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Things you shouldn't say to a survivor of spousal suicide

from Oddman - Wednesday, August 13, 2008
accessed 431 times


Ten days since she passed away.

So I've been venting on a number of social networking services and online communities.

People have been calling and emailing. Most everyone I know, now knows.

While I wouldn't call the support overwhelming, it's good to know that some people care.

I've had a number of people send me their numbers, so I could call if I needed someone to talk to. Some absolute strangers too. Time is a valuable commodity. I appreciate the offers of time like no other offer. Haven't called anyone up, mostly because I've been in bed for 8 of the days since she passed. You people know who you are. Thank you.

But some people don't get it. Do you want to help, or do you want to feel like you helped?

"Suicide is so selfish." Go to hell. Die, bleed, burn, and have your ass raped with a ten foot chainsaw. Say one bad word about my woman, and we never speak again, I don't care how close we've been before. She's dead. Deceased. Have some respect. I don't care what you think. I love her.

"Yeah, it took me years to get over my..." You broke up with your ex. Boo fucking hoo. You were cheating on her anyway. (you know who you are)

"When my grandpa" died of fucking old age at 80 something. Tough luck. Yeah look, it must have been tough. I feel for you. Really I do. I lost a 10 year old sister. She was a human torch, head to toe at age 5. I'm not over that, and never will be. Even that is not the same as this, ok?

"I know what you're going through" No, you fucking don't. I much prefer those who honestly say "Look, I can't even imagine, but I'm there for you." And don't speak for her. I was closest to her, and I don't have all the answers. Only she knows, alright?

"You can't go follow after her. You commit suicide, you go straight to hell." Catholic fucking dipshit. So you're trying to comfort me by telling me my baby is burning in hell? Please, if you don't care enough to read what I said, don't bother sending me an email. "She's so beautiful, God must have wanted her near Him." Thanks. I'm not religious, but that was sweet. See, words like this mean a lot to me.

"Time will heal. You'll learn to forget." Again, dipshit, what makes you think I want to forget? If I'm going to forget, I'd sooner shoot gut my belly with a picnic fork, while her memories are still intact. I don't want to forget. I don't want to open a window, cause her breath will leave the room. I don't want to empty the rubbish bins, cause there's the cleenex she's used. I don't want to vacuum, cause her hair is on the floor. I don't want to brush my teeth, cause her kiss is still there. I don't want to shower, cause her sweat is still there. Say what you will. You'll never fucking understand.

"You got to think about the future. What's your plan?" Dead fiance. No marriage ceremony. No white dress. No children that look like her. No joint account. No little house with the picket fence. I don't have any fucking plans. I know my card's on hold cause I haven't paid, I know I haven't been to fucking work, and I know I can't pay the bills. I know I'll have to move from this flat we shared, and I know I'll have to get rid of her things. I know and I wish I didn't. I know the world isn't gonna stop on it's axis, just because she's gone. It fucking should. Fuck you.

"You'll meet someone nice. You'll love again." What the fuck is your point? She's half of me. My better half. She is me. Sure, I'll probably fuck again someday. She'd have wanted that. Told me when she was diagnosed with CFIDS "Look, if I ever get too sick to fuck, I want you to sleep with someone else." Also said, "look, I'm too sick to go on that date, so why don't you go the the strip club?" You have no idea how much woman she was. I'm sure I'll find a spare somewhere, right?

"You need therapy" I went to a therapist, the day after the cremation. Fucker thought I should get on the same medication than she OD'd on. Thank's doc, I'll come again when I'm more suicidal.

"you're just depressed." OF-Fucking-Course I'm depressed.

Listen. The love of my life died before my eyes. Holding my hand. resting on my knees. Looking through my eyes, and into my soul. I am not going to ever be the fucking same. Maybe I'll survive, but I won't be the same guy you once knew. You'll have to live with that. If that isn't good enough for you, find yourself a better friend. Don't define "getting through" as "being as happy and chirpy as he was before, oh, his bitch died on him." I will never ever be the same. Not a week after, not ten days after, and not a decade after, if I last that long. I'm not going to "snap out of it" and I'm not going to "get over her". Every night as I prepare to sleep without her, I make a conscious decision to not die yet. Getting through is hard enough. I'm not thinking of getting over shit. And no, I do not "need a hit" as much as I may, that's no way to honor the woman who got me clean.

