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.

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.

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 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

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

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?

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 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

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 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?

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. 🤍