Feel Better About Your Monday With These 20 Painful FML Stories
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I woke up this morning and reached for my phone. My morning ritual is a deep scrolling of Facebook. After a few posts I noticed a familiar name, Karyn Washington. But the post wasn’t from her. I paused and immediately hopped up out of bed. Searching for the answers, or hopefully the lies, I clicked around Facebook.
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I went to Karyn’s Facebook profile and instantly broke out into an uncontrollable bubble-snot cry. Her friends and people that knew of her had begun to leave their goodbyes and messages of sorrow. I cried because I couldn’t save her. I was way too busy saving myself. You see, her story is a reflection of mine. I remember being out somewhere when I received her email. I literally stopped what I was doing to respond to her, something that NEVER happens.
Because I was so deep in my own grieving process, I replied with two posts that I had written. It was all the comfort I could give her at that time. One about how to cope with a loved one who has cancer, and the other piece I had written to read at my mother’s funeral. We had so much in common. We both were from Baltimore, we both loved beauty and we were entering a deep state of depression. We exchanged more emails throughout that day. Things I wished I had of done when my mother was alive.
Almost a month later, Karyn was on my mind. I wondered if her mom was still with us. More importantly I wondered if Karyn was ok. You know I bubble-snot cried after reading the email above. Even though I knew what the outcome would be, I was hoping for a miracle. As I did with my mother. I read Karyn’s message and could feel the hurt.
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It was painful for me because I hurt all over again hearing her story. Over the holidays we were both sad and deeply depressed. I am not sure if she admitted it to herself. But I knew this feeling I had wasn’t normal, or maybe it was. I reached out again as Turkey Day approached the calendar, just to check on her.
She said she had found a meet up in Baltimore that dealt with coping during the holidays and she was also going to church. Looking back I should have asked if she found someone to talk to. But I think what Karyn needed was honesty! And she needed it from me.
I should have told her I had thought about suicide. I wonder how much easier my life would be to not wake up everyday in tears. I wonder what my mother is doing without me. I still wonder what would happen if I just wasn’t here. When I heard the news this morning, that’s the first thing I thought. I should have shared my thoughts about living without my mother. And how I didn’t want to.
I wanted to join her in heaven. It has too be easier up top. I can hardly believe that I am even typing it and sharing it with you. But fuck it, I’ve thought about it. I’ve learned in this past year that it doesn’t.
I blame social media a bit. We all try to illustrate these perfect lives. Who really shares the bad days? And more importantly, who doesn’t judge someone when they do? I checked on her one last time in January 2014.
I left my number again, just in case she needed to hear my voice. As I continued to fight off my own depression with cocktails, tears and hugs from my boyfriend Karyn still lived inside of me. All too often we look down on Karyn. She hasn’t learned how to become this beacon of strength that represents all Black women. Try and look past my glamorous lifestyle. My perfectly curated Instagram pictures that tell just one side of my life’s story.
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That big smile I wear, that is usually covered in red matte lipstick, is hard to curate on most days. But I’ve learned to live through the pain. I’ve never been to a therapist, and maybe I should have went after my mother died. It’s never too late, perhaps I’ll get there soon. But I’ve found my own comforting rhythm.
A beat that soothes my yearn to end it all. People say all the time, You’re so strong! That’s so far from the truth. I know that’s what has gotten me through my tragedies. I don’t judge myself for bursting into tears in the middle of a meeting. And I cannot judge myself for not being able to save Karyn.
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I live inside of my weak. Who says I have to be strong? Why do WE have to be strong? My mother died and I don’t wanna.
I wanna pout for a few minutes. I wish someone had told Karyn Washington that she didn’t have to be strong. She didn’t have to hold the world’s glaring eyes on her shoulders. That asking for help was ok. No matter how you ask for it, it’s ok.
I just thought you’d like to know that there’s a little Karyn Washington in us all! Did You Miss That Epic Side Eye I Gave To Dr. Thank you for passing along this information, opening up and sharing your feelings on this matter. We are all dealing with so much. I think that’s the scariest part. The fact that we know exactly how she felt, to know what if feels like to no longer want to go on. I wish there wasn’t dark cloud around therapy, suicide and depression.
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Just a simple conversation has the ability to save a life. Jesus is the answer to everything. I have been depressed, and it took me YEARS of prayer and therapy to find my way out. Sometimes Christians want to just put everything into a neat box, just like a pill to cure a headache.
I too am Christian and know what kind of healing God can provide. But God also gives us wisdom and free will and I don’t think He intends on us suffering in silence when there are things we can do to find healing. I lack adequate faith and shame myself into seclusion. I’m supposed to dong homework now, but had to stop and read this when you came in my feed. Two of my siblings have lost one of their parents, and this only makes me think about what they’re gong through daily.
Suicide is something that I know a lot of people have thought about, but never come and tell people. Hell, I’ve only admitted it once during a heated argument with my folks and they told me that that’s something only white people do. Thank you for sharing this post. Hopefully this helps people reach out to their friends and loved ones who’ve gone through the same thing. I’m gonna contact my sibs today to make sure they’re okay.
Thank you for the beautifully written, honest post. The stigma associated with depression baffles me to this day. You don’t know how many people you may have saved with your words. Someone may reach out to that person they know may be struggling. You made me bubble snot cry.
I have not lost my mother but I did lose a part of me, my innocence at a young age. Life has never been the same. I fight depression and aged daily. And yes the thought of suicide was there and sometimes out of nowhere I wonder?