CONTINUED IN 400
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sad but true, thank you for posting
The suicide attempt of a friend of mine sent both of us to the hospital.
In a way, the dead have even more power to pull us down than they did when alive.
Alive, there was always some thing, anything, we could do – talk, hug, just “be there”; and sometimes there would be the little wins, the miracle smile.
When they die… nothing we do will ever make any difference, no hope of seeing them ever, no little wins, no way of saying “Sorry”. I envy the dead, wish I could join them.
as someone with a mother with bpd i can feel related to this