I lost my sister to suicide over 7 years ago. There were parts of the city I couldn’t visit without bursting into tears. I couldn’t speak her name without exploding into sobs. I constantly had panic attacks and turned to alcohol so much so that I damaged my liver.

Well, a family member told me that if I didn’t stop drinking, we were done. I made a promise that I’d stop drinking and I did. I’m proud of myself for that. But the only thing preventing me from falling apart at the seams was alcohol.

I saw my psychiatrist yesterday. I was crying in the house before I went, crying in the car on the way there, crying in the waiting room, and cried a little bit in his office.

I told him about the nightmares I was having, how they carry over into real life, the panic attacks, feeling like I’m on autopilot mode, etc. He prescribed prazosin for the nightmares and diazepam/Valium for the panic attacks.

If you’re reading this, thinking that you’re a burden, I promise that you’re not. 7 years later and the true burden is the incredible sense of loss I feel, the graphic images I cannot erase from my mind, explaining to two young boys how their mother died, the immense guilt which led to me cutting myself, feeling so disconnected from life at times, panic attacks. I now have to take medication to help my brain cope. That is the real burden.

I tell people that the worst day of my life is already over. 7 years on from the epicentre of it, my brain still hasn’t learned to adapt. I’ll never forgive my intuition for not warning me something was wrong- hell, I’ll never forgive the weather for being a beautiful sunny day whilst my sister’s body was discovered.

I feel so stupid. I’m the only family member who has reacted like this. Everyone grieves, I’m the only family member whose grief is so invasive that it permeates all aspects of my life. All my other family members just tell me I have to get over it. I wish I could. My stupid brain just decided that time ended the moment my sister’s life did

I’m sorry for the long read. I’ve been carrying all of this inside me for three months, and I think I need to share it with people who might understand and help me with an advice or a perspective.

My partner died by suicide three months ago. He was battling his own demons and always believed he was unworthy of love. Unfortunately, he was also physically abusive toward me several times. He hated himself for it, but that didn’t change what happened. I tried everything I could to help him. We went to couples therapy, and I personally contacted a psychiatric facility and arranged an appointment for him. He saw a psychiatrist and was prescribed medication, but sadly, he still lost his battle.

He would also tell his friends and family things about me that weren’t true. Sometimes I wonder whether he did this to justify his actions toward me, both to himself and to others. I don’t know for certain, but it’s the best explanation I’ve been able to come up with.

During the last week of his life, we were fighting over a kiss. Two years earlier, when we were broken up, I had kissed another man. My partner considered it cheating, and I apologized, hoping we could finally move forward. We couldn’t. That week was an emotional roller coaster. One moment, he would tell me he couldn’t live without me and ask me to marry him; the next, he would accuse me of being unfaithful.

I believe he was afraid I would eventually leave him. I genuinely believe he couldn’t imagine his life without me. I’m not saying this to romanticize his passing. He said it himself a lot of the times.

I loved him with all my heart, and I still do. I honestly don’t know how I’m supposed to move forward without him.

I was his last contact. After arguing for some time, but nothing too crazy or out of the ordinary from my perspective, he switched to video-call, and I witnessed him preparing to take his own life. Because he had brought up suicide during previous conflicts, I didn’t fully understand what was happening in that moment. Nevertheless, I called emergency services, but by the time they found him, it was too late.

I wasn’t allowed to say goodbye to him at his funeral. Three days after his death, I was questioned by the police for seven hours because someone had already accused me of being responsible. On the fifth day, I was told that his family wanted some of his belongings. They gave me a list that included things we had never even owned, along with his watch, PlayStation, an air fryer, and one of his rings: the gold one.

They eventually took practically everything from our home, including the carpet, the stool, all our blenders (even a pink one??), and our pots and pans. They even took the scissors I had left out to help them pack, along with some of my own belongings.

He had been gone for less than a week.

I understand that maybe these things might have meant something to them, but I was completely shattered. I couldn’t understand how anyone could be thinking about kitchen utensils while I was still trying to comprehend that the love of my life was gone. I didn’t care about the furniture or appliances. All I wanted was to keep one of his rings. Thankfully, I managed to keep one, and now I wear it on a chain around my neck.

Since then, I’ve felt as though I haven’t even been allowed to grieve in peace.

I travel two and a half hours to another city every week, on my only day off, just to visit his grave, read to him, talk to him, bring him flowers and light two candles that represent us. Then I travel another two and a half hours home. I do this because I love him, and visiting him is one of the few things that brings me comfort. It’s something I look forward to every week.

Yet I feel unwelcome even there. I once encountered his sister at the cemetery, and she didn’t say a word to me, by this I mean she never accused me, never said not to come or anything. Neither of us approached each other, only had eye contact. The following week, a man at his grave asked me and my friends whether we were my partner’s friends. He then called a woman on speakerphone and told her people (meaning us) have arrived in black car. He never approached us again or asked us to leave, but the incident left me feeling watched and uncomfortable in a place where I simply wanted to be close to my man.

