Old: A friend's husband killed himself yesterday. Don't do it. Don't don't don't don't. This, that I wrote for beautiful amazing crisp Ray, is still true, so I'm going to quote the whole thing again right here:
I know what it's like, the pain. Every minute of being alive tastes scorched; every breath hurts like the slice of a knife. Knowing that there isn't really anything good enough about being here, for any of us, to outweigh the bleakness. Feeling the hurt of the whole world channeled through the dull greyness of every 3 am minute.
How did any of us who've been there hold on until things got better? I honestly don't know. For some of us it was a choice. Knowing something was going to change, even a little bit, if we could just hang on. But for others it's just not going. Wake up, go to sleep. Eat. Repeat that enough times and one day it doesn't hurt as much. Who knows why.
You are not perfect. You may screw up on a daily basis. You may feel like your efforts don't do anything. Like everything you touch turns to crap. Like the people around you would be better off without you. But that is not the case. It's just not. No one is perfect. Everyone screws up. It's what makes us real and layered and interesting. You are as special for your faults as despite them.
Someone I loved and lost once told me, "It's no trick for God to work through someone perfect. The more broken you are, the more God shows his glory by shining through you." Whether you believe in a guiding force or not, the universe creates imperfection. You in all your weakness are exactly what we need.
Please stay. Even if you don't know how. Just keep getting up in the morning. Eat what you can. Drink water. Go to bed, even if you can't sleep. Go outside and turn your face to the sun. If you can, do this with Teresa for 3 minutes a few times a day. And tell someone how you feel. A friend. A stranger. Leave it in the comments here.
This post is for my friend Ray, who went.