So look, if you care about me, care about her. If you don't care about her, you can't help me. I don't even want to talk about me. If you don't understand, don't bother. You're extending an unsheathed blade to a drowning man. You expect me to grab that and thank you, fuck you. Fuck the fucking planet.

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from Eva St John
Saturday, September 06, 2008 - 15:23

Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5(Agree/Disagree?)

Hey there.  My face is soaked with tears for you.  (I'm sorry I somehow missed this post & didn't see it & read it until today).  I wish I could take you in my arms & just hold you & hold you & hold you.  I hope you're managing okay in the face of such destitution.  Hang in there bro.  My heart & thoughts are with you.  Let yourself feel everything, knowing that at your core you are greater even than all your heaviest thoughts & feelings, & can embrace them & encompass them like a parent nursing an injured child.  Cherish everything about her & let all those things live on in you.

I once stopped breathing on the operating table & I left my body & saw some of 'the other side'.  It is indescribably beautiful, so much so that its very difficult to want to come back. - And no benevolent God would send someone to 'hell' just for being unable to cope with the harshness of this world.  Angels go to where they belong, & they are only a breath away.  She is not far.  Talk to her.  She will communicate with you in your heart.  I am in Canada at present.  If there's anything I can do, let me know.  Take care.
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from rainy
Friday, August 22, 2008 - 02:55


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from chaos*
Friday, August 15, 2008 - 10:27

Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5Average visitor agreement is 5 out of 5(Agree/Disagree?)

Initially I was a little hesitant to post under this article, but after reading it through again, I couldn't help it. Your pain and suffering are so vivid, it couldn't help but invoke some kind of response.

I donít know you nor your woman personally, but I've always had a fairly good impression of you around this site. I for one, thought that I had experienced some loss in my time. But somehow reading your experience so personalized in your pain and your rage leaves a mark on me.

One thought strikes me. It's quite a downer, though I guess necessary realisation for me, that no matter how low our lives have already beaten us down, somebody else has it worse. I can't begin to imagine what it must feel like for you. Your words are indication enough of how lucky most of us are. Life is fragile. Life is cruel. Nothing can be taken for granted. Nothing is guaranteed. There is no justice. There is no rhyme or reason. There is no why. The worst things happen to the best people. There are times that we might justify to ourselves that we deserve better. Sadly, it doesn't mean jack shit.

You may get some insensitive or ill-thought out comments or responses from people, but I sincerely hope that the fact that by and large everyone is rooting for you and hopes and wishes you all the best manages to get through. I donít think there is anything we can say that you donít already know yourself. All I can say is the tragic loss of life is ringing on our screens and in our hearts. On some level, we are connected to you. Though nothing close to the degree that you do, we do feel the effects of your tragedy. We see your sorrow. Whether you chose to try to lift it, drown in it, carry it or whatever, I hope that you find your own way of dealing.

Finally, I know this is not the right place for this but I wrote something a while back for a lost loved one. I know itís not entirely appropriate and granted not under the same circumstances, but I thought maybe you could appreciate some of the sentiments.


I cling to memories that torture my mind.

I dream only in colors of you.

It is said that moving on takes itís time.

And another ďParadise LostĒ is nothing new.


So I sink myself into drunken fest.

I look to the horizon for the next best thing.

Tell myself Iíll become stronger by test.

That somewhere, someday I will uncover meaning.


Meaning to a right turn, on a right road at the wrong timing.

To my fallen cupidís tale of love loss and tragedy.

I brave the oncoming storms in search of silver linings.

But this lifeís no oneís fault, just the way it has to be.


Until at last I can feel no pain.

Holding on to nothing I know canít be kept.

I set out to take tomorrow by itís reins,

With nothing to lose because thereís nothing left.


Iíve closed the book, Iíve turned the page,

And stemmed the tide of my emotions flow.

No more sadness or hope, no passion nor rage.

This is my way of letting you go.


I afford no flashes or feelings to reach me.

No nostalgic lingering moments to remind me.

The only lesson that love had to teach me,

Was to open the door and let sorrow find me.


It took my tears in a glass, my heart in a vice.

What I have I remain, what I gave wonít come back.

My sure thing turned gamble with the devil throwing dice.

And the price I pay for losing is everything he asks.


I walk on though only to cover the distance.

A slave to the future, a prisoner of the past.

Forever to wear these scars as my pittance.

For still love has no cure and good things never last.
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from madly
Thursday, August 14, 2008 - 21:31

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