Yesterday after a long and difficult battle with addiction, my cousin ended his life. Everything feels broken today. Now I know what people mean when they say they feel like the world shouldn’t still be turning. It just feels… wrong, somehow. He must have been hurting so bad.
Is it bad that I’m relieved it wasn’t me? Because there have been times when it almost could have been me. Is it wrong that I’m almost grateful to know this pain? Because knowing this pain gives me perspective. This is the pain of those who are left behind. I intend to remember it well and draw upon it when (not if) I go back to that dark place where suicide seems like a viable option. This is a lot of pain.
RIP Phil. I understand. And I miss you.