Today marks the 10th anniversary of my husband's death by suicide.
It seems like a lifetime ago, something that happened to somebody else, not me. And yet sometimes it seems like yesterday. I catch myself in a memory, a moment of recognition that this whole "other" life was real. It mattered. He mattered.
He was a beautiful, flawed, individual. Like the rest of us. He battled demons that I still to this day don't fully understand. He didn't survive.
In the decade that has passed I have observed real progress in how we as a society treat and recognise mental illness as a real thing, not just something to be minimised, hidden from polite conversation, seldom mentioned, unless spoken about in hush-hush and guilty tones.
I often wonder, had he survived, whether he would have gone on to thrive and find his niche that he so clearly craved.
I don't suffer the crippling guilt anymore, but I do catch myself feeling sad every so often. He was a good soul. He didn't deserve the pain.
RIP Kevin. I know you are still very missed, to this day.
Love Natasha x
Welcome to my book website, Marrying Bipolar. As you made it to the blog, you may be interested in learning a little more about me. I was born and bred in Sydney since 1973 to a very tight knit and loving family. We all have our issues, though, and my life's ambition was to become the best person I could be through education, hard yakka (that's work for non-Australians reading this!) and trying to learn as much about myself and others as possible.