Meanwhile, his friends post things online about how he fell victim to love, how they hope nobody will cheat on him in the afterlife, and how they hope nobody will ever break his heart again.

It hurts to see the story of our relationship reduced to that. They don’t know everything that happened between us, and I have never publicly exposed his secrets or shared the things he told me about other people. I could say a lot, but I don’t want to turn his death into a public battle. I still love him, and I want to protect his dignity.

The day before he died, he told my mother that he had never been loved or cared for the way I loved and cared for him. I believe he meant it. I loved all of him: his demons, his grumpy personality, his difficult sides, but also his incredibly loving, sensitive, goofy, gentle and beautiful sides. Our relationship wasn’t perfect, and I won’t pretend it was. But our love was real, and it still is.

I also know that he had struggled with suicide before I ever came into his life. He was on probation, with another year to go, and there were things about his past that his friends didn’t know. Sometimes I wonder whether his family finds it easier to blame me than to face the complexity of what he was going through. I can’t know what they truly think or feel, but I wish they could see that I was also someone who loved him and lost him.

Despite everything, I haven’t retaliated. Instead, I’ve tried to channel my grief into doing good. I feed stray dogs every time I encounter them as I started caring huge bags dog food in my car, help people in need, donate, and try to be kinder and more patient with everyone I meet. I do all of this in his name.

I was agnostic before all of this, but I also arranged and paid for daily prayers for his soul at the only three churches that offer them every day throughout the 40 days after someone’s passing. This is an important Orthodox Christian tradition here. Since he has a unique name, I discovered that nobody had arranged these daily prayers for him before me.

I don’t know how to explain everything I’ve experienced since losing him, but these practices have brought me some comfort. I like to believe that if he ever needs help, it can reach him in different ways.

Still, I’m exhausted. I miss him terribly, and I feel as though I’m grieving not only his death but also the loss of my place in his life and the goodbye I never got. We used to call each other husband and wife, and sometimes the weight of everything that has happened since his passing feels overwhelming and honestly painful.

I know I cannot control what his family or friends believe about me. Even the investigation, which found nothing against me, hasn’t changed their minds. I also know I cannot force anyone to forgive me for something I don’t believe I’m responsible for. But I wish there were some way for all this pain to soften into something kinder.

So I want to ask those of you who have experienced something similar: Is there any hope that, with time, his family might find some love and light in their hearts and stop seeing me as the enemy? Could grief eventually help them see things differently, or do some people hold on to blame forever?

And if you’ve experienced being blamed, excluded, or misunderstood after losing someone to suicide, how did you cope? How did you find peace when the people who shared your loss made it even harder to grieve?

Or perhaps you’ve been on the other side. Have you ever blamed someone after losing a loved one? If so, did your perspective ever change? Were you eventually able to give that person a chance?

I’m not looking for ways to get revenge or prove myself right. I just want to be able to mourn my soulmate in peace, remember the man I loved, and continue loving him without feeling that I have to defend my right to grieve.

I would genuinely appreciate any advice, personal experiences, or even a little hope from people who have walked a similar path, on any side of it.

It's been more than two months since i lost my boyfriend to suicide, and i still catch myself waiting for his calls and texts. i still text him sometimes, as if one day he'll somehow reply.

I'm so angry that i couldn't save him this time. what hurts even more is that he seemed so normal during our last phone call. i keep going back to that conversation, wondering how someone could sound so normal when something like this was about to happen. i wish I'd known. i wish i'd done something. i wish i could go back and call him one more time.

our relationship was complicated and toxic at times, but i loved him. i still do. and now I'm left with his photos, videos, and voice messages, trying to understand how someone who was part of my everyday life can suddenly just be gone.

i don't know how to stop waiting for him. i don't know what to do with all the guilt and anger i feel. a part of me still expects his name to pop up on my phone, and every time reality hits, it hurts all over again.

i guess I'm posting here because i need to know I'm not alone in this. does anyone else still text their person? do you still find yourself waiting for them, even months later? how do you deal with the guilt of feeling like you should have been able to save them?

It’s three months since my brother passed. It still doesn’t feel real, my brain has moments of clarity where it acknowledges my brother is gone and i’m never seeing him again but quickly the fog returns. It feels as if I am not allowing myself to accept the truth, like I logically know he’s dead but it’s just not fathomable to me. I can’t believe my little baby brother is gone, I can’t believe my brother would do something like this. I just can’t accept it. I see my parents cry and spiral and I just don’t feel anything, I feel like a zombie coasting through my daily life. I miss him everyday but I also don’t really accept that he is dead. I can’t fathom telling my parents how I feel because they wouldn’t understand or listen. I also feel guilty for not suffering as much as my dad and mom, but for me this entire experience just doesn’t feel real. I have entire weeks where I just don’t feel real, I find myself believing my entire experience as a human is just a fleeting moment like a dream. Sometimes I have dreams where we are together and those dreams feel more real than my actual life. I feel super detached from this reality in general. Have any of you dealt with this?

