I feel like I should add a trigger warning here. It’s about ending one’s own existence.
Since I got sober, I’ve been crazy about telling my loved ones that I love them. Like, it’s an overwhelming need. My friends and family do so much for me, just by existing, and even though they know I love them, I feel the need to just say it out loud.
Dammit, now I’m getting emotional just writing this. 109 days sober today btw.
Actually, I think the love thing started in mid-July of last year. I get my daily meds “pre-packaged” and delivered twice a week by these home nurse (ish) people, in small bags. They’ve done that for 6 or 7 years now because I’m an occasional sui risk, and it’s dangerous for me to keep too many meds in my apartment.
On the 18th of July last year, I was having a pretty rough time. It’s that kind of depression where you know that you’ve got a lot of stuff looking forward to, but you find yourself in a moment where nothing really matters that much. That is the effect that vodka has had on me for the last decade.
So, last summer I drank some vodka that a friend had left at my apartment. I drank the whole thing, and then took all my pills. I called 911 after a while. I’d just been sitting there essentially planning my own funeral when I got that clarity and called for help.
I was out of it for about a day in the hospital. My parents came to visit when I came to on Saturday night, my brothers came, in addition to two ladies from psych who wanted to admit me for observation for a few days when I was discharged from the ICU.
I told them, absolutely not. There was a metal festival held the next weekend just outside my town, and my brother’s band was playing. If I’d said yes, I wouldn’t have been allowed to go. So I blew them off against common sense. When I was released on Sunday, my parents came to get me so I could go home and change, then we went to their place so I could recover with my family in the sun.
Like, there really was so much to look forward to. The festival, meeting the guys from my favorite band (they came all the way from Germany to play at that small festival), my sister was pregnant, my mom’s birthday was on Friday the next week, and the summer was so warm and beautiful. I would have died with fomo, and I wasn’t ready for that.
The festival kicked off on my mom’s birthday. It’s a pretty small and local place like 3 kilometers from my home village, so there were a lot of her friends there just socializing. They got her drunk, and it was fun. My SIL worked there as a photographer so she parked inside the festival area, and I was broke, so I’d brought wine with me and went to the car occasionally to keep my buzz going. I ended up so screwed up at some point.
Crying down at the beach, messing up my makeup, getting my dress dirty, talking stupid crap… I was so messed up. My brothers who were looking after me kept me in a safe location where they made me eat, and chug a lot of water. My SIL went to the car to get the change of clothes I’d cleverly brought with me “just in case I got my outfit dirty”, which was inevitable to happen.
I was at a good enough place just in time to see my favorite band. Me and my brother (the one who’s stepped up as a ‘dad’) were in the front row, and I cried through the whole thing. The guys in the band had noticed from the stage and when we met them afterwards, they asked me what was wrong, why I’d been crying.
When I was standing there watching them live, it occurred to me that if I’d succeeded the week before, I would have missed it. The concert. This moment where I got to meet them, take pictures and remember it forever. But I figured that telling them that would have been oversharing. So instead I said that I was crying because I was such a big fan and had been wanting to meet them for years. Because that was part of the truth!
After that, the way my brothers had taken such good care of me and showed me that love that I honestly felt I didn’t deserve, the way my entire family just stepped up in that rough time, I started feeling that irresistible urge to just tell them that I love them.
And I just wanna say it all the time, to make sure they know. It’s probably annoying at this point. But I get filled with such intense feelings, and I have to let them know. My family has never really been good at telling each other that, so I guess I’m trying to normalize it. My 90 yo grandma was kinda taken aback when I started telling her that I love her, she’s never been that kind of person either and was hesitant. But now we end phone calls and visits by telling each other that we love each other. I mean, she’s 90 years old. Better to say it one time too much than miss that last chance.
My older brothers were also a little “weirded out” and awkward by my affectionate words, and just gave me hugs when I’ve said it to them, but now they say it back as well.
There’s just… unconditional love there. Like it should be. I don’t need to say it. But I want to. I wanna spread love. Tomorrow one of them might be gone.
Thanks for reading. I’m gonna go cry for a bit.