When I went to sleep last night I knew from Twitter that George Smitherman’s husband Christopher Peloso had been missing all day, that there was concern because this was not the first time he had gone missing and because he suffered from depression.
When I woke up this morning I found out quickly that the search ended in the worst way. Smitherman had released a statement saying that his love and co-parent had been found dead, and that “we will find comfort somehow in knowing that he has found peace from the depression that has wreaked havoc on his mind.”
I didn’t know Christopher Peloso, I don’t even know much about George Smitherman, though he was an MPP and a mayoral candidate in Toronto, but I feel so sad this morning seeing this.
There but for the grace of god, they say.
The last time I thought about suicide was not as long ago as I’d like to think. I have been battling depression since I was a teenager and I’ve been in the darkest places three times – around age 16, again when I was about 21 or 22 and at the very beginning of last year. More than once since the kid was born I have wondered if she would be better off if I just walked away, disappeared into the darkness while she’s young so she’ll forget me.
Selfishly I have stayed and fought back because I would miss her so damn much, because I want to know who she’s going to be. I have imagined leaving her, but I’ve been through it enough times that I know I can turn around.
My husband is also frustratingly optimistic. He just believes that we are smart and hard-working and we will come out with our heads above water.
The sadness I feel this morning is about how tiring it can be to fight, how heavy the world can feel, and the deep belief that everyone will truly be better off without you. There is fear that I will start drowning again, that the tools I know will not be enough, that the darkness will overtake me again. Always fear.
And then there is family.
My condolences to Christopher Peloso’s family, his children and his husband. There are no words.