Let me preface this post: I’m no Linkin Park fan. I didn’t even listen to Stone Temple Pilots while they were with Chester Bennington. However, I am deeply saddened for his six children and all the people whose lives he’s touched personally or lyrically.
I’ve experienced some intense depressive episodes, ones where you’re so numb you can’t cry anymore and you couldn’t care less about anything. True, my manic episodes tend to do more damage, but my depression could end up being more dangerous to my existence than that of the former – damage to my bank account and marriage.
I have a 12, soon to be 13-year-old miniature pinscher whom I believe cannot see or hear and he also hobbles along on three legs some of the time with severe atrophy of his hindquarters. He doesn’t even give me kisses anymore. I’m crying as I type this, you know. The “what are we going to do when the time comes” talk has been initiated but never seen through since I just can’t right now. He’s been my best friend for over 12 years.
The fear in my husband’s heart is “what am I going to do when she goes off the deep end?” It’s inevitable. My buddy isn’t going to live forever and it seems as the days aren’t quite numbered yet, but I…we don’t think he’s going to see another summer.
The point is I have never in my life experienced a time where I idealized suicide. I’ve been lucky, thank God. I guess there has never been a trigger that has driven me to feel as if I had no other option. But when Robin, Chris, Chester and the 121 people per day (on average according to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention) can attempt and follow through with ending their own life, it frightens me that one day I, a mood disorder sufferer, could feel that way too.
This has been just a vent and not a cry for help. Had I been at that dark place, I wouldn’t have had the energy or desire to formulate a blog post, just sayin’.