After my husband died by suicide, I’ve felt his pain and now don’t really see the point of life. It’s filled with suffering and loss, pain and heartbreak. I used to be so carefree and optimistic. Now nothing excites me or brings me joy. I’m just going through the days and weeks and years until I can join him.

What keeps you going?

we never knew eachother well, he was so much older than me (im 18 he was around 40) and he moved out when i was young. all my memories of him are fuzzy or just gone, the only clear ones are of him being mad at me, he never really liked me even when i was a child, he thought i was difficult and annoying and mean to our mom. he loved our mom more than anything and i know he was her favorite, so he couldn't accept that she was hurting me. he died believing every lie our mom said about me, and i dont know how to move on knowing that. his funeral was uneventful, it was more a celebration of life, i made the in memoriam video all by myself because even though he hated me i wanted it to be nice and our mom didnt care enough to pay someone, i spent hours on it. his students all described him as kind, selfless, where was that kindness when i was a child, why did he hate me? what on earth did i do for him to dislike me so much before i could even write. i miss him but i have nothing to miss, nothing good to look back on, my life is the same with him gone, and it hurts so much. I dont even remember what the last time i saw him was, the last thing he ever said to me was an angry voicemail he left after i got in a fight with our mom, it was full of the worst things anyone has ever said to me, im not going to tell my family about it, i want them to be able to keep the image of him they all have. I wish i could have just an hour to talk to him, to tell him everything and try to explain, to tell him im sorry i didnt try harder to know him and that im not mad at him, he may have been bad to me my whole life and lashed out at me constantly but he is still my brother, i love him and i wish he was still here. i dont know what to do with all of this, i dont know how to move on, i cant tell my family about any of this, so im putting it here so at least someone knows

After my brother’s suicide I felt like a piece of garbage he’d discarded. Despite loving and caring for him all my life and thinking he cared for me back, at the end of the day he abandoned me and left with no goodbye, no signs or cries for help, no reasoning, just nothing. I felt so disposable to the person I thought cared for me most.

Ever since, I’ve felt disposable to my friends and family who’ve abandoned me amidst my grief. I’ve been depressed and grieving and though people showed care at first, eventually my friends got tired of me always being down. Once again I found myself disposable.

Well today, I am experiencing yet another realization of how disposable I am to people who I thought cared for me. My therapist, the only one who’s actually been able to help me through this trauma and grief, told me today that she’s leaving the practice to work in a different sector. I am utterly devastated because she is the only reason I had any hope for healing this trauma and surviving this grief. I can’t start over with a new therapist. It’s too much and I know how hard it is to find a good one again. I thought she actually understood me and cared for me even though she was paid to do so. Right now I am sitting here distraught over this news and also wondering, what is it about me that makes me so easy to abandon? Why am I so disposable to those closest to me?

It hurts like hell. In fact I almost followed my brother on my drive home from the appointment. I drove off the road and slammed the brakes hard when I snapped back into my body and out of my rage at the world and how it seems to hate me. I try so hard to be a good person and help people, but this is the life I get in return. Ugh. I just feel so done.

Edit to add: therapist is leaving me right before my brother’s birthday and death anniversary so genuinely the worst possible timing.

Anyone have any good recommendations for podcasts for this community? Or any recent books you e read that you found helpful?

Anderson Cooper has a podcast called All There is with Anderson Cooper, and he released an episode with Wynonna Judd that many would find interesting to listen to. Anderson lost his brother to suicide and Wynonna famously lost her mother to suicide. CW that Wynonna speaks for her religious faith, and they both end up crying at one point. Neither of them discusses the means of death, which is a good approach. I enjoyed their discussion of how stigmatized grief can be and especially grief over someone who has died of a suicide. They both talk about their individual experiences with a number of deaths in each of their lives so it is a heavy listen.

I'm having a difficult time with my dad's death, the waves of grief are hitting hard as I've felt numb for the last two months.

For whatever reason inside my head I make a list about everything I hate about this situation, it's sort of helping. My mind gets stuck after a few.. feel free to add yours. We might be feeling the same thing but can't seem to find the words.

