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It's not a surprise

People will speak of surprise.

She seemed so well.

She looked so happy.

She had so much to live for.

Why didn't she ask for help?

How could she leave her children?

Is it really a surprise? Loosing my mind. Loosing my job. My parenting investigated. My body pumped full of poison. The loss of my community. My friends. Alienated, blocked, ignored by those I thought loved me.

I did not want to leave my children. To be honest they bought me an extra year. They deserve better. They will get it without me in the way.

I did ask for help. Several times. Help isn't there. Removing freedom doesn't save people. It just makes it harder to ask for help. Nobody has been able to lift me from this pit. Asking for help involves switchboards, receptionists, knowing that nothing will improve the physical pain, knowing that when you get through they will wonder why you bothered phoning if you really want to die.

For me this is not a surprise. This is not an impulse. This is being too tired to continue. To broken to be fixed. Too difficult to love.

I seemed so well because I try so hard. I tried to pretend, right to the end. I don't like people seeing me weak.

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