Not that this is on the same plane at all but I think that the effects are similar:
having to make the decision of putting my dog down has kicked into gear the severe depression of my bipolar disorder and I can’t shake it. I’m not “actively” suicidal as I have no plan nor desire to actually kill myself. But my extremely strong will to live has been significantly diminished to the point where if I had to fight for my life, I probably wouldn’t.
Top this off with PTSD, not just of watching my beloved dog die, but of all of the abuse of my past that I thought I had dealt with. I have better coping skills now so I don’t go into full-on panic mode but it does kick my ability to sleep, even with sleep medication in my gut.
I came to the conclusion that for me, this time, death was very personal. Before, I had the luxury of distance. When my first pet was run over, I didn’t see Death. The person who ran him over came to the door to tell my mom. When I found out that the guy who impregnated my mom which led to me died, I had no emotional connection. When The Bastard died, he was in Florida, I was in Louisiana and I mentally spat upon his grave. When my other stepdad died, I arrived shortly afterward. So I had no experience and no way to deal with seeing Death up close and personal.
I feel guilt. I feel angry that we didn’t have thousands of dollars to figure out what was wrong and even if we did figure it out, it probably would have done no good.
So what do I do? What do we do? We tell our friends and family where we are at. I know my wife doesn’t understand the internal struggle but she understands that she needs to listen and more importantly, let me off the hook. She needs to encourage me to get outside, change my environment, try not to sleep in til 2pm and try to shower regularly. I’d really prefer to sleep in til 2 but I know enough to recognize that it is a trigger and if not for myself, I owe it to my wife to not make the situation worse.
I am sipping my Tazo chai tea and will go for my grande soy no-whip cinnamon dolce latte when I can find the motivation to get up and shower. Once again, I am not comparing my dog dying to Mike Penner’s death. I am just agreeing that death can certainly kick in the symptoms of mental illness.

dammitreading this again just makes me want to delete the whole thing.

the hawkeGo easy on yourself, you can be just as attached to a dog as any person, and the grief is just as real and authentic.
It’s only been about a week, and you have to give yourself some time to heal. You sound like you know a lot of your own patterns which can get you further into depression, so at least you know what to look for. I dealt with a lot of co-dependant behaviors, I can still slip and act out, but I recognize the behavior and can make a course correction earlier. It’s progress not perfection.
I had a good greif group which helped me cope after my lover died of AIDS, and one exercise was to write a memorial, and it gave me something to do when I also felt I might hurt myself, I had no will to continue.
So maybe allow yourself to write about your dog, for an hour or two, each day. You aren’t going to wallow in it all day, but recognise you can feel this loss.

I’m glad you wrote it.It’s clear you’re not equating your dog with Mike Penner, so don’t worry about that.  What is clear to me is that emotions are emotions, and many different beings or events in our lives can trigger them.  It’s great to see that you know how to avoid getting into a downward spiral.  And it is especially warming to see that you and your partner understand and care for each other so well even if you don’t share all the same emotional experiences.  That’s a real gift and the definition of a great relationship, if you ask me.

And I would agree with Petey & Lurleen.Grief is grief. I know that if my Kitty Bon-Bon or Maggie Kat passed away, I would be going through a difficult period of grief as well.
I’m with Petey and Lurleen; don’t beat yourself up.
And too, thank you for sharing this. Losses of our pets are losses that impact us deeply too, and we need to hear and remember that.

Sometimes it is a much harder loss (a pet), because it is the loss of someone who loved us unconditionally.

My 2 centsAutumn, I am so sorry for your pain- and glad you are talking. As your friend, I am also greatly relieved.
Keori and I were recently discussing mental illness issues and the stigmas… as I told her, one would not be made to feel societal guilt or shame for a broken leg or any other PHYSICAL issue, nor feel that one has to hide their injury- the person would go right to the emergency room and get the leg fixed.
Yet any sort of mental issue creates such complications- it’s so destructive and counterproductive towards getting well! Same as ignoring a physical injury increases the odds of complications, similar situations arise from ignoring mental injuries.
 

Cinnamon stick tea hereHad a rose bath earlier.
Comfort and scented things like tea, bubble baths, etc- they take care of the physical and so relax the body and mind. Thank goodness for our senses of scent and taste! Those few minutes of self-indulgences can restore so much.