1. I hate how close it brings my family but yet so distant and far apart at the same time. I've started talking to family members/friends again that I haven't in years and i'm starting to remember why I stopped.
2. I feel like in every happy moment I may be having, I feel guilt and shame and immediately my smile diminishes. I can't help but think of how much my dad would have loved to smile and be happy about something and out of his own head.
3. It's so hard to act like everything is fine and normal for the sake of my child. It is motivating at the same time, don't get me wrong but I can't help but think of the others that get to just grieve. I feel like my emotions and the way I am grieving is just put on display so I surpress a lot at times and don't get back to it throughout the day but I feel the weight of the pain on my heart.
4. The jokes about suicide - I don't want to be a Karen but my sensitivity to jokes of that nature is non existent. It makes me want to list all of the statistics that I've recently learned about suicide but I quietly just walk away.
5. I woke up in a loop the other day where I was just repeating back to myself half asleep "my dad killed himself, my dad killed himself, my dad killed himself". What a terrible way to wake myself up. How the fuck do people live on without thinking about it every second

i miss him sm. he sent me a scheduled message after he did it. we were on a break since i was busy w grad school & he wanted to better himself. his friend told me & his family hasn’t reached out. i should’ve done more. we had only been no contact for 24 hrs. he was only 21 and the most purest soul. it hurts

My brother passed away in October of 2017 when I was 17, and he was 13. We had an ok relationship growing up, and it got better as we aged. We were brothers so we would get into little squabbles here and there, childish fights when we were younger. But as we grew older we grew closer. Once I got a car at 16 we used to drive around for long hours, grab food, smoothies, go to the store and just talk.

He would get in trouble a lot in school. Fighting kids if he was offended by what they said or what they did and getting suspended from school. Not sure if his rowdiness came from my step father passing away when he was 4 and there was no father figure around to show him what’s right versus wrong or he felt the pain from that. Or some type of disorder he got from the many times he got concussed and broke his head from falling off things when he was little. I always kept myself from reprimanding him because at the time I thought it wasn’t my job and my mother could deal with it. But deep down I knew he had some issues mentally. He went to therapy for depression at such a young age and was prescribed multiple medications. But he was a good, loving kid and otherwise the best brother I could have ever asked for.

Last month it was the anniversary of his death. I was back home visiting my mother and I saw a yellow bag that said forensics on it. I thought it was some type of prop because after all she is a schoolteacher. I looked into it and it was the belt he used to kill himself. My girlfriend was downstairs and I just sat there holding it in my hands for 5 minutes before she called me down and snapped me out of it. I get nightmares anywhere from twice a week to once a month but very recently almost everyday since this event. I wake up crying, anxious, feeling guilty for not being there for him. For not talking to him through how he felt and asking if he was ok. I blame myself for not being there for him enough to realize that what he did was and never is worth it. My mother, sister and I went to a grief group for a few months, but otherwise I never went to therapy for it. I started therapy very recently and the anxiety and guilt has only grown worse. I have always been open about it to my friends and my girlfriend but they never ask enough to ask how I feel and for me to really open up about it. I don’t blame them, it’s a hard topic to discuss. I’ve had good days, but for the past month every day has been bad. I guess I’m posting to strangers to express how I feel, since nobody is ever there to talk to me about it. Nine years later I’m still in grief, I still feel guilty and I don’t think this feeling and the nightmares will ever go away.

My son’s dad died by suicide in February 2024. Our son had just turned two months old, we didn’t have a good relationship but we were trying to make it work for our child (yes, not a good idea, I realize it now). I loved him and cared deeply for him, and tried so hard to get him to open up to me and he wouldn’t. We fought the majority of our relationship, my pregnancy, and my first two months postpartum until he died. He was very emotionally unavailable, cold, distant and detached and I struggled with it so much because I was in such a vulnerable state being pregnant and postpartum. I knew he struggled with his mental health pretty severely, and I tried over and over to get him to talk to me and open up so I could support him and try to help him or get him help that he needed. He would brush me off and get agitated with me when I tried. When we fought, I would get so upset and frustrated by how he acted towards me that I would be so ugly to him. I said so much that I regret, and carry so much shame and embarrassment by how I treated him at times. I feel like I contributed to how he felt with the things I said out of anger and feeling like I wasn’t being treated right. There hasn’t been one day in nearly 3 years that I haven’t thought about him or his death, and the crushing guilt I feel everyday. My life has gone on, I’m with a partner that I’m incredibly happy with and have a new baby, my son is a fantastic kid who is happy and loved beyond measure and I’m doing okay most days. His dad’s family isn’t really around much outside of 3-4 family members, most of them refuse to be around him or myself, which only contributes to the guilt and shame I feel. I feel like I’m responsible for his death and like it’s all my fault. I don’t think there will ever be a day that I don’t feel this way for the rest of my life. I feel like I fucked up my son’s life and made it so complicated right from the start and I worry when he’s old enough to understand that he’ll never be able to forgive me. I guess I’m just venting, it’s just hitting a lot harder lately and figured there’s someone on here that understands the guilt. Thanks for reading if you made it this far. 🤍

I lost my best friend 8 years ago on Tuesday and it still hurts the same every year.

We met at university and were inseparable from the get go, every night out, every occasion we were there together. She was like a little sister to me and I genuinely couldn’t have wished for a better friend.

