Today’s post is a bit different.
Today, I am doing something I don’t quite know how to do.
Today, I am asking for your help.
On September 5th, 2012, the guy you see in the picture, my brother, ended his life. He suffered from chronic depression. For several reasons, lack of benefits, lack of awareness surrounding mental illness, he failed to receive treatment before it was too late.
On October 12th, 2013, I will walk for him, and all the others out there who need help. Those who are still here who need to know there is another option; there is someone, more than one person, who cares; who needs you more than you ever realized.
I am asking for your help. It is too late for my brother. It is not too late for thousands of others out there. Organizations like the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, which is sponsoring the walk, need donations to continue to do the work they do.
Everyone has some charity, some rare disease, some local and/or global concern they want you to donate to. And I guess I’m really no different. I’m not knocking anyone who has ever asked for donations. I just understand that the pain and suffering is vast, and it can feel a bit overwhelming trying to contribute to anything or everything. If you can’t donate, I understand. Pockets aren’t exactly deep these days. But you can help in other ways. Pass this message along. Volunteer. Or, probably most importantly, reach out to a friend you know is struggling. Just tell them you are around and you care. Maybe it won’t be enough. But maybe it will be. And a human life is worth a phone call, text, or email.
Life is a funny thing. Not an hour after my sister and I registered for the AFSP walk, one of my favorite Tumblrs sent me this article. It is an article about the sudden loss of a close, close friend. One of the most poignant quotes in the article was this:
“I regret the cute haircut I got last week, because Heather never saw me with my hair like this, so now I am a person she has never seen, and the distance between us gets a little bigger.
My youth feels like a ghost town, an abandoned and dilapidated house I don’t have the keys to anymore. I stand at the window looking in, and I can make out some of the pictures on the walls, and I can see the photo albums on the shelves, but I can’t see what’s inside them. I can’t see the details. Our special language of coded facial expressions and inside jokes is useless.”
Suicide is real. It is permanent. It is forever.
Thank you, friends.