For many LGBTs pets fill a space, that children have for straight couplesWe may get more attached to our pets, I know our room mate still grieves the loss of his long haired chihuahua who was hit by a car 2 years ago. Having to put down a very sweet Sheltie mix dog I had with Dan, compounded my loss because it was another thing we shared. there was no treatment for my dog, and her back legs just stopped functioning, it was an immuno disease…(go figure.)I insisted I would hold her as she was given her shot, and wait until she had gone.
I’ve had and lost many pets in 57 years, and realisticly we should know going in to owning a pet, there is a very real probability we will outlive it, it doesn’t make the loss felt less, but it’s the risk we accept, to have them in our lives for as long as we get.

Just noticed Pam’s tweet that her Aunt Judi went back to the hospitalPam sounds like she might not be feeling well, and tired relatives are telling her to rest, and bringing soup.
Take care Pam, and wish the best for your Aunt Judi.

AutumnI have had problems releasing anger, and then it would work itself out in other ways, or simply implode.
I found some of the release for the anger for me is physical and base, and needs to be expressed that way.
Whether I have to beat a mattress or pillow to get it out, it’s better than holding it in, or simply trying to talk or think it away. So maybe give yourself some time to just let the anger out…primitive and for as long as you need.

I’ll add a tuppence to thatAutumn, I was recently diagnosed with Depressive disorder, Schizoaffective disorder, Complex PTSD stemming from systematic abuse at the hands of family and intimate partners, and from being raped by a shipmate in 2006, and to top it all off, Dissociative Disorder. My psychiatrist is debating adding Borderline to the stone soup, as well.
To say my mind is a mess is putting it mildly.
I’m also glad you’re talking about this. Part of grief and depression is feeling so isolated, so alone, knowing intellectually that people are there, but emotionally it feels like you’re all alone in this wasteland of raw sewage. It’s HORRIBLE. Sharing it with people who love you helps keep that emotional connection alive when you need it most desperately.
I came so close to suicide just three weeks ago, and if not for Charlie and Louise talking me down, if I hadn’t heard Louise’s voice repeatedly telling me “I love you, go to the hospital,” I honestly think I’d be dead now. That emotional connection was what saved me. Intellectually I know there are people who love me, who care, who would miss me horribly if I gave up. But when a person’s internal brain chemistry is that fucked up, intellectual knowledge doesn’t count for shit. At that point, only love can pull us back from the edge long enough to get help.
As Louise said, there should be no shame in mental illness, in depression, in grief. It’s no less a medical condition than a busted leg. You do what you need to do to keep yourself well.

Keori…I’m glad Louise and Charlie could help you through a bad situationYou are valued here, so you call out whenever you need.

I’ve said it beforeand I’ll say it again: I love you and am so proud of you.
That was the scariest week… I was constantly checking emails, all your known “haunts” on sites- was an utter nervous wreck. You promised you would go and then I had to wait to hear- and when I did, I sat in my car with my little Blackberry in my hand and sobbed with relief.
You sound so much better- and just like no tree grows in a straight line, some days are 1 forward 2 back, rather than the preferred 2 forward. But that’s okay- you’re taking the steps…
(((HUGS)))

