By Krista Berge

September 10, 2024

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I Have to Tell Them…This Story, Our Story…Your Story

i have to tell them

I have to tell them, Brian.

I have to tell them this story, our story, your story.  Tell them that for five years, you fought, and you fought hard.  There is no denying how hard you tried. Doctors, counselors, medications, and battle after battle. I watched you fight your demons right in front of me. I have to tell them how you promised me you would never leave us.  I am compelled to tell them how you calmed my fears even up to that very last week, that you wouldn’t harm yourself.

Brian, do you remember how I told you this would utterly destroy me? 

Remember when I said I would never get past this if you left? How our kids needed every ounce of you?  You knew how much we needed and loved you.  I reminded you every single day.  We laughed when I said you’re the fun one, and they wouldn’t thrive with just me.  Do you remember comforting me and telling me we would be stronger on the other side of this?

i have to tell them

The world needs to know how brave it was you stayed for every painful breath.

Then something happened, and it was just too much.  What happened?  You didn’t follow protocol, did you? With countless nights of research, my own education, and doctors, I KNEW what to look for.  I knew the signs of suicide like the back of my hand.  You knew I would do everything possible to stop you as I did so many times. We had plans THAT day, Brian. I remember laughing on the way home with the kids, saying you probably burned the rice for dinner.  We had made plans for the rest of our lives. You never stopped making plans for our future.  

But you didn’t plan that moment, did you?

i have to tell them

Because if you did, you would have known how it killed us too.  You wouldn’t have done it. I know you wouldn’t have done that to yourself and especially us.  When the kids and I found you, Brian, we died too at that exact moment. Their innocence died right there with you on the pavement.  The life we built was shattered.  You would never have made that choice; your depression made it for you. You would never have done that. It’s not enough to trust yourself. It’s not enough to, Brian. I would never have left you that day…like every day before if I knew it was even possible. 

They need to know how fast it all happened.

i have to tell the

How quickly I left you on the phone working, laughing, and building a life, to coming home to find you drained of your soul. It was 52 minutes. 3,120 seconds that I want to get back. How the screams from our kids will forever echo in my mind. I hear their voices at night crying out for you.

They need to…

Hear that our son, at only 10 years old, had to call 911.  See their loved ones and children’s faces in ours.  Hear how our four babies watched me drag your lifeless body from the truck to begin CPR.

They need to know that 392 days later, the tears still fall like rain.

The pain is never-ending. 

i have to tell the

How I am drowning in grief that I can barely breathe. That I finally understand the immobilizing pain of not being able to get out of bed.  How now I am fighting for my own life just as you fought for yours.  Most of all, they need to hear you would have stayed if you knew this would be the outcome. That we will never get over you. Although your suffering is done, ours has only just begun. 

i have to tell the


They, the ones struggling with suicidal thoughts, even just one small thought, need to hear that it can take over in a second. Brian, they need to hear that you were not that one moment or your illness, and neither are they.  That no one is better off without them but only better BECAUSE of them. They need to hear one word, one word that I wish was the last I said to you that day before I left…STAY.

I will forever love you,
Krista

We can all help prevent suicide

I Have to Tell Them...This Story, Our Story...Your Story

Please, if you or anyone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts or mental illness, call or text the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988. You can also contact the Crisis Text Line (text HELLO to 741741).

Krista has written many articles for us on mental illness and suicide. If you would like to read more of her story, you can find it here. You can also find Krista on social media; she is on Instagram and Facebook.

If you are looking for more articles on mental health, click here.

And remember, If you’re struggling with suicidal thoughts…please reach out to someone, anyone. And make sure you STAY. YOU, my dear, matter.

By Krista Berge

May 22, 2021

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It’s Time for You to See What Death by Suicide Leaves Behind. A Story of a Widow’s Fight to Survive.

I have to be honest with you…I am struggling to write this. I am scared to let you in on this secret. Worried about my kids eventually reading these words. I am sad about the insight you are about to get inside my head. I am fearing how you’ll start to look at me with pity in your eyes.

I am scared to not speak up

But more than that, I’m scared to not speak up. I am worried that you’ll continue to feel alone. I’m nervous you will think that you’re the only one. I am terrified you will think mental illness looks one way when in reality it looks another. Since I have been comforted in my afflictions, I have no choice but to try and comfort you in yours. Or at the very least, be honest.

It’s time for you to see what death by suicide leaves behind

The fear of you REALLY seeing me is worth every breath I have fought and am still fighting to take. It’s time for you to see what death by suicide leaves behind. A shell of grief. A body filled with wrenching and insurmountable pain. A therapy bill a mile long. A medical record with words like “PTSD” and “Complicated Grieving Process”. It is time for you to see that mental illness can look “put together” and “calm”.

