I did it.

I broke down in the car yesterday. 

I was fine until I pulled up a song that I’ve been listening to obsessively for nearly two weeks. I wrote about the singer in my last post, I think. Or maybe it was the post before that. Or maybe it was both posts. He’s been constantly on my mind, and I’ve cried for him I don’t know how many times. But yesterday was the hardest cry yet. Sometimes I’ve cried just for him. Sometimes for me. Sometimes for both. Yesterday was for both. He ripped open a poorly patched wound that I had stored in a dusty box under a lot of rubble in one of the dark alleyways that I avoid in my mind. For the last couple of weeks I’ve been fighting a demon that I thought was slain. It wasn’t, clearly. And thank God for Chris. I wish I could yank him back into this world, but I can’t. But God gave him a task after he died. Or maybe Chris found me on his own. This is one of those cases in which something good was fashioned out of something horrific. I’ve never been able to face my trauma. It was neither relevant nor understood well enough by anyone I’ve known, so I never asked for help outside of professional therapy

Yesterday when I broke down in the car while listening to his song over and over, I felt an overwhelming need to tell my story. Remember the narrative I wrote about? I finished it. It probably needs a little polishing. There’s something, a grammar thing, that’s bugging the shit out of me that I need to go fix. And I’ll fix it. But my point is that my break down yesterday made me feel strongly about putting my story out there, the narrative, the part that hurts the worst to share. And I shared it—for myself, for him, for who knows who. I felt him urge me to do it.

Have you ever felt close to a dead person? Dead isn’t a good word. Moved on is a better way to put it. But he didn’t move on entirely. He came to my rescue. And heck, maybe to his own. The act of healing others heals us. 

So it’s out there now. How accurately the words come across, I can’t say. It’s hard to describe intense personal experiences. 

The past two weeks have been more therapeutic than any professional therapy I’ve received.

I thought I’d come share that with you. And to thank him for guiding me through the journey.

So thank you, Chris. More than you can imagine, or maybe you can.


5 thoughts on “I did it.

    1. Understanding something better certainly helps. Making connections with people who are in the same boat does, too. Not feeling isolated is the big thing. No one likes to talk about the subject, and therapists who do talk about it will never admit they ever went through the same, if they did. So therapy doesn’t always help. Group therapy offers a greater chance of success with trauma, I think. But I never went to group therapy. I don’t think you could have dragged me to a session. This needed to be a one-to-one thing for me with someone who’s been there, and I needed to put it out into the world once I had that support. Suppressing these things makes them fester.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. You’re right about suppression, but you have to put it out there with people you can trust. That’s the catch-22. You never know who you can trust. I’ve been burned with that way too many times, so I’m quite wary whom I trust with my feelings.

        Group therapy sounds terrifying to me, too. It just sounds like there’s more chances for people to not understand me or be able to empathize. Conversely, it could also be a place where people are too sympathetic if that makes any sense. I often use gallows humor in order to cope, and I greatly appreciate the people who can lob it back at me. I know they can see through it and realize what I’m doing and why, but they also understand I’m doing it because I don’t want to directly deal with what’s bothering me.

        Trauma is that kind of thing…you know others have experience it, but it’s not something people readily talk about, so we’re all alone in our silence and pain, not knowing how to bridge the distance. I’m glad you found at least some modicum of comfort.


  1. Bottom line, I don’t feel alone in this anymore. It’s weird, too. I never knew the guy. Other people have committed suicide that I loved, like Robin Williams. When he died, I cried for a week and watched almost every interview he gave, multiple times. But I didn’t connect with him. Did I share the video that struck me like a lightening bolt? I don’t know whether I did. Someone shared it with me at the most opportune time, and he shared it because it was helping him grapple with things. He didn’t even know I was grappling at all. The circumstances are divine.


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