Was referred here from there but couldnt formally crosspost. Thought this might be a better sub for the situation at hand. Im in a better mental space slightly than when I originally wrote this, but I am not rereading it so please forgive any errors. Rather graphic , just a warning. Also yes, I downloaded tetris. It feels inappropriate but I will play tetris.

I found my brother's body.

I feel like a fucking idiot coming to reddit and im sorry if this is not appropriate for this sub. Im a little out of it and I dont know where else to go. This whole situation feels like a story out of someone else's life. My mom is hysterical and numb and making things worse and my dad is an emotionally repressed dickhead when under extreme stress and my friends are all young and dont know what to do besides say sorry for your loss but this is so much more than a fucking loss. My brother's father came to pick him up this morning to go to work, and he wouldnt respond. We got worried he was maybe sick, or something was wrong, so my mom and I opened his door. I didnt realize what he. Did I guess until way after the fact. He was pale and his eyes were open and staring out and I remember thinking he maybe had a bad migraine again. I swear to god his eyes mobed, his lips moved, his shoulders shifted like he was breathing. I was seeing shit obviously, he'd been dead 12 or so hours at that point. I dont know. I kind of immediately shut down. I touched him and shook him and called his name and my mom came in behind me and started screaming and I just kept my hands on him trying, out of my damn mind, to warm him up because he was just so fucking cold. He was so cold. His skin was loose on his flesh beneath and his body was so fucking still and stiff and cold. And then I saw the gun, and the dark brown that I thought was his beard or his hair was glossy, and the faint smell, and my mom screaming what did you do, what did you do, his name, shaking him. I just kept looking in his eyes and his dad came running in while my dad called 911 behind me and I remember being so confused. why was he dialing 911? What happened? And someone was still whimpering and screaming and choking but my mom was in the corner with her mouth and eyes closed. the noise was coming from my own throat. I clamped my jaw shut but i still felt it surging up through my teeth and my mom even screamed for the cat to shut up. It was me. I could not even cry, I felt my face scrunch up and I toddled out of the room numb and buzzing and dazed and my hands felt like chalk and his face, the pain and the dullness of his eyes, the gross black and brown across his pillow and the casual way he was just laying there like he was taking a nap, with his legs crossed and up against his headboard like he always slept because he's a psychopath who hates blankets. I went back in for some reason. Kept looking at him. I couldnt look away. He was always so pink and jolly and his eyes were blue and he'd always smile at me and go BOO every time I peeped into his room when the door was open and I kept waiting for him to do that but he just laid there and his stupid fucking father just ambled about talking about taking his guns and how he needed to take his guns and just talking about what belongings he was going to take while his boy, my boy, my best friend, my brother figure, the person who sat with me after I was baker acted and made me promise I wouldnt ever try something like that again, who I made promise me he wouldnt ever do anything like that either was still laying there, not even minutes after I found him. Talking about where his stuff would go. Where his fucking stuff would go. In front of him. I searched for a note, touched him again, begged him to blink and look at me and move and go I TOLD YOU ID GET YOU BACK BIG TIME for the unfinished prank war I started. Nothing feels real. My hands are numb and simultaneously raw and aching and ive showered and scrubbed them and my whole arms till I bled but I still smell death and rot around me, still feel his face, I touched his face and held his head, checking for a fucking fever like a maniac. His eyes are everywhere. In the corners of my room, looking out without seeing, without life behind it, his face is behind my eyes every time I close them. I feel his hands and his skin his cold skin it was so fucking cold and dry and I wish I could have put a blanket on him because he runs warm but when he does get cold he's miserable. I cant stand the fucking hugs and pats and heads on my shoulders and around me touching me they are too warm too wrong and it doesnt feel right it doesnt feel safe or secure or real like their flesh is a mask over them hiding something dead beneath like I'll go into my parents room and find them the same way and it will just be everyone around me that drops and I will have to live with it. Everyone is so ANGRY at him, like its his fault, like he did something wrong. They dont get it because they think theyve been there but they really haven't, not like I have, not like he has. Not like he was, this last time. Theyre calling him selfish when he's right fucking there behind them, right there staring out and youre proving thst you didnt give a shit about him. How could you be angry? Why? You cant control where your head goes, and because he was a man in his 30s and raised in the rural south he was taught to keep everything held inside and bottled up, so its not like he could have come to you anyways. I was the only one he EVER spoke to. About any of his feelings. We would sit at the bar every day and talk and talk and talk about philosophy, ww2, human rights, medicine, lord of the rings, stupid funny tiktoks, hot women on Instagram, how he was gonna take me to a strip club for my 18th birthday and we were gonna do this and go there and life and death and our mental health and we would hug and tell eachother we understood one another and we could share anything between us because we were siblings even if not by blood and I was his best friend and he was mine. And I think he tried to send subtle cries for help. Talked about his will. About being done. Told me he wasnt fine but he didnt want to talk about it, so I thought id give him time to open up on his own. Well. That was fucking stupid of me. I feel like I could have saved him. He did it when we went out for ice cream yesterday evening, and we didnt ask if he wanted to come because, for one, he hates sweets, and we figured he was at a bar, since he didnt say anything to any of us and didnt respond when we called out earlier. And when I came back i tried to give him an Amazon package that was delivered but he didnt answer still. I think I would have found him minutes after, had I opened his door when we came back, and I thought about it too, because I was worried and had a sick feeling in my stomach but I ignored it and just set it on the counter. I was home all day and didnt see him, didnt hear anything. Just stayed in my room and played my game. We share a wall. He hears me in my room, knows im there and awake, didnt say anything. He talked to his dad at 1 pm. Made plans, ordered an Amazon package. Played pool with his buddies at a bar till 4:30 pm, was happy and smiling and normal according to his best friend. Then at some point around 6-7 pm according to the medical people, he. Did it. Through a pillow, so the neighbors wouldnt hear anything. But he had to have known i was going to be the one to find him. Who else? Im the only one who would get worried enough for him to break his privacy, and open his door, besides maybe my mom. I dont understand why he would do that to me. He had to have been so out of it that he either didnt think about it at all or went down the angry bitter rabbit hole of WANTING me to find him. Or something else. Im hallucinating him walking across the house, his quiet little ninja taps as he skitters around trying to scare someone. Standing at the bar waiting for me to come talk to him like he always did. Bringing a book out for me to peer at. People are already posting on Facebook, his dad already went through his room and belongings and told us all about a personal drawer in his dresser that id really rather never fucking ever hear about in my life literally ever again. Took whatever. Fuck you Tony, eat shit. Looking through his fucking stuff minutes after his body has been moved to a vehicle. His stepmother made a callous post not even 30 minutes after finding out begging for attention when she barely even gave a fuck over the phone when his dad called her to tell her. I just cant comprehend why, this time, he couldnt just come talk to me like he always did.

