My dad died of depression: this is how I dealt with his suicide

“Mourning is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but you can’t. All unused love gathers in the corners of the eyes, lumps in the throat, and recessed parts of the chest. Condolences are just. It’s love and there’s nowhere to go. “~ Jamie Anderson

When I was 17, my father died of depression. This is now almost 22 years ago.

But for the first 15 years after his death, I think he died of illness. That’s true. I didn’t want to say it was a psychological illness. Cancer, people probably assumed.

I didn’t want to know anything about his “illness”. I escaped from things that smell even from a distance, such as mental health problems.

Instead, I put him on a pedestal. He was my fallen angel and was with me throughout my life. It wasn’t his fault that he left me. It was because of illness.

Great Wall of China in Jessica

But no, my father died of suicide. He chose to leave this life.He chose to leave myself behind. At least I felt it every time my anger was taken over.

And boy, I was angry. From time to time, I just picked up a towel, wrapped it in my hand, and whisked shit from everything in the room with a towel.

But how can you get angry with the man you are the victim of? you can’t. So I got angry with the world instead and built a 10-story high wall. I don’t think anyone, including people close to us, can really get inside.

What should I do? I didn’t even know what the “inside” was. For a long time, it was just a deep, dark hole in me.

Sure, I was still Jessica. A girl who loves rainbows and glitter. She’s just a girl she just wanted to feel joy.

And I was there. Whenever I go out in nature. I didn’t realize it at the time, but whenever I was on the beach, in the forest, in the park, I was happy and calm.

But whenever I was between the four walls, I was restless, lonely, and excited. This has been going on for a very long time. According to some therapists, I think this is about 20 years. This is a fairly “normal” period for some people to really reconcile with the traumatic death of their parents.

But in the meantime, alcohol and parties were my only coping mechanism. I split my ass for several years. Drink all night until you vomit, then continue to drink. I couldn’t remember half the time how I got home and what happened that night.

Hello darkness, my old friend

Unfortunately, all that alcohol came at a price. I experienced the worst hangover in the world — not only physically but also mentally. When I was 21 years old alone at home with a hangover, I had my first panic attack. More people followed, and I developed panic disorder.

I became afraid to be afraid. I didn’t tell anyone, because I was scared so they would think I was crazy.

The period of those anxieties did not last for more than a few months. However, they usually followed a sort of winter depression. At the worst moment, I felt like the only person who understood me was gone. I felt like no one loved me, not as much as my dad. And I thought about death myself. I didn’t really want to die, but at times it looked like a great “break” from all the pain.

Acceptance and spiritual healing

Finally, I went to see the therapist in my mid-20s. She helped me a lot and realized that a panic attack was just a physical response to stress. Still, until I trained a yoga teacher a few years later, I finally learned how to stop those panic attacks forever.

I wanted to know more about the mechanism of mind and body, so I devoted myself to mental and physical health and started researching and writing mental health.

I now understand that self-love, or at least self-acceptance, and solid self-esteem are important to our mental health. And I know it’s very difficult to ask for help because people with mental health problems feel that way. Their lack of narcissism makes them think they are a burden.

I understand that at that moment my dad hadn’t seen any other solution to his suffering other than getting out of this life.Hooray No It means he didn’t love me or my family.

The pain of losing my father actually opened the door to my spiritual healing. It took me to now. It taught me to live my life to the fullest.

It taught me to obey my heart because life is so precious that it gets stuck everywhere and feels like junk. And it wanted to help others by sharing my story.

I accepted myself as I am now. I know it’s enough. I know how stability feels and how to stay relaxed, even though my body is wired to be stressful about small things due to the child’s trauma. I learned.

Share our devil and kill together

But to be honest, the pain of losing him stays with me for the rest of my life. And sometimes it exists as much as it did 20 years ago. I have no intention of covering it with a positive “unicorn” endnote.

Instead, I want to be raw, honest, and open. Depression and suicide smoke. But what I want to do is help open a conversation on this topic. Just as we talk about mental health, we want to talk about mental health as normal.

Too many people live in the dark because of their stigma and fear. Life is sometimes cruel. And all humans on this planet have to deal with shit. It would be great if we were genuine about it, shared our story, and others could build relationships and find comfort.

I hope my story will be useful in some way.

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