One of my cousins killed him­self today.

We weren’t close, by any means. R was old­er than me—only 7 years, as it turns out, but it always seemed much more.

I did­n’t even know that he’d been hos­pi­tal­ized last year—few peo­ple did, because that was embar­rass­ing. R told his broth­er that the voic­es were telling him to kill his wife and babies, and his broth­er very wise­ly had him hos­pi­tal­ized. I always did think C had the best head in that entire branch of the family.

R’s moth­er had told a few peo­ple that R had some “nerve prob­lems.” Every­body assumed he was doing drugs again, so of course, he did­n’t get the kind of sup­port he need­ed and deserved as he was des­per­ate­ly try­ing to stay clean and sober and drag his ass out of the chasm of hell­ish­ly dark depression.

Well, there you go. That’s what hap­pens when you’re too fuck­ing embar­rassed to admit that some­body has a men­tal ill­ness to open­ly sup­port him and get the fam­i­ly to ral­ly around him. His sis­ter-in-law got bet­ter treat­ment when she had leukemia, now did­n’t she—even though she and C were divorced?


I’m sor­ry, R. I would have been there, had I heard a hint of it, but I nev­er did.

R leaves a wife, K, and two chil­dren (10 and 6). K (and, it seems, the kids) found R when they got home this after­noon. I don’t know when the funer­al will be yet, but I plan to attend. It’ll be in Alaba­ma, but we don’t know which end of the state it’ll be in (north, where my fam­i­ly is, or south, where they were living).

Cur­rent Mood: pissed off
Cyn is Rick's wife, Katie's Mom, and Esther & Oliver's Mémé. She's also a professional geek, avid reader, fledgling coder, enthusiastic gamer (TTRPGs), occasional singer, and devoted stitcher.
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