This is my post. This is my mom on my post.

OK, so I guess this has to be discussed. You know what I’m talking about. But in case you don’t or you’re new (Welcome, please remove your shoes and don’t feed the animals–or the kids–they’ll just come to expect it) I’m talking about this post.

I think it’s obvious I’m going through a rough patch. But like everything else, I know it will pass. Life is like that. And yes, I’m seeing someone about it. Please. I’ve been in therapy on and off since I was in high school. I got this.

Anyway, in no way was I trying to scare people into thinking I was going to kill myself. Mom.

Seriously. Have you just met me? I like myself *way* too much to do something that severe. In fact, I’m totally afraid of dying and am hoping that by the time I get old enough to die there will be a cure for it.

Please tell me someone is working on this.

The reason I posted that story is because I wanted to share that side with you. I would feel like I’m not being completely honest–maybe even lying to you–if I didn’t tell you that things aren’t always funny in my life. Plus, there have been rumors that I’m not human but a cleverly disguised version of Satan, so there you go. I think I disproved that theory.

Anyway, most people know my dad reads my blog religiously, but my mom? Not so much. And the reason? Well, probably because the ONE time she visited this little ol site it just happened to be a day that I wrote about HER. And about how being around HER made me want to slit my wrists. Holy God, that was bad. So. Since then, she doesn’t visit. Probably a good move on her part.

BUT, I like to share some of the less vulgar/offensive stories with her at times. So I will copy and paste the content in an email and send it her way.

This is what I did with this post. I wanted her to know how I was feeling, how I’m struggling, where I’m at.

BIG MISTAKE.

EPIC.

CRAZY NUTS.

She read it and immediately assumed I was in the bathtub and about to kill myself. Because people generally write suicide blog posts while bathing. She called me. I didn’t answer because I was on hold with the credit card company. She called again. Still, I couldn’t click over.

So she called Tommy. And she told him he needed to check on me because I was in the bathtub talking about drowning.

Surely it’s clear to you now why I’m so dramatic.

Because I’m a fiction writer, here is how the reading of the email went down…in my head.

Mom sits down in front of her computer. Sees an email from me, clicks on it.

Begins reading. Eyes widen. She gasps. Calls out to my stepdad, “Oh my God, come quick. Shauna just sent me a suicide note!! She’s in the bathtub! And she’s filling it with hot water!”

Stepdad runs into office, stands over her shoulder, and begins reading.

“It says here she’s in a boat and someone’s fallen overboard.”

“Wait. I thought she was in the bathtub,” he says, confused.

“Not anymore. She’s in a boat, someone’s fallen out, and OH MY GOD, THERE’S NO LIFE PRESERVER.”

“What? No life jackets on the boat?? Well, that’s just irresponsible. And when did they buy a boat?”

“OK, wait. I think the boat was a metaphor for something. I don’t think she’s really in a boat because I know one of the kids has a game or something today–so she wouldn’t have time for boating.”

“Good. But remind me to ask her if they have sufficient life saving devices on board.”

“THEY DON’T HAVE A BOAT!”

Stepdad loses interest and leaves the room.

Mom worries that her only daughter, her firstborn, is drowning while posting. She picks up the phone, calls daughter. Daughter doesn’t answer. She panics then, calls Tommy, and convinces herself that something is terribly wrong. Tommy tells her daughter is fine. That she wrote that post two days earlier and that even though she’s hurting inside, she doesn’t have the balls to do anything drastic. And that he hid all the sharp kitchen utensils.

Mom breathes a sigh of relief, hangs up the phone, and sits down in front of the computer again, and composes this email.

Dear Shauna,

You scared me to death. I’m sorry you’re sad. Wanna go shopping next Tuesday?

Love, Mom

PS. This email is the actual one I got minutes after she hung up from Tommy.

PPS. Shopping cures all that ails you according to my mom.

PPPS. I’m totally going shopping with my mom on Tuesday.

Post Note: I’m not making light of suicide. I’m making fun of me. In fact, this week you can catch me over at the Bloggess Army site, where I will be posting about depression. Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart for your continued support. It means so much to me, you have no idea. I love all of you. And I need you now more than ever.

And sorry Mom, if you read this. But dang it you’re funny.