I wasn’t going to share, but now that I’m sitting on my couch alone in my house…I think I need to. I wanted to share a memory of Brett for #suicideprevention week. When I was a freshman in high school I had asked John Boling to the Homecoming dance, but he told me that he had to film the event…sure I decided to go with my friends and then saw that funny, handsome senior in art club who would always throw clay at me when no one was looking. I asked Brett to dance…and he said yes. This was something new to me because he wasn’t my friend and I know he wasn’t taking pity on me…the connection was instant and thus began my secret obsession of Brett Doolittle. He was wearing a brown leather jacket that night (which still hangs in my closet) and smelled of CK cologne and a faint hint of cigarettes. He held me tight and close the entire song. It would be perfect if I could remember the song that was playing that evening…but I can’t. I’m sure if Brett was here he wouldn’t even remember. Sometimes it hurts more to think of the good memories instead of staying angry at him. This song I heard on the radio brings me back to that 15-year-old who was so blinded to everything…including Brett’s depression. I just recently read one of his love letters back from 1998 and he mentioned his “suicidal depression.” He used those exact words. At 15 years old I didn’t even know what that meant. I was never told or taught the warning signs and Brett was “text book” even long before he danced with me that night. Brett did a lot of bad in his life…not everything…I have to remind myself that he was very mentally ill with depression and a lot of bad happened to him too when he was little… but his suicide is far worse than anything I experienced that happened when he was alive or I could even imagine. I’m in a constant state of struggle with the good and the bad that has happened. It’s hard to place him in my heart, but I know there is love still because I hurt so bad.
Published by abovetherug
After my husband ended his life I was completely devastated and felt as if I was torn into pieces that could never be put back together. How could life go on? The emotional pain he ended was unknowingly passed onto me. I knew I needed help quickly. I joined a support group called SASS (Suicide Awareness Survivor Support) who supports the ones left behind after a loved one's suicide and also helps raise mental health awareness. I will never get over my husband's death, but I now know that I can get through it, thanks to SASS. I sweep nothing under the rug. By starting an open and honest conversation I hope to help break down the stigmas and start raising mental health awareness. Together we can stay above the rug! View all posts by abovetherug