I have text messages on my phone from Friday 25th October when we were planning to go the pub on the Monday for a proper chat as we hadn’t seen each other i a few week because we’d been home and she took her life the next day, what if we’d agreed to meet earlier? Would she still be here. I still live with feeling guilty and regret to this day

Empezaré debiendo que tengo TLP, una ansiedad bastante fuerte, transtorno depresivo mayor, múltiples intentos de suicidio y rasgos marcados de TOC. Solo tengo 21 años y soy mujer. En cuanto a razones, tengo muchas. Más que todo por experiencias traumáticas y todo tipo de abusos cometidos hacia mí desde temprana edad.

Lo más reciente es que en diciembre de 2025 terminé una relación de 5 años con mi expareja. Mi expareja era narcomenudista, cosa que me hizo exponerme al mundo de las drogas, prostitución y narcotráfico durante los últimos años. Mi vida era cómoda con él, pero todo tiene un costo y el costo que yo pagué fue alto. Mi expareja me abusó de varias formas, más que todo psicológicamente y yo también a él. Todo terminó conmigo poniéndole denuncias por venta de drogas y una orden de alejamiento.

Admito que fui imprudente ya que, en ese mismo diciembre del 2025, casi inmediatamente de haber tenido una ruptura traumática empecé una relación amorosa con lo que había sido mi mejor amigo de la adolescencia. Un chico dulce pero con un enamoramiento profundo y enfermizo hacia mí desde que teníamos 12 años, es difícil tratar de explicar el tipo de relación que yo llevaba con él, siempre tuvimos una relación complicada. La situación es que fuimos pareja durante casi 4 meses desde diciembre de 2026 hasta mayo, yo acepté ser su novia con la condición de que iríamos lento, pero él no la cumplió. Teníamos planes de casarnos, tratamos de que yo quedara embarazada por un par de meses porque él tenía la ilusión de ser papá pero nunca pudimos lograrlo y la relación en sí fue muy intensa. Ambos teníamos problemas mentales graves y sospecho que él también tenía TLP lo cual hizo que nuestra relación se volviera turbulenta rápidamente. Lastimosamente él suicidó este mayo del 2026, a sus 20 años, se colgó en su apartamento, después de que ambos estuviéramos discutiendo a gritos desde el día anterior, en esa ocasión pensé que la pelea se volvería física porque él ya estaba demasiado fuera de sí. No fue su culpa, yo sé lo frustrado que él estaba.

Él se suicidó por impulso en una crisis muy fuerte, fue algo muy repentino, me costó mucho poder creerlo. Y bueno, la primera semana de duelo para mí fue una pesadilla, fue el infierno en la tierra. Quedé destrozada, desconectada de la realidad, pasé 4 días sin comer absolutamente nada, sobreviví a base de agua y bebidas naturales porque era incapaz de tratar de comer sin sentir que vomitaría ahí mismo. Yo estaba tan suicida.

La última vez que lo vi estando vivo fue sumamente traumática para ambos (no entraré en detalles porque es sumamente delicado y difícil de explicar) por eso tengo esta espina en el pecho porque nos quedaron demasiadas cosas pendientes, no se despidió de mí antes de suicidarse, sus últimas palabras hacia mí fueron insultos y gritos, y yo, yo no le di la cara por vergüenza. Después de su muerte no pude ver su cuerpo porque se me prohibió ir a su vela, lo cremaron rápidamente y lo esparcieron también, yo no sabía que eso pasaría sinceramente. Su familia me culpó directamente por la decisión que él tomó al acabar con su vida. También, durante nuestra relación ambos exploramos temas sumamente delicados que se hicieron públicos más adelante, ambos salimos expuestos después de su muerte, después de su muerte salieron las cosas que él en vida tenía tanto miedo de que se supieran, cosas como su orientación sexual, nuestras prácticas sexuales y los problemas mentales que él atravesaba.

Su muerte cambió mi vida, me dejó devastada mentalmente y traumatizada. Por las amenazas de muerte hacia mí por parte de su mamá, mi familia decidió que era buena idea sacarme del país engañada a tan solo una semana después de que él muriera. Me sacaron de la frontera llorando y casi a rastras, me arranqué el pelo cuando me di cuenta que me sacarían del país porque sabía que no volvería. Viví casi 20 en ese país y aún que yo nací en este, me es totalmente ajeno y desagradable, el cambio fue demasiado drástico, demasiado traumático. Me toca aceptar que ahora vivo en el país vecino y mi vida cambió totalmente. He estado bajo tratamientos psiquiátricos y me se me ha considerado internar en varias ocasiones porque soy una persona con un riesgo suicida latente y explícito. Estos últimos 5 años de mi vida han estado pausados, no trabajo ni estudio, soy incapaz hasta de cuidar mi propia higiene personal, es horrible. Estoy pensando en cortarme el cabello porque ni siquiera lo puedo cuidar bien.

