life after suicide: tell me more

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


life after suicide is no joke: one moment it’s a total shit storm; fourteen moments later there is a break in the clouds where heaven itself rolls out the red carpets for you.

my own life after suicide is made up with a bunch of sacred, profane, and mundane moments. walking through these moments is an intricate affair while i dance with trauma, ptsd, grief, mourning, and healing my Self.

my moments range in color, texture, and number. there are profane moments where the store manager asks me of my dads suicide, “was it messy?” (je’squeeze me?). there are sacred moments, glimpses of bald eagles flying above, rare fleeting moments of peace and connection. and there are mundane moments, laundry, bills, wake up, get out of bed, buy groceries, wash the car, pick up the mail, renew insurance.

the moments collect, gather and pool into one long lived experience through it all; through the suicide, death, trauma, ptsd, grief, mourning, and healing.

sacred, profane, and mundane moments, the distinction between them clear at times, blurred at others. ⁣

perhaps, in the end, they are all one in the same.

sacred.
profane.
mundane.

i love you in yer moments,

xxo ~k ❤️

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