This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.
And a Really Real Widow Post.
One of those ones that maybe blurs the lines a bit.
Yesterday, one of the people who run the DBT group said, basically, with so much that has been thrown at me in my life, it’s great that I have such a positive outlook, and that I keep getting back up. A lot of other people would have just given up.
Well no shit. I only got 2 out of the 3 of us out alive.
That’s not saying that Parker gave up, because I refuse to believe that. But she couldn’t keep fighting anymore.
People say that my words help them and others. People say that I’m inspirational. People say that I’m strong. People say that I’m doing better than I think I am.
Mostly, I’m just doing everything I can figure out to do to stay, fucking, alive.
Because I know the alternative and right now, out of the family that went through that hell, more of us have lived then have died, and I’d rather not flip the ratio.
What does giving up look like anyway?
Is it even death, really?
We HAD given up! Parker and I spent a lot of years in a state of giving up. We weren’t living, we were just waiting for death, not moving forward, completely stagnated. There was no hope, was no joy, was no reason to keep going but we didn’t even care enough, most of the time, to look for a way to die.
Until she did care enough to look for a way to die and she succeeded.
Which gave me a reason to care enough to look for reasons to actually live.
I hate that it took Parker’s death for me to see how important life is. At the beginning, I often said that she died so I didn’t, because I was headed down that road.
So, I guess I get what they mean when they say someone else would have given up. But it’s not really an option for me anymore. Been there, done that, and now, I’m living for two of us.
I’m carrying the weight of a dead woman on my back because I have to keep living, really living, for her too.
Giving up isn’t an option.