I do that? Why didn’t I just go into the fire as I had planned 1,000 times and burn to a crisp? Couldn’t I even get death right?  I really was a loser, I couldn’t even succeed in offing myself.

 

Ian's Big Boy BedI had been waiting all along for a sign WHEN to jump in. Could that have been the real sign? I told myself, that if I was supposed to die I would have. I wouldn’t have instinctively dropped like my old doll, Raggedy Ann, on the ground to get rid of the fire and save my life. THAT was the sign! I started feeling strongly about this. I moved away from the fire and after sitting there a while, I made sure the fire was out. I was not feeling happy but I was feeling something. It was a lot more than what I started out with.

 

I felt like I was in a daze, confused but I knew deep down I think that I wanted to live. I started walking up the hill, eating a granola bar that was in my pocket,to get to where I parked my car. I sat there for a few minutes.  I took a few deep breaths and drove home really slowly. Before I got to my room, I opened Billy’s door, he was wearing his favorite cowboy pajamas and yes, still sucking his thumb. I tiptoed over to him and ever so gently, kissed him on his head.

24-Hour Crisis Hotline – The Samaritans

samaritansnyc.org/24-hour-crisis-hotline/

  • The Samaritans of New York
     

    Samaritans 24-Hour Crisis Hotline (212) 673-3000. With the goal of helping people in distress and preventing suicide, Samaritans free, confidential.

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Standing at the crossroads (Carry on Tuesday)

Egretta sacra

Egretta sacra (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The counselors in group say that everyone has a choice. They tell us that every single day. I think they are wrong. The therapists are like old, cranky parrots on repeat play telling us things about how drugs are bad and they can help people with depression or any mental health disorder but I don’t listen that much, I pretend to listen. We sit on a multicolored carpet which is dirty with potato chip crumbs and cigarette butts and empty Diet Coke cans in the corners next to the gray, rubber trash cans.

I sit inside my room, after lunch for “reading and rest” looking at the pale green walls. I come out only for food, meds, eat, group, private therapy or to play solitaire 50. There is one night nurse that I know and she comes on shift at ten pm. She lets me play cards by myself every night for 25 (half of 50) minutes.  Fifty is MY number. The number on my room says it is #3 but it is really #50.  My cards  always add up to fifty.  Nurse Kelly lets me play solitaire because I earned that privilege for my positive behavior. I know.

When I first got here a long time ago, another “inmate” told me I was in the silent mattress room for two days. I had to go in because they said I punched an aide but I didn’t. I’m sure. They must have made that up. I do not remember a lot of things now. I used to have anger “issues” but now when I feel angry I sit in my room, alone. Sometimes I crouch in a corner, words  popping up into my head like popcorn or toast from the toaster. I say stuff out loud, QUIETLY,  like “animals” or “sailboats” or “nuclear weapons suck, but I don’t scream it out loud. I want to but I don’t. I force myself not to. Plus, the medications make my mouth dry and fuzzy so it’s hard to talk. It’s part of my plan. I smile a lot that’s why Nurse Kelly likes me best. I have learned not to tell these things to any of the nurses or doctors or even my friend, Melissa. That’s how smart I have become here. I don’t tell them about the zombies and the power inside me either. That’s my secret.

I am standing at the crosswords of my life, do I let the zombies win or do I win?  I want power.  I hate it when they have the power, sometimes they try to scare me but I know I have the power and it is getting stronger.The voices in my head are getting louder, I put my hands over my ears. I  fold myself into the blanket and rock. The enemy laughs at me, they think they have won, they don’t know anything.  I spit up yellow bile, it lands on the floor. I feel angry but I tell myself ‘NOT YET, NOT YET. Tonight, after dinner and after I play solitaire 50. I have to be extra careful tonight.  For the past three weeks I have asked Nurse Kelly if she could come with me to the bathroom while smiling at her. She used to come with me but after one week she stopped (which I knew that she would) and she says “she trusts me.”

It’s time, the exact time I always have to go to the bathroom and I ask Nurse Kelly if she will come with me to the bathroom. She just smiles and waves her hand and smiles. I have to be extra fast tonight because I am carrying my secret wrapped up in three tissues. I wanted to have fifty tissues but I didn’t need to because 3=50. I whisper to the zombies under my breath.”Not for long motherfuckers.” I want to run to the bathroom but I don’t, I walk normally. I lock the stall. I take the special sharp secret from my pocket that I quickly peel away from the 3/50 tissues. It is shiny, silver, metallic, hard.  I put the secret present to my wrist and I quickly stab it in, over and over again. ” I WIN” I say out loud. I cut up and down my wrists and across them.  I see the blood coming out and I keep slashing until I can’t any more and then I don’t remember anything. Maybe we do all have choices, this was mine. Looking back, maybe I screwed up. I kinda feel bad for my parents. Nurse Kelly found me in the bathroom stall, dead at 10:50 pm.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline – Suicide Prevention Crisis

www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-TALK (8255): Suicide hotline, 24/7 free and confidential, nationwide network of crisis centers.