I hate moving.
I started moving stuff as soon as I could. I didn’t want to be scrambling at the last minute.
Moving my things hasn’t affected my emotions.
A few days ago my wife had my kids start packing, though.
That got to me.
My boys they were oblivious. “Dad, can you tape this box for me?”
It made it real for me.
I’ve known people who have committed suicide.
I know many people who have had loved ones commit suicide.
This is for them. And anyone else who’s lost someone to suicide.
A lot of religions teach that anyone who commits suicide automatically goes to hell.
I don’t believe that.
These are just my personal beliefs. They are not the official position of the Church.
The God of the Universe is our Heavenly Father.
He loves us more than we can comprehend.
He knows us better than we can imagine.
He can’t ignore the wrong things we do.
But he is as kind and merciful as he can be.
Most people don’t commit suicide maliciously.
They’re hurting. They don’t believe they’re going to stop hurting.
They don’t see another way out.
I’m not saying they’re right. There’s always a way out. Sometimes the only way out is through.
I’m just saying they did what they thought they had to do.
Condemning others is not our responsibility. Nor is it our privilege.
Judgment belongs only to One.
That’s not you.
It’s not me either.
I thank God for that.
I get upset. I don’t say anything.
I’ll do this over and over.
Then something sets me off.
The last straw.
I boil over.
Everyone suffers, including me.
It’s usually over something small.
It’s just one thing too many.
I know it’s bad to bottle up my emotions.
I just don’t want to bother people.
What I’m writing is my memories. My version of events.
I don’t claim they’re an objective version of reality.
Memories are unreliable. They can change over time.
When you recall a memory you’re actually recalling the last time you remembered it.
I’m sure if I’d kept a journal my accounts would be much more factual.
Even then they’d be colored by my emotions.