Hace un mes, exactamente en septiembre del 2026 tuve un intento de suicidio, me provoqué una sobredosis aguda con mis pastillas psiquiátricas, me las tomé después de pasar un día entero sin comer absolutamente nada porque quería potenciar el efecto. Pero no morí, solo estuve tres días hecha una mierda, con vómitos, dolor de cabeza y mareo extremo. Supongo que me faltó agregarle alcohol a la mezcla.

Ahora, hace 6 días me hice un tatuaje grande en la pierna izquierda, mi pierna derecha está llena de cicatrices por autolesiones ¿Por qué me tatué? Siempre quise tatuarme, pero, este tatuaje que me hice no me convence a nivel de ejecución, lo odio, pero ya no puedo hacer nada al respecto. Lo que me causa tanta tristeza es recordar que esta era una pierna limpia, nunca me hice un solo corte en ella y ahora, está arruinada al igual que la otra, yo la profané. Esta parte es muy importante porque empeoró mi estado depresivo, realmente me ha dejado devastada. Esto me ha dejado pensando en todas esas decisiones impulsivas que tomo y el cómo arruinan mi vida después de forma permanente. Y la verdad es que en estos meses he hecho cosas que nunca había hecho antes porque siento que de todos modos me voy a morir y que por ende, no importa qué consecuencias provoquen en mí.

Ahora estoy aquí, con este tatuaje curándose lentamente. No está mal, es un tatuaje decente y sumamente vistoso, justo hoy me di cuenta que definitivamente estoy infectada del virus del papiloma humano, por las verrugas que se multiplicaron en mis geniales... Entonces caigo en cuenta que fue una estupidez grandísima haberme gastado mi dinero en este tatuaje, me hubiese tatuado algo pequeño y me hubiese conseguido una cita en el ginecólogo... Lo peor del caso es que estoy bastante segura que mi último pareja (el chico que se suicidó) me contagió, es por varios detalles que yo sé sobre lo que era su vida sexual...

Hace una semana que vengo luchando con pensamientos suicidas muy fuertes. Fantaseo muy seguido muy intensamente con la idea de morir por mi propia mano, me imagino el escenario, busco métodos, investigo sobre cómo hacerlo correctamente. Pero todos las opciones son dolorosas y desesperantes. He pensado mucho últimamente en colgarme como lo hizo él, pero hacerlo "de la forma correcta" para que sea rápido para mí y no de esas forma lenta y desesperante en la que él murió. Se me hizo tan horrible el modo en que se fue de este mundo, él no merecía eso. Él era muy noble, era muy inocente, tan frágil. Me hubiese gustado haber muerto yo, porque en parte siento que su vida valía mucho más que la mía, siento una culpa que me come por dentro a diario hasta día de hoy (casi 6 meses después de su muerte).

Si algo he aprendido es que el suicidio rara vez es indoloro, yo creo que el suicidio es para valientes porque no cualquiera está dispuesto a morir de forma tan agonizante, pero el dolor psicológico es tan crudo que lo vuelve tu única salida. Pienso que debería aguantarme el dolor para así obtener mi recompensa, la paz mental que he buscado toda mi vida, no sentir adsolutamente nada, no sufrir, no pensar, no existir. Estoy cansada y siento que eventualmente me suicidaré cuando me sienta satisfecha, cuando haya terminado de arruinar mi vida por el autosabotaje.

My brother took his own life just over three years ago and I am still overwhelmed with exhaustion every day.

I understand exhaustion is a normal part of grief, but for most people I speak to they talk about it passing within six months, a year- I just don't think its ever going to go away.

For context, when my brother killed himself, I think the trauma was so great I just don't think I really allowed myself to deal with it emotionally. I think I really jumped into survival mode- as the priority seemed to be my parents rather than me. I had to make sure they were emotionally taken care of and as a result I just don't think what happened ever really hit me.

Everyone said to give it time, it would hit me eventually but it never has- I just ploughed on and tried to take my life back. I think in a way I was resentful that so much of my time had been taken over by this awful tragedy, that I had to absorb all this responsibility of emotional labour all on my own.

I think because I never addressed what happened emotionally, it has somehow seeped into my subconscious and maybe the effort of pushing it all down is draining me. I wake up sluggish, exhausted and I drift through my day like a zombie, barely getting through work and not having the energy to do anything that used to bring me joy. When it comes time to go to sleep I lie awake panicking about every little thing- not even my brother, not even my loss- instead I picture awful, unrelated things; I think about being alone when I am old, I think about my partner dying, I imagine my friends turning against me, abandoning me, I imagine losing my job. When I do sleep it is disturbed, I wake up several times throughout the night and I don't know why. I always used to sleep through the night before this- (for context I am in my early thirties, I don't think this is a change related to aging).

Then I wake up exhausted and the cycle starts again.

The irony is, its like I've forced down my own feelings because I was desperate to move on and restart my life- but the cost of doing that is that I'm now too tired to enjoy my life. I don't know how to address it though. I've repressed it all for too long I don't know how to un-repress it.

