tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1365990433045665296.post8019792625980771870..comments2023-06-22T02:52:16.261-06:00Comments on Redwood's Medical Edge: The Survivor's Side of Suicide: Part 1/2Jordyn Redwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14021715235725750286noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1365990433045665296.post-48210292494461539552014-09-23T17:06:28.844-06:002014-09-23T17:06:28.844-06:00Heather,
Thanks so much for sharing your experien...Heather,<br /><br />Thanks so much for sharing your experience and I'm glad you're still here!Redwood's Medical Edgehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16058568644705726998noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1365990433045665296.post-89420823372479721712014-09-16T07:15:52.668-06:002014-09-16T07:15:52.668-06:00Excellent post! You are right (and not just with s...Excellent post! You are right (and not just with suicide survivors), people who have lost loved ones crave to talk about them. This won't go away. My sister lost her son over twenty years ago and he is still a big part of her life. He died of cancer. The other day we were laughing at a memory of her kids playing Batman. The best gift to give a person in grief is a listening ear and some fond memories. <br /><br />You are also accurate about the despair of suicide. From the age of eight until I was forty-eight, I kept a suicide stash. For me it was a way of escape. At eight the only poison I could find was drano - when I started seeing therapists years later, I kept aside pills. I'm glad I didn't do myself in, but for years I thought I'd never escape the despair of my past, and life only seemed hopeless. Little did I know that there was healing for the abuse I received as a child and that I would have a happy and fulfilled life. I spent most of my life viewing myself as ruined goods with my father's words running in my mind, that I was so stupid, dumb, and ugly that no one would ever love me unless I learned to put out. He told me this when I was seven, and then proceeded from the age of seven until fifteen to teach me how to put out. It took until I was 48 to really heal from that abuse.Heather Marstenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17442467779057850945noreply@blogger.com