NWalked into the local gas station and there was one of those donation box things on the counter. It was to help a family pay for funeral costs. As I was getting ready to drop some money in, the clerk leans in and proceeded to tell me that I shouldnt give anything to that family because it was a suicide and the person should have been thinking about their kids. I shouldnt give anything because obviously there is something wrong with that family etc. The walls closed in on me. My vision got dark. How dare that woman act that way. That family needed more help than my spare change. Did she realize that its whispers like that that make survivors live in shame, that we learn to speak around the truth. Its what makes staying in the same area so hard. Its those whispers and looks that make the first day of school, practice or even just shopping so hard. Its those whispers that make parent teacher conferences so hard. If a child tells a teacher their parent died in an accident or natural causes, they get a hug and are told it will be ok. If a child tells a teacher their parent died by suicide there is an akward, uncomfortable silence and a meeting set up with the childs care giver. Its those whispers and silent looks that keep so many from seeking help depression, anxiety, ptsd and all the other illnesses that are just in your head. It is the reason so many live in isolation, scared someone may see the prescription bottles in the bathroom. Its those whispers that made me look at my feet and mumble thats an issue close to my heart as I dropped in another dollar and walked away. It is that look that made me afraid to tell my story to a stranger because I didnt want that whisper to be about me and my family.
Posted on: Thu, 07 Aug 2014 03:18:38 +0000
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