Good morning Love Birds.
Yesterday, I received some saddeningly ugly news.
A particularly significant ex-boyfriend of mine committed suicide a few days ago.
I haven't seen or spoken to him in years. This boy was not significant because he was still a part of my life--he was significant in the way that someone who altered you--for good AND bad--only can be.
He was not a nice person. I say that knowing full well that, in death, most people find something nice to say. And yet.
He wasn't nice.
He was abusive and dark and selfish and sweet and charming and romantic. Yep, he was "that guy" for me. In so many twisted ways. On my eighteenth birthday, I threw myself out of a dysfunctional home environment into an even more dysfunctional relationship. And from there, it spiraled downward.
He wasn't nice.
He was abusive and dark and selfish and sweet and charming and romantic. Yep, he was "that guy" for me. In so many twisted ways. On my eighteenth birthday, I threw myself out of a dysfunctional home environment into an even more dysfunctional relationship. And from there, it spiraled downward.
Looking back, I can remember knowing that he was damaged. But then, we both were. And although I probably couldn't have put it into these words at the time, I know now that my deepest, darkest secret desire, expectation even, was that we would somehow save each other. I thought we'd be messed up together, get into trouble, toe the line of the law, fall onto the wrong side of it a few times even. But then, we'd drag each other up and out and put each other back together again.
Only, that didn't happen.
One horrible straw led to another and finally, came the LAST straw and then I had no choice but to get away. To stop trying to bring him with me and just GO. I left in the kind of way that felt hard and fast and completely cutting. I haven't spoken to him since. That was 12 years ago.
Then, yesterday, I received the news that he'd shot himself.
It's so, so sad, but for me it was deeper than an unfortunate story in the news of someone I once knew. It's brought to surface all sorts of old feelings. Not the least of which is that feeling of wanting to save him, of wanting him to save me. And in the end, neither one happened.
In the end, I saved myself.
In the end, I saved myself.
This is not a post about "hey, thanks for being a jerk so I could get motivated to heal my life."
This is not a post about "suicide is so tragic. I wish we'd all done more."
It's just an observation. The choice to be saved from "that other path" is your own. Never anyone else's. You can't blame someone else for your failures. But, fortunately, that means you can't blame someone else for your success either.
In the end, it's up to you.
Today, more than other days, I'm so grateful that I saved myself.