Edit– And thanks to the fucking awesome commenter who left this one. Please, as I said, Fuck Off.
No, I haven’t wondered why suicide isn’t reported in the news. I know. I’ve studied siocial work, if any of you think you know me that well, you would know that.
Go, Google fucking LifeLine if you have a problem. Call them. This is my space, my life, my FUCKING REALITY. And it is fucking real. And I’m sorry- not, actually, but whatever- but anyone else’s mental health is not my fucking consideration at the moment.
After what I’ve been through, what I’ve seen, you expect me to be able to show in depth consideration on the sociological ramifications of talking about suicide?
Maybe that’s half the fucking problem. We don’t talk, not ever. This is too real, too fucking difficult.
Well, as I said- fuck you.
I have blogged, honestly, every day, for over a year a now. About everything.
You expect me to stop because a subject is taboo?
You really don’t know me at all.
Oh, and by the way, my shrink- the professional, the one who does know all the in’s and outs of this- assures me, in no uncertain therms, that this is morte likely to help people, than hurt them. That mentioning, or talking about suicide, doesn’t set it off, but instead releases the pressure.
And she says- fuck you, too.
My awesome mate Jodie blogged about me this morning. Thank you, Jodie. I love you.
This post is in response, partly, to the email Jodie received, which she has updated her post about.
I’m sure that emailer is not the only one who thinks that way.
Excuse me while I say, with all rationality and clarity, whether this person consider themselves an online ‘friend’ of mine or not- Fuck you.
You really think reading the ugliness of reality, of suicide is going to trigger someone? Thanks so much for putting that out there. Really. For a person with zero self esteem like I have, that fucking helps.
Is it better to speak, or not to speak? Is it better to be silent? Would you rather me pretend this didn’t happen? I take no responsibility for anyone’s else’s actions. No one is so powerful that a blog post can prompt someone to suicide if that weren’t already at that point.
Do you not fucking get that? Have you read fucking nothing I’ve written? Why should I be quiet? Why should I not blog this, the way I have with the rest of my life, over the last year? Do you expect me to keep it quiet?
This is my reality. This is my truth. I don’t give a flying fuck what you think, if it makes you uncomfortable, if you, from your righteous, all-knowing point of view feel the right to judge that.
Go where I’ve been. Walked where I’ve walked. Watch your husband fucking hang himself, and then you may judge me and what I write.
And as for anyone’s concerns over my children- a much bigger- FUCK YOU.
I am their mother. They are three and one year’s old.
Do you think, by the time their old enough to research this, that they won’t know the details of their father’s death? Do you think this will be kept a secret?
Do you think I won’t tell them the fucking truth?
What harm will it be, to know their mother was human? To know that their mother hurt, and pined, and this was an awful, awful thing?
Do you think they won’t know that already?
Once again, do not judge me. Any of you. Don’t you dare. Walk where I’ve walked, been where I’ve been, be who I am, and then you may judge me.
Until then, your concerns are pointless. Worth nothing. You know nothing of my life, but what I blog here.
I refuse to be held responsible for other people’s actions. (Fuck you).
My children are my children, and my fucking concern. I know I am the best possible mother they could have, to get them through this. Why is everyone always so fucking worried, about our children seeing what we write on our blogs? Aren’t they people, too? One day, they will be older, and have their own emotions, perspectives and ideals. And I don’t mind the thought of them knowing mine, years down the track, when their old enough.
Feeling the way I am is nothing to be ashamed of. The fucking reality of this is nothing to be ashamed of.
One day, my children will have their own truth. This will always be a part of it.
This is my fucking truth, and I refuse to hide from it.
Again, cordially, fuck you. Your concerns are worth nothing. You see what I show you, don’t patronise me by thinking you know better, here, in this situation, than I do.