How many subject lines I have written, none of which fit my current thought process. Sitting here trying to get shit faced in the middle of the day, so I can black out before I do something unspeakable, makes my thoughts run together in such a way that they only make sense to me.
I want so badly to find a copy of the eulogy spoken at Wes Brights funeral. It must have been 10 years ago now, but it made so much sense to me that I've never forgotten it. Wes was so funny, and full of life, and until the last few months before he died, you'd have never guess he was so fucked in the head. He was an instructor in the academy, and to me, a friend. And I remember talking to him on the phone about 6 months befor he died, and he was so depressed, and sad, and I just couldn't get to him. But I remember talking to him and thinking, "he's not going to be okay." I was right. He ended up shooting himself in the head when his marriage fell apart.
How do you eulogize a cop who killed himself? It seems the ultimate cowardly act. But at the funeral, as the minister was speaking, he talked about the symbolic "backpack" that everyone carries throughout their life. And how, as you move on through hardships, you pick up things, heavy things, things that are hard to bare the weight of, and you carry them in your backpack. Sometimes, there are people there to help you carry that load, and sometimes, you bare the weight of it alone. He talked about how Wes's pack got too full, and he couldn't carry it anymore. How he decided the day he took his life to simply, "set his pack down." And he spoke so fondly of Wes, and assured him that now, in his passing, that we understood his load was too heavy, and we would carry his pack for him. It sounds so simple, and to me, it was. I had a great affection for Wes Bright. And much as I wanted to be angry that he killed himself, I couldn't. I understood that weight that he carried, and I understood the hasty choice he made that day.
Same as I understood the decision of Matt Acker, and the Vietnam Vet who slashed his wrists - and who I watched die - back in 1997 in Pacific Division. And the young girl who hanged herself in her bedroom, and who's mom found her, and Lamar Youngblood who overdosed over a failed relationship, and that kid that blew his brains out with a shotgun in the manors a few years back. I understand those peoples choices, because on days life this, when I'm alone and no one is here to help me with my pack, I want to set it down too. I want to check out and stop hurting - the same way that they did. But I know that I can't.
I look at the pictures of my boys with their Dad and Stepmom, and see what a family looks like. A family that I don't have....and I feel invisible. I feel like they won't notice if I'm gone. They don't call me, they don't email me, they don't even put me in their MySpace top friends - that's for their stepmom. They won't even miss me. But maybe, just maybe, I keep telling myself - they would. And I don't want to take that chance. The chance at ruining a future filled with the love and affection of my kids. It's not here today, but maybe one day....maybe....it will be. So I keep holding on. I keep carrying this pack that's way too heavy for me, and I keep hoping that someday, someone will come along that will want to help me carry these burdens.....but the wait it killing me.
It may not be killing me literally, I may not have put a gun to my head, or hung myself, but I'm dying every day a little more. Everyday I lose more and more of the person that I used to be, and everyday I move closer to just giving up all together. My friends are not naive....they see it happening. And so, they either distance themselves from me, or they try in vain to assure me things will get better. I appreciate their sentiments. I do. I know how hard it is to talk to someone on the edge of insanity....I've done it myself - to no avail. Once someone has decided they want to crawl into oblivion, there's little anyone can do to coax them out.
And that's where I am. Lost. With nothing but memories of what my life used to be. I used to be happy, and carefree, and fun...and alive. And now, I'm a ghost. Waiting for something to take me off this course of self destruction. I drive the freeway waiting for an accident to put me out of my misery, or wondering why I'm not stricken wiht some terminal illness. I have all the health and vitality I need to live a long life...only I have no will to live it.
My dad was in this place when he died of a heart attack. He had lost hope, lost his will to live...I remember. We even talked about it. And so, while I was devastated by his death....I took comfort in the fact that he was out of his misery. He didn't have that pack to carry any longer. I remember standing at his casket at 22 years old, and wispering to him, "take me with you." Some people are just pre-disposed to depression I guess. And it would seem I'm one of them. Such is life. The highs may be very high, but the lows, are almost unbearable.
The saddest part it, as was the case with Wes Bright, if I post this blog - which is what I truly want to do - people may be so concerned about my well being that they alert my department. And then I get to joing the "rubber gun" squad - which is no place to be. Which is all together ridiculous, because I'm such a vain and squeemish person that If I was gonna kill myself, I'd never in a million years shoot myself. But such is the case with law enforcement. We aren't supposed to get weak, or depressed, or have thoughts of suicide.....otherwise we are considered "defective" and "not strong enough." I've worried for so long about anyone realizing how truly fucked I was in the head, that honestly, at this point...I just don't give a shit anymore.
I'm on my third drink at 3 p.m. - one more and I'll hopefully be sleeping the rest of this shit day away.....
DISCLAIMER UPDATE - 11-13-08: Depressed, YES. Horribly shitty day of my life, YES. Suicidal, NO. Cry for help, NO. Just a blog, an outlet for my frustration and emotional turmoil, a mental mind-dump of sorts. Sorry for the undue stress it may have caused some of you. I truly am. So yeah. Probably not a good idea to post these types of blogs without first assuring everyone that you are in fact - NOT going to kill yourself.
Fear not my friends...I will live to blog again!
c. November 13, 2008
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