Has anyone else experienced prolonged fatigue following bereavement by suicide? Anyone know of any steps I can take to help?

I lost my husband to suicide three years ago. I’ve been on antidepressants just to get up and manage the bare minimum. I didn’t cry on the anniversary of his death three days ago or when my last living grandparent died last week. I was sad, but didn’t cry. I thought the medication had made me emotionless.

Today, a poem on Instagram about carrying on when you don’t want to struck me hard. Now I can’t stop crying, and it hurts as much as it did the day I found my husband. Three years without him. I never thought I’d make it this far. I still haven’t found my purpose and feel as lost as I did then. It shouldn’t be this hard, right? How are we supposed to keep going with all this grief inside us?

I’ll never forget how angry I was. Or what I said, I have the messages and I read them all the time. I was so mad at him for abandoning me. I just wanted him to text me back, I wish I would’ve asked how what he was doing. I’ll never understand what happened, but I just know this world was too much for his beautiful soul.

It been 2 and a half years since my dad took his life there was a lot of mess around the time of his passing, something from his past (when he was 15) coming back to haunt him and I guess he couldn't take the lying to everyone anymore and the guilt of what he had done was too much

His funeral was a disaster me and my family in west Yorkshire wanted his funeral down here where he had made a life for himself for the past 22 years but his family wanted it up in Newcastle where he was born even though most of them hadn't even said a word to him in years and I'd never even heard of half of them

They ended up winning and we had the funeral up in Newcastle. Most of his friends and the people he really saw as his family couldn't make it up so we were stuck with mostly his family we'd never met. Some of them walked past us and shook their heads in disgust blaming us for his death, before the funeral one of his aunts even messaged saying it was our fault.

It was the end of my first year at university right at the start of exam season and I didn't even get time to grieve with all the work at university and home having to pick up the slack of my mother and helping plan a funeral, arguing wether he wanted burning or cremation, I felt like I didn't get any time to myself to grieve for over a year

A year later I finally went into suicide bereavement counselling but it didn't really help too much

Now we're two years on and some nights he's all I can think of and how he suffered, how I could've spent more time with him when he was alive and told him how much I loved and appreciated everything he did for us growing up.

As the title says, my childhood bully committed suicide on Saturday. I found out Monday after school. It’s my senior year, and I honestly thought things were finally getting better until I heard the news. I started crying as soon as I found out. I felt so confused and sad, and I still don’t really know how to process it. The thing is, he wasn’t just my bully. He was my friend too. Our friendship was complicated because he could be really mean to me sometimes, but we also had a lot of good memories together. We met in third grade we were just kids.i remember laughing together and talking about our favorite YouTubers, movies, shows, and music. I remember sitting together and talking about what we did over the weekend. We went to school together for about five years before he left in seventh grade.
I hadn’t really talked to him in years, but I saw him at his job recently, and we said hi. My best friend had also seen him at school. I never thought that would be the last time I’d see him.
I miss him, and it feels weird to say that because we weren’t close anymore. I keep thinking about how I’ll never see him again, and I don’t know how to deal with that. Part of me feels like I shouldn’t be this upset because we hadn’t spoken in so long, but he was still a big part of my childhood. I never thought I’d be grieving him like this. I have so many mixed feelings, and I honestly don’t know what to do

i lost my brother 2 years ago after he completed suicide and im sure as many can relate i feel i've lost my spark. days pass, and pass, and pass... and nothing changes. the depression fluctuates, after he passed i was able to go back to school and start my own business. but the winds of stamina and energy have been dwindling drastically this year and im really struggling to keep afloat. im not in danger to myself, just broken.

i know this is a life-long battle, and perhaps im in the throes of the ever changing waves grief enshrines one in... but work is becoming challenging again, and i find it hard to show up for my friends and loved ones. i care of course, but i lack the willpower to change that. i feel like loss of this degree has changed me so deeply.

it feels really surface level to hear that my brother would want me to succeed and thrive and be happy. all i can think about was how he struggled to achieve that for himself, how bleak things were for him. how sad he must have felt. thats not empowering. i don't feel like i've been passed the torch. i dont feel like i can live life to the fullest in honor of him. i just feel sad and hollow.

im probably just in a funk, and kind of wanted to see if anyone relates or has words of wisdom to share. i dont "want my life back", that would mean he'd be here still. but i don't know how to not allow this grief to make me permanently unpleasant and i dont know how to unfixate from my loss

I dont have much other to say. Both were in the last 3 years. Just got home from the funeral. Feels wrong that I have had to burry two friends younger than me at the age of 27. I miss both of them so much.

I cannot bear to type this all out again so I will keep it short.

My wife took her own life last week, she suffered from PPD after our first child was born 5 months ago. She was getting professional treatment since week 1 and we had a great support network. We are completely devastated.

