My Mother's Suicide Was Never About Me

Editor’s note: If you experience suicidal thoughts or have lost someone to suicide, the following post could be potentially triggering. You can contact the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741

It was never about me. Never.

I used to be so angry at my mom. How could she leave me while I was still so young? How could she plan for me to find her lifeless body? How could she write me such an insignificant note goodbye? Didn’t she care about me? Didn’t she love me? Didn’t I matter enough for her to want to continue to be my mom? Didn’t she care about the wound she would create inside of me for the rest of my life? Didn’t she know what this would do to me?

It was never about me. Never.

Maybe I could have prevented it. Maybe if I were better behaved. If I had stayed home that day, maybe she would still be alive. Maybe if I told her how much I loved and needed her. Maybe if I had picked up on the signs only hindsight vision reveals.

It was never about me. Never.

Suicide is never about the people left behind. It is only about the one who wants to end their pain.

It was always about her. Always.

I spent two decades blaming and shaming myself for not doing enough, saying enough or being enough. I took the blame and guilt and shame when it was never mine to claim.

It was always about her. Always.

She didn’t love herself. She didn’t see her value. She was in pain. She needed relief. She thought we would be better off without her.

It was always about her. Always.

The healthier I become, the more I realize it was never about me. Never. It was always about her. Always.

Follow this journey on The Gift of Second.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or text “START” to 741-741.

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Thinkstock photo via Ola_Tarakanova.