Thoughts on SuicideDear Autumn:
I feel that I can identify completely with your thoughts on Mike / Christine. It’s a very complicated situation. Transitioning is complicated; so is suicide. Put those two issues together and it’s reason enough for more than one very long walk.
A few months ago I was very shaken by the suicide of a dear friend, Rodger McFarlane. He was one of the most accomplished people I had the privilege to know: legendary activist, formidable author, world-class athlete, Tony award winner, genius and inspiration. I tell my friends often that I simply would not be around if it were not for Rodger, who made a lot of time for me in my own transition days — just to help me out on the bad days, to remind me to keep my head focused on the things I do and need to do in this life.
Rodger experienced a lot of pain in his last years, pain he told very few people about — some crushed vertebrae after a bad fall, back operations, a future in a wheelchair with some level of paralysis (I don’t know all the details). This was mentioned in his obituaries, with the subtext of reasonable cause for him driving to the middle of the desert with a shotgun. But the Rodger I knew in the 1990s would never have counseled such a course of action to anyone else. He would have told any writer/activist of his stature, in however bad condition, “you take that fucking pen in your mouth, or in your ass, and write a Pulitzer Prize book for us all to enjoy.”
And that’s the kind of talk I was denied saying to Rodger in his last days. It’s hubris on my part, I know, to imagine that I of all people could find the magic words to inspire Rodger to keep on living, when he of all folks — the most stubborn man on the planet — no doubt came up with a thousand reasons for his choice of death as the most rational thing imaginable. Side by side with my need to thank and inspire Rodger; my frustration at his loss; my now-lifelong cross to bear that I could not be “there” for him as he once was for me; is the sad and irrefutable fact that I need to respect his decision to take his own life, regardless of whether I ultimately understand it or not.
And so it goes for Mike / Christine too, a person whom I did not know, but somehow suspect I knew inside-out, even better than Rodger. When I read of her story, I could see my own story too — like you, and like Mike / Christine, transitioning out in the open (New York City) and well able to hear the backtalk whether it was truly said behind my back or, in some cases, right to my face.
I’ll probably never understand the seemingly inherent inability of Americans to simply accept, respect and yes love others as they are, and as they sincerely desire to be. What’s hard about that? There’s an awfully high level of fear out there.
In any case, the Penner story brought me back to the worst of my days, when I too was fearful. I won’t sum all that up here, it’s too long a story. In short, there was much alcohol consumed, many pills downed, a gun permit applied for. And some very close days indeed, when I would stand on the edge of the Grand Central Station subway stop platform, staring at the alluring tracks, maybe for an hour or two. On the ground below me, the instructions “Step Aside” (intended for waiting passengers when the trains arrive) which looked for all the world to me as God’s instructions. “You don’t fit in here. Step Aside.” Which means: Jump. Get out of the way of all this normality around you that has no tolerance for your individual bullshit.
In times of stress and elation both, I often feel that the deeper meanings of the cosmos become clearer, and before this little coffee-fueled essay (yes, it’s morning here and I’m sipping some crappy Japanese mocha java) leads many to assume that I am, yes, truly insane, I need to explain: from my own perspective, as a classical piano player, when you climb on a stage in front of 1,000 people to play the notes of Bach or Mozart, yeah, it helps if you can feel or just pretend you feel the Hand of God around to help, because if you think about all those people in the seats instead, or the part of the piece that’s hard, or how you didn’t really practice enough, you’re going to pee your pants and run home. So that’s what I mean about stress and elation.
Anyway, let’s not forget that this kind of public profession was Mike / Christine’s calling, too. Not music of course, but writing for thousands and thousands of people — the most visible of visible. And he / she wrote a column about transition, too. No doubt Penner felt that taking the personal journey public was a good coping device, and no doubt also felt the responsibility as a public person to do so, as a good work for all of us. This is what I call courage.
Courage takes energy, and energy takes fuel, and fuel has a way of running out if there aren’t enough gas stations on the highway. Here we all are on that same highway, and how many gas stations are there, really?
I guess the worst fallout of Mike / Christine’s suicide is the way some savage haters out there will seize on it as some kind of evidence that trans-folk aren’t stable (as if suicide never occurs amongst Fundamentalists). But from my own perspective I can look back and say: there was a time when the troubles of my own life seemed so overwhelming to me that suicide seemed a perfectly legitimate and easeful option. To lay the struggle and the pain aside, and to rest. I, too, remember well how very tiresome it was to simply be ME amongst so many others who seemed to find ME just an oddity, an easily rejected object of ridicule. Tiresome to hear crap from family. Tiresome to hear crap from so-called “friends.” Tiresome to be fired. Tiresome to not get work. Tiresome to pay a therapist who denied me hormones, and gave me bullshit advice. Need I go on? Tired, tired, tired — that’s how I felt for too many years of my life. Time for a good long rest.
We, the living, are probably incapable of embracing those kinds of thoughts now — as a dying friend of mine, with horrific cancer, said with glowing eyes on his deathbed: “I have so much yet to do.” Or my 82-year-old Grandpa, one day before his death: “I have to get on with the business of living.” When you are truly alive, you see the future. But one of the hard parts of dealing with our passed comrades — Rodger, for example — is accepting what they chose. I almost chose it myself, so I feel like I know about that choice. I don’t want to accept their decision, as I rejected it myself. But now it’s all out of my hands, and I need some inner peace about it. I think I know how tired they were.
No moral wrap-up here, no conclusions, just rambling thoughts. Like I said, it’s complicated. Time for a little more coffee, or a long walk.