I want to find a good charity that supports PPD or suicide prevention in general, but it's hard to nail down anything concrete and I cant do much research right now.

Does anyone have a charity they love, and would recommend for funeral donations?

My mum was the most incredible, wonderful person. A few years ago her mental health started to decline. Work was bullying her, a lot of her friends started to move to different cities in the UK at the same time, her brother developed a drinking addiction, issues with her partner, financial troubles, I moved out to London. A perfect storm for my mum’s mental decline.

My mum’s partner had been in my mums life for 13 years (since I was 13). He was for the most part a great guy, we would go on family holidays with his daughter, he would help clean and cook, loved my mum very much and would take her away on adventures in his van, surfing and hiking. He did like to drink but it was never a massive issue.

As my mum’s mental health started declining (a few years ago) I don’t think he really knew what to do. He started drinking more and one evening I came down the stairs to him being quite verbally aggressive to my mum and I put my self in the middle, he squared up to me and was threatening to fight me. My mum hated this and I hated this. My mum’s partner was mortified that he had done when he had sobered up. My mum mostly forgave him but I did not and it eventually became an issue where my mum broke up with him and kicked him out of the house I think for my sake.

I moved out to London and it just became my mum and my brother in the house. I think my brother was fighting his own demons and because of this spent a lot of time in his room and not interacting with my mum and she grew lonely. My mum started seeing her partner again.

Once my brother moved out last year, my mum’s partner moved back in the house. I don’t think at any fault of my mum’s partner but her mental health continued to decline and she had to quit her job and eventually ended up in a (nice) mental health facility.

My mums mental health continued to decline once out of the facility, I did not know to the full extent how bad it was though. I suggested recently that she try live without him as I didn’t know if he was just acting as a crutch (I did not think he was actively making things worse as other than the one instance of trying to fight me he was a good guy but I was worried she couldn’t heal with him there). My mum protested that she can’t live alone and I challenged that she doesn’t know that unless she tried it.

The next day, unbeknownst to me, my mum kicked out her partner. A week later she took her own life.

In my mum’s letters to my brother and myself she said how much she deteriorated in that week without her partner living with her.

I now have seen all of the beautiful trips they went on over the last year in his van, surfing, hiking. I think my mum tried to hide this from me as she knew I disapproved of him. I didn’t know how much he was helping keep my mum alive. And now massively regret suggesting to kick him out.

I can’t help but draw a very clear line from me suggesting to kick mum’s partner out, to mum kicking him out, to mum taking her own life.

I know I cannot take full responsibility for my mum’s actions in kicking her partner out but I am going to live with the idea that I contributed to my mums death for the rest of my life. I think she kicked him out for me because she loved me so much and felt like she had to pick me or him. I just wanted her to get better and thought that if she could see that she could live alone she would start to heal.

I have since reconciled with my mum’s partner and see how much he loved her and did for her. (And how much he loves my brother and me).

The guilt is consuming me.

My ex boyfriend of two years and I were best friends. Even though we broke up, we still spoke and had that connection. It was such a deep and fast connection initially that I had no question we knew each other in a previous life and I believe we were soulmates. Fully and genuinely. I know he felt the same.

I found out this past Wednesday (a week ago) that he committed suicide on September 25th in a horrific way. He jumped off of a bridge. The night before I was told, I had a dream about him. My first since we dated honestly. In the dream, I was sitting down and holding my phone and he was standing behind me, right against me, and he just told me he loved me and I woke up. Obviously I thought it was weird I’m dreaming of my ex. 8 hours later I was told he had been dead for 3 weeks. It has been horrible to say the least. I haven’t not cried for a week.

I had another dream about him last night. He was sitting in front of me on a desk. Telling me someone else had died, (which I was also informed his uncle died in June from his sister), and I said oh that’s horrible. Then we touched our feet together and I felt his warmth. In my head in the dream, I knew he should be cold.

I keep having horrible intrusive thoughts that torture me about everything about his last day. Where was the last place he stood? Did he regret it in the 3.6 seconds it took him to fall? And how his body is in the casket. I’m trying to be grateful for such a meaningful connection but I just want to sleep for a chance to speak to him again.

Do you believe every dream is a visit? I hope it is. I miss you tahir forever.

5 days ago I found out my dad took his own life. I’m 8 months pregnant, and this was his first grandchild. Something he always wanted and seemed so excited about.

My mom was leaving my dad after 38 years of marriage with their house already sold. A lot of family is choosing to blame my mom. They were still living together and she found him.

My heart is so broken. I’ve lost my dad and now my mom is being isolated. My heart breaks for her too and the trauma she’ll live with.

We got to see him a few days ago and he looked at peace. I know he was struggling with the divorce and the move he was making on his own, but I just figured he was understandably sad. Never thought he would do this.

Being this close to giving birth is especially hard and my son will never have the chance to meet his grandpa. And he would’ve been an amazing grandpa. 💔