life after suicide: day 425

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👇🏿 ain’t got no time for that? press play for the radical radio recording ✨

dear red star riser, you are about to read a journal entry from my life after suicide experience. thank you for holding her in your tender, loving kindness.

april 24, 2018

deer ritchie,

thank you for showing up for me this week. i saw you in the little ways. i had a good time in austin, and am having a harder time in edmonton. i have lots of life things to work on when i get back. including healing from the trauma of your death. i am sorry that i couldn’t help you. i am sorry that i couldn’t save you.

i miss you a lot ritchie. and family life right now is not very loving or supportive. i’m wanting also to sell my house clementine, ritchie. mother had a shit fit and is going to tell the tenants. brother is caught in the middle, and i don’t see a very clear way out.

before i left on vacation i yelled, like you might have, at brother. i don’t feel like my voice is being heard. mother is being a big dick. aunts and uncles don’t know the whole story. i know you being alive wouldn’t fix anything, though i feel like your death has catapulted me into this space-place where everything which needs restructuring is being done. and those things are big and there are a lot of them. and i’m over it. i got my tax bill last week. and that’s an $11k bill i wasn’t prepared for. i figured that i would pay around $5k. oh bother. again, back in a place of starting over and in debt. wtf. cyclical learning. again here i am. ☹️😐

i was at the jfk museum in dallas, that was interesting. it was also thick and heavy and too much. it showed the picture of him in the car shot. massive wound to the head. dead. my grief for your death showed up then (as it is now). and was with me for most of the day. i cried, it hurt a lot. i’m not sure when this will all be over, perhaps never. perhaps it will change shape and morph into something which feels different, less, not so ouch.

just grief. not just grief. big things. big feelings. the well of emotion came as i left the museum. i thought maybe i could walk it off. persistent. it persisted until i let it out. where? where in life is there space to walk through this in peace? where in life is there space to take the time needed to walk through this? how do i do this without feeling like i’m falling apart at every next moment-day-couple-days-week-etc. how does one “keep going”?

moments. there are collective moments where everything feels ok, and then moments which arise spontaneously which do not feel ok, and a wave of grief washes over me. there are moments which feel fun and right with my lover, and then there are moments which feel like i’m not asking or speaking up for my needs. there are moments when i feel like i made the right decision moving into this rented room, and moments where i feel like i made a wrong decision.

oh ritchie, i am sorry. i forgot i was letter writing. i love you very much and i miss you dearly. i hope to see you again soon. will you visit when i get to edmonton? i need the support. thank you.

❤️ xxo, kendall

☾ᐧ post script context ᐧ☽

looking back, it’s incredible how “normal” my life may have seemed on the outside, while on the inside i was fucking incinerating. looking back, it’s incredible how many decisions, meeting points, life moments have collected, to get me to where i am now. it’s been some kind of mountain since then, holy shit fuck.

i feel for the confusion of her, the death of her, the ways in which she is rallying and racing about in life as it continues to crumble around her. i feel for this me deeply.

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