I read this piece today and I can’t shake it. Firstly, just to get it out of the way, it is a beautifully written piece about a tragedy which shows no judgement, just the sad sad facts.
I think the part of it I struggle with most is how many of us fly that close to being *that* overwhelmed? What’s the difference? That we don’t have a partner checking out as well? That we have friends who won’t accept just being spoken to at the front door, who’ll barge in and throw that load of washing on, wash up the breakfast plates, make you make the call to support services?
Every day I think about killing myself but every day I don’t. The reasons for that are actually quite few and range from the very obvious to the seemingly insignificant.
Being connected, knowing people care about you no matter the state of your brain, your house or your life is so so important. This is more than asking if someone is OK, this is checking in, listening, distracting with inane nonsense and stories to make them laugh because life is messy and sometimes just kicking a clear trail through the debris is enough.