Are you ready for the truth?

After living through my husband’s death, I struggle deeply with my own mental health. And mostly I mean not just ‘down days’ or ‘situational depression’. I have had suicidal thoughts and have struggled on and off for over a year now. Yes, even after watching my kids’ faces as their dad lay in an open casket. I have longed at times to be in that casket with him. I have prayed for death and even fantasized how peaceful it would be to finally rest.

The darkness creeps in at the most unexpected times too. Times when I think I am doing better, when the new medication is working or when I think I don’t need it. When therapy is going like clockwork. Times when the pipe dream of ever feeling better is at an all-time high. And it hits.

The darkness.

Like a heavy blanket enveloping my whole body. Once again, I cannot see the light through the encroaching fibers. Breathing becomes more difficult as my mouth is covered, and I can’t ask for help. My heart only feels guilt. The what-ifs drown me, and I no longer want to struggle to stay afloat.

My brain tells me this will not work.

Any of it. Living without Brian. Supporting four kids on my own. That the only way to make the pain stop is to make my heart stop. My dark thoughts tell me I am making things worse. That I wish I were never even born. My despair tells me that things are never going to get better. That this is not working. Not only is it not working, but it is unsustainable and will never work. So, what’s the point?

The darkness is so heavy that I do not want to scare you. So, I lie. It is not your fault though. It is my choice to hide what is going on. Something about keeping it from you makes me feel like I am keeping it from myself too. I am scared that if I tell you what is really happening inside my head, nothing can ever go back for either of us. Even the fear of admitting I am struggling to the brink of death will wind me up in an institution.

So, I sit in the dark.

That is the thing about darkness though, you think you can see. Have you ever sat in the darkness for so long that your eyes begin to adjust? You start to see shapes. Monsters that are not even there. The darkness can start to feel like that is all there is. You soon forget a world with light. The bright spots seem like a dream. I cannot remember life before the darkness in those times.

But in those moments of life and death, I look in my hands and see I have actually been handed a match. I have been holding it, rolling it between my worn fingers, debating about whether to even light it this entire time. You see, if I light the match, you will see me. My lying eyes, my faltering smile, my unassuming laughter, and airy personality are all just a costume I zip on.

So here I am. Lighting the match.

Letting the light show me…letting the light show you…what mental illness really looks like. What life after suicide leaves behind. How completely terrified I am that picked up where Brian left off.

But why does that have to be a bad thing?

Really, hear me out. To live on both sides of suicide is why I need to tell you the truth. It is neither selfish or weak. It literally feels like the ONLY answer. I know because I have felt it. I can understand why Brian is not here anymore but at the same time, I can’t. It is living in my own personal hell while thankful there is a heaven above me. I can tell you without a doubt that if Brian were still here, he would be shedding as much light as he could on this growing epidemic.

Lighting this match

Showing you my heart, my head, my face, is the only way. But not only are you seeing me, but I am also seeing you. I am seeing my family and friends too who have patiently been waiting for the darkness to subside the entire time. Seeing my doctors and therapists who never made me feel ashamed. I am seeing people that love me take down every brick I tried to put up as a wall. So now you see my broken and tattered mind while I see your heart for me that has been there the entire time. The light may show you my brokenness, but it shows me your goodness as well.

I need you to know that you are not alone. I need to show you that you can smile and still feel like dying on the inside. You are not “crazy” and two opposing feelings can exist. That you are NOT your negative thoughts. You are not weak by asking for help. You are not alone in the darkness. I promise you to have an entire army waiting for you. Just because you cannot see them, doesn’t mean they’re not there. That you too can light the match. Ask for help. Cry for help. Scream until someone comes running. But please, do not sit there in the abyss of darkness. It is lying to you.

I can no longer sit quietly in the dark anymore. Letting it engross me. Stealing my life as it stole Brian’s. I will light this match until it burns my fingers. Until the pain sears through my body and then I will light another one. And another one. And another one. You are not your suicidal thoughts and it is never the answer.

Please reach out for help

Please, if you are struggling with your mental health and/or suicidal thoughts, please reach out to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or text HELLO to 741741

To read more about Krista’s story click here are a couple more articles from her.

By Krista Berge

October 1, 2020

7539 Views

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You, My Dear Matter. Stay

As a part of suicide awareness month, we want others to learn about this very important subject that is becoming more and more relevant in our lives especially with the certain circumstances 2020 has brought us. Depression and suicide rates have increased this year alone.

To help bring awareness Krista Berge went Live to share her story of her husband taking his own life. She gave advice on talking about suicide, how to talk to those who are reaching out to you with suicidal thoughts and tips on how we all can help prevent suicide.

