And the other way round.
They feed off each other, hope and living, living and hope. They’re like best friends. Like salt and pepper, like Sonny and Cher. Not that I’m old to remember a time where Sonny wasn’t divorced from Cher, but we won’t dwell on their break-up, because this a good story.
It’s been a crap couple of days trying to talk Darren back from the ledge, sympathizing with him over the view he sees but knowing, myself, that the view could change if he gave it time.
I hate that anybody would ever feel that hopeless, and through experience I know that redemption can come, that relief, other ways, better days, can be round the corner. I walk with the black dog sometimes, depression and me are more than acquaintances and I have been suicidal twice. I know what it is to have a wonderful life, ideas, hope, love, and for them to seem to make no difference. In fact the difference they seemed to make at the time was a bad one. Look at you, with all you have and still you can’t be happy. Guilt and shame that I was taking my life for granted and fear that days like that would never end. It’s difficult to say what stopped me, but I did latch onto the idea that maybe my eldest son would think my suicide was his fault. Strong motivation to not slam my car into the biggest tree on the most winding road near my place.
But Darren doesn’t have kids.
Still, he only has to look at Libby’s experience. She had bouts of depression where she was done. Not another day, thanks, I’m outta here. She came close a few times. But she’d leave hospital and slot back into her life. She found something. Hope, I suppose. Definitely love, but she’d been loved when she made an attempt, I reckon it was hope. When she died, she was sick but she was damn happy, she had her home, and her plans, and Darren. People can do all kinds of things with hope in their back pocket.
Today’s Monday, five days since Darren and I had coffee and calmly discussed how it could be done. I spoke to him around lunchtime and he’s feeling a bit better. He says that yes, he wakes up everyday and first thought is will he last the day out, but he’s going to try to think positive.
This suicide shit is traumatizing. Thank God it’s over, or less on, for the moment. Who knows when it will be front of his mind again. I could worry, but I’ve done enough of that for now. I’ll take Darren to his psych appointment tomorrow, try to let it all wash over me, or better, leave it in handsome Dr Alex’s office, and then I’ll take Darren out for coffee.
I’m thinking positive about his thinking positive.