it's a fact that suicide, no matter how, tends to change people known to the victim, not by coincidence they are usually called suicide survivors. I do not intend to imply that people around you might suicide if you do so, but I just wanted to share a personal experience of mine.
I've been dealing with depression, trauma and anxiety since 11, so it'd not be fair to blame my suicidal tendencies on this incident, but it sure did triggered me. I can still recall the feeling that ran trough my veins that day, in fact I cannot even listen to the specific song I was listening by the time... to give proper dimensions of the matter, I had to move out of my apartment.
Last year, may 13th (2019), I was cooking in my shared apartment when suddenly, it was about 17pm, heard a scream from the street, at first since I lived on a rough neighborhood I didn't think much of it, it was probably just some kids fucking around. But it wasn't. Some minutes later, I heard more screams, doors crashing... I went to the window, and across the street a couple of students were dumbly whispering around a house. I was not close to my neighbor, in fact I never talked to him, but my window was right in front of his gate, and I always so him getting out to walk the door, or just coming home late at night from a bar.
As a curious person, and a med student who stupiditly thought I could help if that was the case, I rushed down the stairs to see what the commotion was about. My neighbor hanged himself... I cannot describe the feeling, but even know, it's as if my soul detached from my body, a chill runs through my spine, the hair in my arms goes up, my head aches, my feet gets cold, my legs go numb, a buzz chirps in my ears. I hate it. I stood in front of his house for yours, gawking at his front door, still as stone, waiting, watching. I didn't feel alive, but like an object, can't really explain it.
I saw the cops, the ambulance, his corpse. I could not see his face, but I saw his chest, his weird shaped tattoo, his legs. The legs never left my mind, neither did the paramedics equipment set around his neck... that bright blinding yellow.
I kept staring at his house for days. I walked by his gate numberless times with the same feeling hovering over me, I'd sit by his window and just watch, all day long, non-stop. I watched his friends crying, his relatives parking his broken old car, his things getting sold and dumped. I watched everything by my window.
I can still not understand how everything seemed normal on such a awful dark day. He died but the sky was on it's bluest, not a single cloud. The afternoon was windy, cozy. Live went on, and everything felt in place, in peace. But he was killing himself. It wasn't even an ugly day. In fact it was beautiful, one you would call blessed and take a stroll trough the park.
And somehow, that triggered me.That day, I reminded myself that suicide was actually an option.
