I don’t blog about my struggles with anxiety, migraines, PCOS, or chronic pain to complain, whine, or rant (although that does happen from time to time). I also don’t do it to make people feel uncomfortable or sympathetic for me. I do it to remind people they have to talk about these things. They can’t keep them bottled up forever or eventually they explode.
I’ve said before that the only “real person” in my books is Malachi Blake. For the purpose of this post, we’ll just call him M. When M and I were in school (he is a handful of years older than me), he called me one night crying. His best friend had committed suicide.
I didn’t know his friend all that much, just a few words here and there. The guy was nice and polite around me. He was also one of the most popular high school boys around. I have no idea why he put up with M enough to be his best friend, but that is another thought for another day.
The point is, it wasn’t expected. There were no warning signs as far as anyone could tell. He just went home one day after school and killed himself. None of his friends or family had ever suspected he might be suicidal or might be dealing with things he didn’t think he could handle. It was tragic in so many ways… It left an impression on me. Not because I really knew the guy, but because I couldn’t believe that with so many friends and a close family, that he wouldn’t have a support network to help him deal with whatever life was throwing at him.
We still don’t know what that was either. There was no note, which is fairly common. No explanation as to why he would do it. No indicators that he had been thinking about it. There was just this great big gaping black hole of questions. Over the last two decades, I have often wondered about the what-ifs… if he had just talked to someone about it, been willing to open up about whatever the problem or problems were would it have been different.
From my own experiences with life, I have learned that we are often worried about burdening people with our problems so much so, that we keep our lips sealed. Or we are embarrassed about them, so we say nothing. Or we are so afraid of how people’s perceptions of us will change that we bully ourselves into staying quiet about it.
So if candidly discussing nipple hair on women or how my ass check can swell up from stubbing my pinky toe can reach one person and make them feel less alone or help one person start looking for the answers they need in their lives, then it’s worth it. For the most part, I don’t care what the world knows about me and I feel I must talk about those sorts of things… just in case there is someone reading my words that might get a little help and comfort from them.