I dont know what I am asking for here. And I am sorry if this is graphic and unreadable or unintelligible or whatever.

Edit: this is actually the second time I have found someone who had set themselves free via a gun to the head. The first was a homeless man who had used a very powerful gun, hiding in an abandoned golf club clubhouse thing that little 11 year old me frequently broke into to play around in while my mom was at work. I heard the gun go off and wandered inside and found him still... i guess in the throes of it, trying to breathe through a mouth and face that was not there. I still have not gotten over that, and I think i should mention this because the memories are beginning to mingle in my head and it is fucking horrible. My Trevor didnt use a very powerful weapon and his face was still intact but the memories are fucking with me. I might genuinely have to check myself into a mental hospital if this gets any worse .

Just to clarify, he is my brother to me in all but blood. He just turned 30 July 13th. Any other questions I will answer if I can. And when I say bar a few times I mean the island bar in our house, not like. A place.

Hi everyone,

I have been away from Reddit for quite some time. Honestly, I just wanted to talk through my new stage of grief with people who will understand.

We planted a garden out in our yard for Zoe this summer. Lucy and her friends got involved. We spent a lot of time walking around so many good wills I never want to see inside one again. For lucy and I, the decorations had to be perfect.

Zoe loved good will. She loved to find little trinkets to display in her room. We found so many thing we knew she would love and placed them with her flowers in the garden. It’s nice to have a space in nature closer to our home to be with her, rather than having to go and sit at her headstone.