About Krista:

Krista graduated from Florida Southwestern State College with a degree in Nursing. Helping others is her passion. Krista is also a mother to four beautiful children Boston, Lincoln, Brinklee, and Storie Belle. They seem to take up a lot of her time with their sports and loaded social calendars BUT when she finds a moment, Krista enjoys reading, eating an obscene amount of Mexican food, and taking little adventures around the Southwest Florida area.

Krista has shared her story, feelings, and experience in the blog section of TheGypsyNurse.com.

You can read those here: https://www.thegypsynurse.com/blog/author/krista-berge/

We can all help prevent suicide

The Lifeline provides 24/7, free and confidential support for people in distress, prevention and crisis resources for you or your loved ones, and best practices for professionals.1-800-273-8255. You are not alone in this fight!

And remember, If you’re struggling with suicidal thoughts…please reach out to someone, anyone.

And make sure you STAY. 

YOU, my dear, matter.

By Krista Berge

September 11, 2020

5733 Views

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The First Year Isn’t the Hardest Year

Brian’s been gone for two years today.  Ugh.  Two. Years.  (Annnnddd reality hit again with typing that)

So today, in a nutshell, was harsh. 

I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t this.  I mean, we made it through year one, the hardest year, right?  But today…it was foggy one moment with “Wait, what happened?” & clear the next as the ache in my chest stole every breath from me.

first year

Today, my mind told me I deserved it all. 

Every crack in my heart, every hardship, every tear. That this was my fault.  That I didn’t try hard enough, that I didn’t pray correctly, that it was me that chose the wrong doctors.  Once again I was able to understand a little bit of Brian’s pain. A small glimpse into depression.

Funny how we can beat ourselves up BUT if my friend was sitting in my shoes and saying these ridiculous things to me, I would probably have to shake her and scream “STOP! Don’t you dare do this!”

So what can I do to fight against these lies swirling in my head tonight? 

Well….I decided to let you into the darkness a little more.  I want to try and help you understand grief during the second year.  Because let’s face it, none of us are immune to it.  We will, or we already have, at one point or another, experienced a significant (the word doesn’t even describe it) loss.

first year
1. It’s not just one day

I lost Brian to depression before I even lost Brian.  But today is the day I found him and knew nothing would ever go back to the way it was.  Today is the day he met Jesus and become whole.  Tomorrow is the day he was pronounced, the following is the day our kids knew Daddy was going to Heaven, and the day after that is the day I received the phone call that all of his organs had been donated.  For most of us in grief, there is the last day we saw them, the last day we had hope, the last time we talked to them.  It is never just one day of loss.

2.  Everyone is lying if they tell you the first year is the hardest. 

I woke up thinking it was all going to be better after the first 365 days, but it was worse.  Much, much worse. The end of the first year only confirmed I had to do this all over again.  I didn’t have to make it through the “firsts” but the “seconds” and “thirds” and so on and SO ON!  Booooo!

The First Year Isn't the Hardest Year
3.  I regret every single moment leading up to it. 

This isn’t just a “suicide thing” either.  This is anyone that has ever lost anyone.  We wish we kissed them longer, harder, more, or even at all.  We wish we didn’t take the long way home.  That we called and said “I love you” one more time.  That we followed our intuition.  Anything.  It’s hard pulling yourself out of that terrible loop.

4.  I am exhausted more now than ever. 

I swear adrenaline and denial were the only things that kept me going for the longest time.  Now, it’s only by God’s grace I can roll out of bed.  People tend to go back to their normal lives while those in grief are left wondering what “normal” even looks like anymore.

first year
5.  AND there is hope in making it through another year. 

I used to say we lost Brian BUT God is good.  I now feel we lost Brian AND God is good.  See what I did there?  I changed one word and it reminds me that God is God and I am not.  I am constantly learning to change one word.  I don’t HAVE to get up to take care of the kids…I GET to take care of these loud creatures that God entrusted me with.  I am in pain, we all are, AND God is good. 

So there you go.  Enjoy my dark and twisty thoughts.  Even though He has slain me, my future, my dreams, I will praise Him.  I will shout of His goodness!  Praise Him in my pain!  I will point you to the one who gives and takes away!  This is the hard part you guys…this is the place between the pain of this world and the promise of the next.

Praying for your heart right now ❤️

Please, if you are struggling with your mental health and/or suicidal thoughts, please reach out to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or text HELLO to 741741

By Krista Berge

December 31, 2019

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The Days are Hard…A Wife’s Story of Survival After Her Husband’s Suicide

The days are hard and that’s even an understatement.

