Remembering Roswell Friend

I stumbled across a story of a young man’s suicide this morning.  He went for a run and never came back. This happened less than a year ago. I have no connection to this young man, well, not really.  I’ve never been diagnosed by a professional, but I struggle with depression as well.  I’ve always chalked it up to “being an artist,” but I receive simplicity way too strongly for my own good.  My memory has hold of too many nights spent weeping for no reason.  It also holds hands with many evenings crying over hurts whose wounds should no longer be open, but are and seep painfully.

Reading Roswell Friend’s story was hard.  I grieve for his family and applaud their strength.  Losing someone is consistently difficult.  If that person took their life on purpose the pain is from a different blade.  They chose to leave.

What Roswell did, was selfish, but I can absolutely understand what brought him to that place.

 

Related Posts:

Eight “I’s” and one “When”

It’s officially depression sans the emotional kickback

Things that make me sad

So this is what depression feels like

 

2 thoughts on “Remembering Roswell Friend

  1. So you just sent an e-mail and I clicked on your blog…

    I glanced at this and read… I often am sad, frustrated and disalusioned about how this country handles and labels emotions. I think many of us struggle with our emotions and feel as though they are too much and or too extreme compared to others. But what if we swallow them, and hide and bury them until they are so unbearable that we must weep and cry for what it seems is no reason. What if you mourned the loss of your mother and father like others… what if you wore black for a year, or screamed and cried publicly like others do at funerals in other countries…what if we could express our selves openly and without fear…what if we could put names to our emotions that honor them instead of discrediting them with words like depression?

    Just some thoughts…I welcome a discussion…

    Excuse my typos…

  2. I agree with you. As a society we have done a terrible job with handling grief. Our culture often defines itself by partiality. Look at Christmas. It’s part pagan and part Jesus.

    Our capitalist culture has provided us with brevity in terms of loss. Some are permitted five days of bereavement when someone dies, but only if that loved one “lived out of town.” AND that’s a luxury afforded to those with jobs who will allow them to take that time.

    I wonder “who” or “how” I’d be if I were apart of a culture that embraced my grief and allowed me to do so as well. I think I’d be different.

    That being said, my reference to depression while including my grief over death, also includes darker parts of me that I don’t mention to many. At first glance I’d say they are disconnected with death because I’ve been dealing with them since before I “lost” anyone “significant.” But, I will admit, it is not impossible that they could be tied to grief as well.

    Thanks for reading, commenting, and welcoming discussion.

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