HAHAneeding to do something physical to get thru the pain is why our office is now a deep red. Better our office than my arm. Working out does wonders too. Can’t get much more physical than pushing your body to work for you, whether it is a 20 minute bike ride or lifting weights or anything to get the blood pumping.
It took a long time for me to learn that 1) I didn’t need to punish myself by taking it out on my body and 2) there were far more constructive ways to deal with that anger.

On suicide and the trans communityFrom my perspective, I think there are many different reasons trans (in common with gay and lesbian) people have a proportionally higher than average propensity for contemplating or attempting suicide, but most of them might boil down to issues involving acceptance – self-acceptance, acceptance by family, acceptance by faith community, acceptance by society.
My late brother was gay.  He attempted suicide at age 16 while our parents were away on a cross-country road trip. If it weren’t for the fact the dog hadn’t been walked when I got up that morning, he might have succeeded – but after I couldn’t wake him up, and then saw the envelope with the note and the empty pill bottle, I called 911 and then had to try to contact a relative to admit him to the hospital (my uncle dropped everything and flew down from Buffalo). For him, it was the religion thing, as well as the knowledge of societal disapprobation.
My own transition included transient suicidal thoughts, but never seriously entertained.  I channeled my thoughts into analyzing the theology and finding the teachings of my former Church to be diabolically wrong (I had a head start on that, with my brother, working out the Church teachings on homosexuality were wrong, and having read Uta Ranke Heinemann’s Eunuchs For the Kingdom of Heaven, I had a sound theological grounding for challenging the Church’s teachings on women).
Perhaps one of the reasons for my political activism has been to be a part of the movement to evolve society from barbarism to civilization with regard to the wat LGBT people are treated.
Sometimes, it’s the personal collateral damage of transition (or coming out) that’s the central issue.  For one friend, the thought of divorce and loss of family was nearly enough on its own to send her over the edge; worries over transition on the job were contributory.
A part can be an internalized embarrassment over being different.
I have had friends who I and other friends have helped with their suicidal thoughts, and one who kept her feelings to herself (none of her friends had any idea she was having issues) and succeeded in her attempt.
Depression can be caused by any of these factors that are transition-related, as well as some things that would be causes in any event (unemployment, for example, does not have to be transition-related to be depressing).
It’s critical to build up self-respect, and to help our friends to the extent possible deal with the various kinds of rejection.  One of the hardest things to overcome is deep-seated religious faith systems, when those are not supportive.  Having faith that is supportive is a help, especially if it provides an answer to “religious” family members who hide behind Christianist bigotry to amplify their rejection.
I don’t have an answer for Autumn.  I don’t know what it was that pushed Mike/Christine over the edge.  I wish there was a way to have intervened.  I know how it feels whan someone I know takes that path, there is always the “If only I could have done something” feeling that continues to plague me.
I started writing this with a cup of tea, and am finishing with my evening pills and a Powerade Zero.

Haven’t got past the anger yetAnger at the circumstances and the people that caused Mike to give up.
Anger at Mike for giving up. Others have made it with worse circumstances. This death was avoidable.
Anger is an energy – and while I can do nothing for Mike, maybe I can help someone else using that energy.

ZoeBYou are only responsible for the energy you put out there.
Just be clear, how or if the other person accepts or doesn’t accept what you do…is their responsibility.

@the HawkeFor me simply doing something else physical, didn’t release the visceral part of my rage. I was really frightened if I ever started to tap into that old rage, I might not be able to stop…But that didn’t happen, and it did give me some peace afterwards. Now that build up of old crud is gone, and I deal with what current anger I feel as it comes, so it never again builds up to something that BIG.
Everyone deals with things their own way, I can just speak of what worked fo me.

Yeah…Most of the time, I use my angry energy, Zoe, and channel it into passion.
With Mike’s suicide, I’m passionately discussing mental health issues, and I’m passionately putting my energy into caring about my friends and peers.
I’m feeling better, but I know from my past experiences that getting closer to feeling fine often takes some of time. I’m tired, though — getting closer to feeling fine takes a lot of energy.
In the meantime, I follow my treatment regimen, and put one foot in front of the other on my path to the future.

No, Don’t Delete ItI’ve been thinking about Christine a lot too.  The fact that, as far as I can tell, no autopsy report has ever been released and there has been no statement from the family prevents me from getting some kind of closure.  It’s as if the cis world has just swept her under the rug.  The pain endures.

I’d agree there too.

