It’s been two and a half years now since my mum died. Many people know that. It was suicide, but I’m not sure how many people actually know that part, mainly because it’s not something they talk about, or something I feel I’m allowed to say out loud.
It feels like something never to be mentioned. Dark matter to be kept in the dark — inside my head — saturated in a sticky mix of secrecy, sadness and shame.
Maybe it’s a slur on my mum’s name to reveal the truth? A betrayal of sorts to talk about the nature of her death and the fact that she felt like she couldn’t go on?Read more on themighty.com