Charles always reached out

If there was one consistent theme about Charles, it was that he always reached out. He reached out to kids who were not always visible to others and to ones who were highly visible as well.

He put himself at risk socially doing this. But unlike other kids his age, he didn’t care.

He’d put himself on the line and stand up for other kids who had no friends at all or had tons of friends. Kids that felt isolated or depressed or were having a hard time with something in their lives. Kids that were unusual, unpopular, different. Kids that were popular and hiding their pain. He would tell me about each and every one of them. He opened his heart for others with mental illness. I am so very proud of that.

Some of these kids are still with us. Others are not.

He saw something others didn’t see.

He saw pain. He felt the suffering.

Because he was a popular kid (although he didn’t really realize that), when he reached out, it was like that child got a social promotion. He did it because he wanted to know more about the person inside. He honestly cared and he couldn’t stand seeing someone else isolated and tossed aside.

He taught everyone around him, kids, teens and adults, what it meant to let another human being know they mattered.

As talented and funny as he was, I really feel this was his greatest gift.

This world misses a human like Charles

He was obviously not perfect. And we were not perfect parents.

I know the hallmark of depression is to feel so deeply that you can truly experience others’ pain.

In his last days, he was a addict in a depressive state and felt completely, utterly worthless.

Like trash. Like he no longer mattered.

In my darkest hours of grief, that’s what hurts the most. That I missed the clue that he was really in a place so dark he didn’t want to live. I wish I had not contributed to that feeling of unworthiness. Not purposely, of course.

He had no idea what an anti-social and isolating drug heroin was. For the first time, Charles felt rejection and he was not in the state of mind to see his way back.

I know I can’t go back to that place. I know I can’t change it. I know his suicide is not singularly my fault. And I know I didn’t know his situation. But I heard the despair in his last phone call and I can’t stand that I didn’t go with my gut.

What I know now is how much he suffered

His lack of motivation was not because he was lazy, it was because every day took so much out of him to live, he had nothing left.

His lack of sleep, his thrill seeking and impulsive behavior were all initial symptoms of childhood depression.

That last year, I didn’t yell at him. I knew he wasn’t doing drugs to hurt me. I knew he was not stable emotionally. I knew his self esteem was low. I knew the addiction was a result of self medication and despair. It was also an obsession which I couldn’t change and I couldn’t force him to accept help.

So many reached out after he died and told me what he meant to them.

There were so many lives he touched I can’t even count. I do so appreciate these stories. They painted a picture that wasn’t complete for me until they added those pieces. I am still getting those pieces.

In a world where no one has time to listen, he did. In a world where people judge others, he didn’t. I think we could all learn something from that. Me included.

Published by

AnneMoss Rogers

AnneMoss Rogers is a mental health and suicide education expert, mental health speaker, suicide prevention trainer and consultant. She is author of the Book, Diary of a Broken Mind and co-author of Emotionally Naked: A Teacher's Guide to Preventing Suicide and Recognizing Students at Risk with Kim O'Brien PhD, LICSW. She raised two boys, Richard and Charles, and lost her younger son, Charles to addiction and suicide on June 5, 2015. She is a motivational speaker who empowers by educating and provides life saving strategies and emotionally healthy coping skills. As talented and funny as Charles was, letting other people know they matter was his greatest gift. And now that's the legacy she carries forward in her son's memory. Mental Health Speakers Website.

3 thoughts on “Charles always reached out”

  1. Anne, I thank you for this site. A family member told me about it and hearing you say that the hallmark of depression is to feel so deeply that you can truly experience others pain. It hit me hard and allowed me to understand why I’m just like that. I pray your site gives me strength to face my depression each and everyday, and others as well.

    1. Thank you so much for joining us. We have a good tribe here. And your feedback is much appreciated. It has helped in my own journey of healing. I can’t do this in isolation.

      It’s people who feel deeply as you do that will help us become more connected again. Something we have lost with technology. That’s a key role.

  2. That was wonderful Anne. Charles was a special person with special gifts, especially how he touched the lives of his peers, friends, family and everyone. I wish I had known him better.

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