I just joined this site. I’m new to it, and I’m fairly new to depression. I’m 9 1/2 years sober after almost 30 years of steady drinking. I’ve always been upbeat, even in the face of alcoholism, serious repercussions from it, and losing just about everything. None of it was as soul-wrenching as my middle son leaving my life six years ago. During his 15th year, he changed. Many kids do about that age, including my two other sons. But what he became, I could not accept at the time. He became moody, withdrawn and angry. He was one of my best friends too, and whenever I needed a smile, five minutes with him usually accomplished that. I don’t live near him anymore. A couple weeks ago, I was in his neighborhood. He works at Whole Foods, which is also where I’ve shopped for over a dozen years. I didn’t see him that day. In checking out, I mentioned my son worked there. It got back to him, and yesterday, for the first time in over a year, he texted me. He told me if he ever sees me at the store, he will have me removed. His response was so disproportional to my intentions, that it made me realize he doesn’t even know me, may never have known the true me.
The text was so cold, so negating, that I’ve been a basket case since I got it. Complicating things is that my wife relocated a time zone away from me for a new job. The plan is for me to secure employment there, and follow eventually. But I’m stuck in my house alone, no pets even, in a place where the sickness is spiking. I’ve been fastidious about this pandemic, and so most of the time I stay at home alone for days at a time, the phone and video chat my only link to humanity. I read that grief is love with no place to give it. That is true for me. I love my son with the fierceness of a papa bear. I want only the best for him. In my drinking and in my anger, I never abused him. As I got tired of the “new” son, I did get angrier, and emotional sobriety abandoned me in the heat of the moment.
I’ve spent the last six years reaching out to him. I’ve reassured him the door is always open when he is ready. No more. He is well into adulthood now. He is responsible for his words and his actions. But his specter is a toxic sludge pool in my heart, and I’m tired of it. My wife and many therapists have cautioned me against just pretending he’s dead. But his continued breathing is a gash on my soul that knows no relief. I think it is better to let him die in my heart, grieve, and try to pick up what is left of my life. For many, these may be “first world” problems, but I am despondent and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m blessed that early in sobriety, I learned great coping skills. So instead of the bar (which is closed anyway, but liquor stores are not), I hit the road, walking up to four miles a day.
But I am damn close to suicide ideation right now. I know it is a permanent solution to a temporary problem, but “temporary” for me is over six years now. I don’t want to go into a hospital, and I don’t want anyone committing me. I don’t own guns. I just want to die.