The grief process…Autumn:
I lost my brother this past thanksgiving to suicide.  Thanks-giving has such a hollow ring now.
I have had to deal with death before, as both my parents are gone and I was hospice to them.  But that was acceptable.  Death is part of life and they had a full life and, while sad, was not unexpected.
I don’t know what stage of grief I am in right now.  I think all of them.  I alternate from disbelief to anger to bargaining to denial to acceptance.  Now I feel a fair numbness about it all.
I cannot stop the mental image of his last seconds as he ended his life.  It plays film like over and over from different angles.  It overshadows all the memories I had of him while we were growing up.
These tragic losses decimate the living.  We question ourselves wondering, if there was something more we should have done.  Something we missed.  Some way that we could have helped more.
I too, had my moth like attraction to the flame of oblivion.  I know the darkness that drove him.  I came very close to the precipice, he did also, but could not stop at the edge.
My sympathies to you, Autumn.  I don’t know any of the statistics regarding trans people and suicide, I have heard it is dramatically higher than non trans.  All I know is that prior to my transition, I should have been on suicide watch.  My failed attempts only made me more depressed.  So in my statistical sampling of one, me, it is 100%.
I now know first hand the devastation I would have left behind.
If there can be any good to be found in such a tragedy, perhaps it is that it brings those left behind closer.  I am now much closer to my siblings than I have ever been.  We worry about each other and talk to each other in ways that we never have before.
I will read all you have to say, Autumn.  Your writing provides some catharsis for me.  Perhaps together we can start healing.
Thank you.
-Sandy  

There’s a differencebetween anger and rage for me. I can and do get very angry, sure. And like Autumn, I tend to turn the anger inwards where it develops into debilitating depression. It is a pattern I am still struggling to break.
My rage scares the hell out of me because I “red out”. I am completely out of control, do things I would never normally do (become violent) and won’t remember it. I’ll just see the aftermath. Thankfully, I haven’t done this in several years. I think, much like you, I’ve exorcised enough demons where I don’t let it build up and if I have a problem, I deal with it immediately too.

I think about it every dayI also knew Rodger and he invited me to Denver for a meal.  He said that is what he like to do, cook for friends.  
If he was in pain then he made the right choice.  I am just old.  75.  I hurt in my joints when I get up in the morning but after about an hour I am OK.  I also laugh alot at society and how they take themselves so seriously.  A volcano could blow up or a nuclear war changing reality overnight.  I have accepted that every person on this planet has to die including myself, that is reality.  If life is too unbearable due to physical pain then it is time for peace, and that peace is death.  There is nothing to be afraid of, death is like it was before we were born, being unconscious.

What gets meIs how easy I’ve had it compared to others.
What’s the worst things that have happened?
My son being disinvited from returning to a Christian School because of my transition. Before then, I’d set a record for volunteering to help in various activities – repair work, digging ditches, childminding….
The 20-month legal battle to get a passport so I could return to Australia after Surgery. Heck, it took me 6 months before they’d give me a travel document good to exit but not return! But we won, and in the process, changed what had been the most culturally transphobic arm of the Federal Government into one of the most Trans-friendly.
That’s about it. There’s been other problems, but they were due to misogyny rather than transphobia. As one colleague told a friend of mine “It’s the first time I’ve seen someone hit the glass ceiling from above… SPLAT!”
I’ve lost none of my friends. I never had many, but what I have is quality.
Some of my family “gets it” – some don’t. They all accept me though, just as I accept that they’ll never understand. That doesn’t affect the love we have for each other, not just them for me, but me for even the most clue-free of them.
My job was always uncertain – I’ve had up to two years with no income before now. I worked – just didn’t get paid for it. The UN for example still owes me quite a few thou, but it’s a kleptocracy that any contractor deals with at their own risk. I’ve noticed no change in my employment circumstances, and while in a good year I can make $50k after tax, I can survive well on $15k – which is what PhD students get here.
With those advantages… if I didn’t do what I could to help those who are living in cars etc what kind of human would I be?

SandraI hope the closeness of your siblings can help you share your grief, sorry for your loss.

omg Sara, quite gripping and I appreciate all your kind words of wisdom xox

Thanks Autumn and all blenders herefor your courage to share such intimate parts of yourselves.  I feel truely blessed to have the opportunity to be a part of these discussions and I always feel like I can touch the depths of my human beauty as well as yours when I read such heartbreaking yet healing posts.  
Thanks again for sharing. xoxo