My Youngest Brother Committed Suicide on Jan 2, 2011
I went over to Ben's apartment that morning with my dog; he was going to watch her for me while I went away for a few days. He had taken an overdose of sleeping pills and died in his bathtub, which is where I found him. I called 911 and they had me try to resuscitate him to no avail. He had probably been dead for at least an hour at that point. He was 28 years old.
I've since gone back to work. I somehow manage to keep it together throughout the day, but I always seem to lose it at night. The pain is literally worse than anything I've ever experienced in all my life. I can't get the image of his body lying in his bathtub out of my head. Sometimes I think he's here in my apartment when my dog starts barking. My living room is filled with boxes of his possessions.
Wrapping up all his loose ends has been particularly hard on myself and my Mom and my other brother. We had to pack up and move everything out of his apartment. We had to close his bank accounts and transfer the titles on his cars. Cancel his credit cards. Call his friends or message them on Facebook. It's like every day brings a new small nightmare, but they're all part of one big long nightmare. One you can't wake up from.
I've joined a survivor support group. I'll go to the first meeting next month. I also signed up to do an 18 mile overnight walk to raise money for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. I'm trying desperately to find ways to cope, to try to make some kind of sense out of something that at it's core makes no sense and never can. Every day is a struggle to survive.