I write a lot about mental health, because until I lost Adrian, I had no clue how much my own mental health could and would change.
Prior to his loss, for example, I was a fairly positive person. I had no frame of reference to know then that positive thinking can’t solve every trauma. It was one of many shocks for post-loss me.
But specifically, I’ve written a lot about suicide, and some of the many misconceptions surrounding it. For me, one thing I personally experienced is the existence of the in-between stage of suicidal feelings; that period where you aren’t actively making plans to end your life, but neither would you object if something terrible happened to you.
I spent a long time in that stage.
I spent so long there, in fact, that it started to feel permanent, and I was okay with that. Even when new joys started to creep in, there was always an undercurrent of happiness being temporary (or disloyal).
And then earlier this week, something happened. There was a real world emergency that was thankfully resolved well, but gave me about 30 minutes of fear. And I realized during it that I—finally—was actively opposed to the thought of dying.
And wow is that an unexpected change!
And I’m obviously not perfectly healed or anything, and I’m not going to try to be a grief guru now (because gross), but I wanted to share about it, because it felt like an important and maybe bittersweet point for me.
Somehow, when I wasn’t looking for it, life snuck back in.