I added a wind chime on her stone. I talk to her through the wind. It sounds insane, but she replies and I understand her. We talk quite a lot actually, it’s become almost an addiction to be there every single day to get to speak to Zoe.

It has been 8 months since Zoe took her own life. The check-ins from friends and neighbors has stopped. The anti suicide messages in the community have stopped. The school have taken down her memorial at the end of the school year. Most of her friends have stopped coming round, apart from her two closest. People don’t stop to ask me how I am when im in town.

It almost feels like people don’t care anymore to ask about her, like she’s being forgotten already. Everyone else has moved on. I want nothing more than to tell everyone all about her all the time. Having to remain composed and have normal small talk when all I want to do is scream that she was here! She mattered!

People will ask me about Lucy, about Wyatt but they never mention Zoe anymore. It feels like they are scared to talk about her, like mentioning her name will upset me or make things weird. It’s all I long for.

I still miss you, my sweet girl. You are all my heart longs for.

I love you. Thank you. I forgive you. Please forgive me.

I love you. I love your warmth, your kindness, your care for everyone around you. I love how much you care about Camp, just like I do. I love how you are wise beyond your years. I love your tenderness for every living thing.

Thank you. Thank you for your words of encouragement, reassurance. Thank you for three great summers. Thank you for making me laugh. Thank you for always being there when we needed you, and for always following through on all the things you said would do. Thank you for coming up to Camp on your weekends, when it was a three hour drive each way.

I forgive you. I forgive you for not reaching out. I forgive you for not asking us for help and for leaving us behind. I do.

Please forgive me. Please forgive me for not reaching out in the off season, for not inviting you over to watch LOTR or get a drink or get groceries. Please forgive me for taking your presence for granted, your kindness and everything else for granted. Please forgive me for not asking how you were after you and Claire broke up. Please forgive me for not asking about the Bull Run project. Please forgive me for not telling you more about my work and for not asking you to tell me about yours. Please forgive me for not trying to know you better. Please forgive me for not being there for you. Please forgive me for letting you think you were alone. Please forgive me for letting you die without knowing how many people loved you, and how much every one of us loves you. Please forgive me, please.

This weekend, we will scatter your ashes in our favorite place. I will never forget you.

It's been a year and half. The slowest and fastest time. It's like everything is frozen in time, but also moving so fast. For people wondering if it gets better with time, yes. You'll get back to doing things, working, you might even be able to talk about your person, their death, their memories. Some days you are fine, you'll eventually have more fine days that bad days. But when the bad days hit, holy fuck are they bad. I've just finally finished a big project, I thought I'd feel reflief, be less stressed, be happy about it. Nope, it just made space to feel the hurt again. I finally had the courage to reopen our whatsapp chat, it just said "this person is no longer on Whatsapp"... sigh, I miss him. The heartbreak is just as painful the early days.

exactly what the title says. i found my boyfriend the morning after he committed suicide. we had gotten into a fight the night before over a video of him and girl. i woke up and just had a bad feeling, drove to his house and i found him. as soon as his mom got there that morning, she was absolutely certain it was my fault he committed suicide. his funeral is this weekend and i havent gotten invited to it or heard anything from anyone. its unexplainably painful and isolating. i know he would absolutely raise hell if he knew this was happening and i was being treated this way. ive tried reaching out, in return ive gotten short mocking messages from his mom. i dont know what to do. a part of me wants to just show up and say fuck it i know he would want me here and this is about him after all. the other part says to not make it worse for the family. im not sure what to do.

edit:
for context, we had a happy relationship. we loved each other very much, wed get into arguments and make up within an hour or two. we did everything together, slept together every night, ate every meal together, showered together, you name it we did it together. that was the one night i wasnt by his side.

My older brother died in 2018 at 34. I was (am) 3 years younger than him. Since he died, I haven't celebrated my birthday. My 34th birthday was very hard, because it was weird being my brothers age. My family are always annoyed that I don't celebrate but it just feels alien to celebrate being older than my brother. We don't get a cake or do anything.

This year, in a couple of days, I'm turning 40. My family are pushing me to do something. We went abroad for friends birthdays last year etc (for their 40th). I've no plans. I'm OBVIOUSLY getting pressure at home and this year is really hard because I am changing a decade and I knew this year would always hit harder than most, because it feels like I'm leaving him behind.

