Regret isn't a thing I usually experience
So much of my life is being proud to have come from where I've come, not dwelling on how things could be different, appreciating that everyone has a different timeline, and thankfulness that in my darkest times, I had the foresight to know everything would eventually be okay.
My 28 year old cousin passed away sometime in the last few days. I just read the email.
I had heard she was plagued. I remember hearing her mom talk to my brother about it. He's a psychologist. He thought maybe he should reach out to her.
I thought to myself; of course that won't help. Someone who is ill doesn't want to talk to the person or people to judge or diagnose. Someone who is ill doesn't want to talk to an authority. I thought, briefly, that maybe I should reach out to her. Tell her my story and where I came from and how I understand her demons, whatever they may be.
But I didn't.
What was there to lose? My secret? My comfort level? Opening myself up to family who had no idea what I went through?
Of course I couldn't have known how dire it was. This was my family, we're built to withstand.
There were two NPR stories in the last week with people telling their own stories of being on the phone with someone who had intentionally overdosed. Both managed to get someone out there to help. One was found hours later and survived. One was found minutes later and passed away. The person on the phone finally found the notice in the paper that said it was an accidental overdose. She had finally admitted on the phone to him that she didn't want to die and gave him her address, and she didn't make it.
Stories are always told so well on NPR, but these stories always resonate with me so much.
It was the most dire for me when I was very young. I was first suicidal in the 6th grade. I had a friend who would talk me down. At that age you can't possibly know or have the perspective that what you experience right now as a state of being isn't permanent. That's what's the most dangerous about depression in children - it's a lack of perspective, lack of coping mechanisms, and certain parts of the brain like impulsivity not being fully formed or matured yet.
I digress.
Emma was 28. She was gorgeous. And so sweet and genuine. The email was slightly vague. She was in California where she was "living and working on recovery from substance use."
So I wonder, was it an overdose? It had to have been an overdose. On purpose? I can't help but think yes.
I wish I would have reached out to her. What would I have had to lose?