It’s not often that I “expose myself” online, or anywhere else for that matter.  No one likes a downer, and I am a far cry from one of those attention whore, drama causing, pity me types.  Although someone (only one person in fact) has actually called me a drama queen.  Although, not only are they the ONLY person who’s ever said that.  Apparently everything that happens in my life (according to them) = drama.

Heh.

Apparently…

riiiiiiiiiiiiight….

Yeah I’m a little bitter, but I’ll get over it.

Although they have yet to meet some of my friends people I know who are the epitome of drama/pity me/feel sorry for me.  So much to the point that they could start their own theater production company are in dire need of therapy.

Anyway, this isn’t about them.  It’s about me.

Fuck you it’s my blog.

Anyway I was reading Tanis AKA the redneck mommy’s latest post on her blog. It broke my heart.  On a number of levels.  I can also empathize with her on a certain level.  Earlier last year, I had a miscarriage.  Had that not happened, I would be just about ready or already have had a child at this point.

No I don’t care to talk about that.  So please don’t ask me about it here at all.  However should you feel oh so compelled to inquire about it.  Please e-mail me instead.  So I don’t have to publicly tell you to fuck off err drop dead please respect my privacy.  It’s still a touchy subject for me.  I am however taking the first step to acknowledging that it happened, I will perhaps discuss it when I’m ready.

Anyway part of her post (mostly how she felt like a failure) hit home.  As in felt like someone smashed me in the face with a baseball bat.  I’m not a parent, but one thing I do know is loss.  Also grief and how it follows you like your own personal natural disaster, hanging out in the background and lingering.  I like to think that for the most part I have a handle on this whole grief thing.  Reese Butler (the founder & president of the Kristin Brooks Hope Center/1-800-suicide) said in an interview after loosing his wife to suicide:

“The first year after her death was the most painful year of my life. The 2nd year after her death was only worse because it was the opposite, totally numb and a total loss of desire to live anymore. It was then that I learned how a depressed person could welcome death as a relief from the pain or hopelessness that ensued.”  Feel free to read the whole thing here (it’s pretty awesome).

Depression sucks.  So does feeling like no one’s there to listen, or feeling like a non person.  Especially when the people that are there for you claim to be there for you, but are far too self centered/wrapped up in their own lives merely pretend to care.  All the while thinking, please just STFU.  I know who those people are, they no longer have a welcome place in my life.  I don’t keep score, but please don’t expect me to give a flying fuck about ANYTHING that goes on in your life, when you could truly care less about what goes on in mine.  I believe in equality, and treating people the same way that they treat me.  So if you take me for granted/walk all over me I will do the same be the bigger person and walk away.

Most of the time.

Sometimes I can’t.

Because Karma’s a bitch and sometimes her name is Steph.

That’ll learn ya now won’t it.

Anyway, moving along!

I completed my OSIS (Online Suicide Intervention Specialist) training at the end of November.  All through my professor droning on and on (Christ he’s such a pompous ass!) and playing solitaire all the while.  Because let’s face it, it’s about as dry as dinosaur remains and I needed something to keep me awake visually stimulated that wouldn’t outwardly distract me from what I was doing.  Occasionally I would glance up and would look at Jason’s picture.  Just a friendly painful reminder of why I’m doing this.  I’m doing it for him, I’m doing it in the hopes that I can spare someone else the soul sucking heartache of loosing someone to suicide.  It was a great reminder and then it became my downfall.

I was there, hitting the finish line. *Cue chariots of fire.* wrote my final and BAM!

I was done YAY!

I threw my head back in an attempt to stretch.  Sitting on one’s ass in a computer chair for hours at a time is harder then you think.  Closed my eyes and thought to myself VICTORY! I was proud, euphoric and stuff.  Then I made the mistake of sitting up and opening my eyes and once again looking at Jason’s picture on my wall and that feeling of awesome immediately felt like:

FAIL!

Now, I know I shouldn’t.  Except a small part of me wonders, if I couldn’t save him, what makes me think that I can save others?  I truly have no idea, but I’ll be dammed if I don’t at least try.  I’m pretty sure Julie (Jason’s mom) feels the same way.  She sent me a wonderful e-mail telling me that I’m doing a great thing and I’ll help lots of people.  After reading that I couldn’t help but thinking the UN-written/UN-spoken words to follow that should have been:

“Why couldn’t you help my son?”

Can’t say I blame her, because if I was her…

I’d probably feel the same way.

This is my battle to fight.  One that I intend to win.  I try to console myself with the thoughts that Jason’s death is not in vain.  Although part of me ( a rather large one) wishes that he was still here and I was doing this because I wanted to help others.  Not because I want to help others because I know firsthand how much it hurts.

Everything happens for a reason.

Right?