My uncle died nearly two weeks ago. We were preparing to go on vacation. We were to leave to go to KS on Saturday and then to Colorado on Monday. Then back to kansas in time for the fourth of July festivities and fair.
Tuesday night my mom called and told us that my uncle had died from a self inflicted gun shot wound. The sentence is still haunting on so many levels.
We weren’t particularly close by any means. We saw each other a couple times a year. We were Facebook friends. Beyond that he kept up with us through my mom who talked to him every night. I will miss him. But honestly this is more about the suicide than about losing my uncle.
My plan was to take my life on my birthday in 127 days barring I don’t get pregnant before then. I don’t know what to do now. In a way I’m jealous. He was more courageous than me. He did something I haven’t had the courage to do.
I’m not killing myself for attention but to get rid of the pain and struggles I deal with every day. No one understands. No one understands the physical and emotional pain of depression. And I feel so ashamed because I can’t do something as simple as being happy right. I feel so alone. The friends I used to be able to talk to about this have gotten tired of putting up with me. If I was my friend I would be too.
But now my mom has enough to deal with because of my Uncle’s death. Regardless of what I may think the initial death thing is a big deal. Funerals, wills — all of it has to be taken care of. I don’t know if she is strong enough to take my death so soon after. But I don’t know that I am strong enough to live much longer. And so I’m stuck, alone and afraid.