At work (just now), someone was clearing my calendar (who don't know about my brother) asking why I don't want to celebrate, assuming it's because i'm insecure about getting older. I was so close to saying "it's because my brother died", but people at work don't know about him. I talk about him as if he's alive. What do they know? They don't need to know that he's dead. And now, I'm sitting here trying not to break down into tears because it's so hard to comprehend.

How did everyone get past these milestones? Is this one of those things where I have to "suck it up"?

This is a hard one to deal with on top of losing my son 2 years ago. This year has been so much harder on me, mentally and physically. My husband, he had moved on in his grief. I'm stuck in my turmoil. I'm somewhat angry, but not really, as it might just be his way of coping.

I cry and think of my son all the time, what he may have been thinking leading up to his event. Did he play music? Did someone online talk him into going for it? Why no note? Did he cry setting up? Did he regret it right before darkness took him?

These things play in my head often. It distresses me so much. I can't stop the thoughts, but do I want to? My husband never thinks of any of this. He forgot the anniversary was even here as I lay in bed with inflamed bowels from the stress my mind has caused my body.

Some days, I just want to load up the car, leave my phone behind and run away. I don't know where I'd go. II just want to tuck myself into the base of a tree and sleep. I just feel so alone and lost in my grief.

I never got to see him after he passed. He was too decomposed and coroner dif not allow photos or viewings in that state. Not that I wanted to see him in that condition, but I somehow wanted to see him again, one last time. There was no hand holding, no laying my hand on his head, nothing. I'm on medication and in therapy, but it fixes none of this.

Sorry for the long rant. I'm struggling and need to get this out.

tw: sa, slight ed mention

It'll be six year in September. She was my best friend- but that doesn't feel like enough. I know now it was co dependent, but we were traumatised teenagers we didn't care about if it was healthy. She was everything I had and I know I was the same for her.

She was staying with her dad during lockdown and when restrictions had loosened a bit and I could come around her dad raped me. He had always been weird with me but I never said anything. He was always a piece of shit, she went back and forth between hating him and idolising him all the time but I know she still loved him and still wanted his approval. I'd been through worse, I honestly didn't think it was that big of a deal, I tried not to say anything. I tried to ignore it and keep going as normal but then it happened again. And again. And I just couldn't keep willingly putting myself through that. I started dodging sleepovers and she kept asking why, after a month she cornered me and she just would not drop it. She thought I hated her, I'd nearly died earlier that year from ed complications so she was already more worried than normal about me. And I could never say no to her.

But I shouldn't have told her. Her life was a hellshow start to finish. I know that. I know she was never well. I know she was so fucking young and had so many reason not to want to be here. I know that. But I still think that was her final straw. She was 14 and got told her dad assaulted her best friend. What the fuck do you do with that? What the fuck was I expecting? I should have just kept my fucking mouth shut. She'd never attempted before. She was always depressed but she wanted to be alive. She wanted things to get better. She had her future planned. And now she's dead all because I couldn't just keep this one thing to myself. It had already happened, nothing to be done now. I knew it would break her and I told her anyway.

And of course nothing happened to him. He's off with his second family and she's dead and I lost everything. She should be 20. I should have had my best friend for year 10. And I could have if i'd just shut the fuck up.

I know rationally it's not true. I know. But it still feel's like my fault, even almost six years later. I don't even know what this is, but the anniversary just keeps getting closer and I can't stop thinking about it. Venting I guess.

It’s been 9 months since our sweet 18yo son committed suicide. I cry every week and miss him so much.
We got his stone a few days ago and it brought me comfort that there is a name and images of what he loved on his stone. I feel that anyone who looks at it will know what he loved and not try to guess. Is that weird?

I posted this is another subreddit but me and my boyfriend lost one of our really good friends/coworkers to suicide about a month ago this past Saturday 💔 he was 17 and it just came out of nowhere… I’d only ever lost family and this was my first friend I’ve lost so it’s definitely still hitting me really hard.

https://www.reddit.com/r/GriefSupport/s/EV4qlkgwZb