They’re so busy, ya know? Four kids, sports, work, a household to run…that’ll do it to you. I’m constantly busy. Then the nights come. Ugh, I dread the evenings. The nights are so lonely. When the house is quiet and the last baby goes to bed. The aching grows. This used to be the favorite part of our day. Now I have to force myself to sit downstairs, alone.

This was our time together.

This is where we would go over our day. Where I wouldn’t be just a mom anymore, but your best friend, a lover, the girl you fell in love with. You would remind me I’m not the failure I feel. I’m not the damaged goods I’ve been told I am. This is where you would bring me gently back from the world beating me down. I miss you speaking God’s truth to my heart. Miss the way you loved me. I miss the honor of being your wife. I miss….you. Just you.

How we laughed and were always joking. We talked about each one of the kids. Their quarks and which one we worried about the most. How we couldn’t wait to see how they were going to change the world. This was the time we would both admit we didn’t know what we were doing too. How were we going to keep up this charade of being “adults”? And who trusted us with four kids and a house? This is where we found beauty in the chaos. Together. We created this beautiful messy life, together.

Now…this reality

Now I literally have to set a timer and make myself stay downstairs. Like a child forced into timeout. I’m forced to accept this reality. Even walking up the steps to bed is painful. I remember every night I would race you up because still in my 30s, I was afraid of the dark. A fear you would exploit as you would turn off the lights and hide. Man, how we were kids raising kids!

Fast forward to what the experts call the “separation anxiety phase”. Sounds pleasant enough, right? I would just call it “hell” but the word “phase” puts an official seal on it, I guess. This is where for the past 19 years you were an every single day part of my life. Where I accept there will be a time that my days without you will outnumber my days with you.

This is where the painful process of “two becoming one” is ripped from my body.

From my soul. From my heart. This moment is where I bring my dreams to the cross where they must die again. Where the beautiful dance of marriage is unraveled day by day. Where my ring finger feels oh so heavy and so light at the same time. This is where I not only miss you but I’m left to figure out who I am without half of me.

Like an amputee, you’re cut from my body and life over and over again at night. The phantom pains of the life we had is gnawing at me. Half of me is missing. I’m learning how to walk and talk again. How to function now without you still.

You aren’t really here sitting with me.

suicide

I want to pretend you’re in the other room so I’ll even call your name. To taste it on my lips again. I call out for you and again my heart sinks when there is no response. Just silence. A silence that is deafening. I never knew silence could be so painfully loud.

Here it goes. The memories flood in. The good, bad, and the ugly. I’m left with thinking why did I ever complain about you leaving dirty laundry everywhere? Man, what I would give to find a trail of dirty clothes leading to your hamper. You never did understand that dirty clothes go IN the hamper, did you? I want that back. Want you back. I want it all back.

You were already gone way before you were gone.

But, let’s be honest here too. You were already gone way before you were gone. I missed you when you were sitting right next to me. Longed for your laughter more than I longed for air. I was desperate to hear your voice. Days would turn into weeks of feeling alone. Even when you were here, you weren’t. For years I would miss you for hours, days, weeks, and months on end.

Depression stole you from us.

Depression stole your smile. It stole your energy. Depression stole your sense of humor. It stole your joy for life. It stole you from me. From us.

You fought though. You fought so hard. But then you got so tired of fighting. I fought for you when you were done fighting for yourself. Fought for every appointment. I fought every reason you said you were “fine”. I fought to make you breathe when your were already gone. The scars on my knees are a painful reminder of how I wouldn’t accept defeat with your last breath.

I know you didn’t want this.

You didn’t want this for us. The pain. This isn’t the outcome you would have chosen for yourself or our babies. But your brain said we would be better off. The one organ you tried to reason with was the one organ that was so sick.

So, here I am to set the record straight for anyone considering suicide.

So, here I am to set the record straight for anyone considering suicide. For anyone thinking “they’re better off without me.” That suicide is the answer. It’s a lie. A flat out lie.

Make the decision

Make the decision to:

  • to get help
  • tell someone you’re wanting to harm yourself
  • to FIGHT

And keep making it! Every single day. Even every single minute if you must. It’s not a fix-all. One appointment or one conversation may not do it. But have it anyways. Then have the next one. It’s a battle. You’re battling for your life. For the lives of those you love. You are breathing for a reason. Don’t stop. Keep living. Fight. Keep fighting. And fight some more! We need you. Stay!

We can all help prevent suicide.

The Lifeline provides 24/7, free and confidential support for people in distress, prevention and crisis resources for you or your loved ones, and best practices for professionals.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
Chat option available
1-800-273-8255

Please if you’re struggling with depression, your mental health or thoughts of suicide tell someone. Stay.