suicide
Question:
Hi, Fireflower… there are no words left. i have to do this. soon, i think… nothing left to hold onto… world spinning, numbness coming into focus, hard to stay in my body, why even try? just want this whole mess to be over.
Before you read the rest of this, FireFlower, I have been where you are now; buried in the deepest, blackest despair, literally seconds from ending my life… I’ll share that after talking about a few things that the suicide – and attempted suicide – of people I care for has taught me… Why try? Let’s look at what you’d leave behind… Victory for you abusers; they win – they have succeeded in silencing you, they have succeeded in hiding what they have done, and see that as more justification to go on and abuse others… *and they will*, simply because they succeeded in silencing you, destroying you. The lesson to other survivors that it is OK to give up, that destroying themselves is the only way to deal with abuse. One suicide all-to-often triggers more suicides; that’s a fact of life. So, even though you won’t be there to see it, there will be others getting your message, getting the message that suicide is the only answer. Huge guilt trips for those you’ve left behind, those you’ve talked to, shared with, been with – be they friends or just acquantences; it’s called "survivor guilt". They will be questioning themselves, doing the "what if" and "If only I had…" to themselves over and over again, *blaming themselves for your death.* This last one I know very very well, FireFlower… I and my siblings were subjected to particularly vicious abuse as children; and after we were rescued by the law/system, we learned real fast that trying to talk about what was done to us was forbidden, not allowed… the old "it’s in the past, get on with your life" thing… In full hindsite, those adults and authority figures who told us that were wrong, very very dangerously *wrong*… In 1973, my sister Peggy overdosed on drugs and alchohol after pleading with me to talk to her; there was literally no one with whom she could talk, could process the memories except me; and she could no longer face the memories of what had been done to us, and needed to talk to me. I brushed her off because I just didn’t want to talk to her at that time. 3 hours later, she was in a coma. She attempted suicide using uppers, downers, and vodka. She’s now 48 years old, quadreplegic, blind, and has an IQ less than 60; and has been so since 1973. I *still* feel guilt, pain because I wasn’t there for her… as do all of my relatives, our relatives… In August of 1994, my second marriage was ending – my then-wife was divorcing me, and with the laws being what they are, I was royally screwed. The circumstances were such that my self-view was of a two-time debt-laden loser whom nobody could ever love, and whom nobody could or would ever want. The life situation was such that I literally could not sleep in my own (rented) house; the now-ex had already made one attempt on my life – so there were many many nights where I’d drive my truck to a park or a river, and sleep there. I saw no way out, I could not perceive of my life ever improving – and on a Friday night, decided enough was enough, and set up the mechanisms for committing suicide. My job was such that I worked a strict Monday through Friday; never did work on weekends. The company did allow employees to come in and work weekends if they needed to. All of my friends and acquantences knew I never worked weekends; plus, people rarely worked weekends there – so I had a very quiet, very empty place to go where I knew I would not be found until the following Monday. I had closed and locked the office door, and was *in the process* of suicide when the phone rang – good old reflexes; I put the items down and answered the phone. It was one of my friends, who somehow sensed that something was very wrong, and had tried finding me – and had a hunch to call me at work on that very early Saturday morning. I didn’t tell the friend what I was doing; all I did was let the friend know I was depressed, and how I perceived myself. Somehow, an hour later, something had shifted; the friend never knew until literally years later that the phone call had saved my life… I destroyed the items I was going to use, and just did my best to live day by day… it was hard, painful; despair and depression were my constant companions… I had no idea what the rest of my life would look like, FireFlower… I could not see it getting any better, and could only see a life of despair, loneliness, and depression ahead of me… I was wrong… I couldn’t have been more wrong if I had tried… In late 1994, various events occurred that started me on an entirely new path of life… things I could never have forseen in my wildest dreams… the end result is that I left New Jersey and returned home to California, my birth state; found a good job that – even though I have to make support payments to my ex-wife – still left enough afterwards that I could do OK; not great, but OK… and; I was found/I found someone who could look beyond my mistakes to my potential, who was very recovery/healing oriented… Smiling here… that person is now my wife and partner, and we’re approaching our sixth anniversary… and my life is far better than it has ever been… true, there are struggles, even moments of depression and frustration when things happen unexpectedly as life throws yet another curve ball at me – but I’m now in a place where I can deal with those curve balls… it’s hard, but it is also worth it… If I had suicided, FireFlower, I never would have the life I have now; I would have put a huge guilt-burden on my relatives and friends; I would have taught many of them that giving up, letting the abusers win, was the only answer. It isn’t the answer at all, FireFlower… it isn’t even *an* answer… I know life looks bleak and futile to you now – but as I and many of my friends have learned over the years, life can – and often does – throw *good* curve balls too, ones that can totally change a person’s life for the better…. Get out your catcher’s mitt, FireFlower… don’t let the abusers win… GhostWolf — - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – http://www.ra-info.org - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – Words that soak into your soul are whispered, not yelled
Response:
Good evening, Fireflower, I am also piggybacking on the Wolf’s post…as the original is not to be found on my server either…(a smile and wave to ‘Wolf and Alexia!) I am a survivor of a suicide attempt. I came very close to succeeding at joining my sister in the grave when I was fourteen …and it was only by pure luck that I did not do permament damage. That was 37 years ago. There have been times since then that I have been in such a state of darkness…fear…pain… that I have revisited those places. It is a hard place to be. There are no easy answers. Sometimes, when I am in that place, I write…as you, Fireflower, have done here. If nothing else it gives a voice to the darkness…and that can make it just a bit more bearable. It takes courage to write…and it says there is something of strength in you that you did so. Sometimes I bake bread. This works for me because it is something that is totally alien to the place in which I grew up…which is the source of most of that which haunts me…and so there is no history or ghosts attached to it. Too, I am the only one here, in this house, who bakes bread…so it is a thing that is mine alone. I use my hands and a wooden spoon…the electric mixer stays in its place in the corner hutch. Sometimes it is exceedingly difficult to move myself to get down my red bowl…to take the bread board from behind the canisters…to retrieve the yeast from the refrigerator and to set about the task. But it gets just a bit easier with each movement. Baking bread does not make it all better…it is but a small candle in a very deep and dark hole…but it is a start. I bake bread in times of celebration…as well as in times of dispair. It serves both occasions well. This is not to suggest that you should go about baking bread. Rather, it is to suggest that you find some one thing that brings you a measure of relief…some small respite from the pain. Some one thing that is yours alone…that you can share or not, as you may choose. Some one thing that in doing lights just that one small candle. Perhaps you already know of such a thing for yourself? I have taught myself each day to try to find just one thing that I would have not wanted to miss by not being here. Sometimes it is as small a thing as a cardinal in the backyard…or a mother out on a walk with her toddler in tow. Even on days when my world has its share of brightness and clarity…I still try to note just one thing that brought me a small measure of joy. And at some point each day I say to myself…"today I saw or heard or smelled"… I name some small pleasant thing…"and for that I am glad that I was here.". Then when I find myself in the pit…I trudge out these little postcards…and I look at them intently…trying to grab unto whatever it was that struck me as good about them…and about my witnessing them. This was not an easy thing to learn…it is the type of thing that my parents would ridicule in me and in others…to call sloppy sentimentality. They did a very thorough job of robbing my world of beauty…even simple beauty. So in the learning of this…not only did I learn to fashion yet another small candle for times of darkness… but I also reclaimed some of my own spirit…some of my own humanity. For now this is the best I can offer…and though these might be just small things… they are offered to you nonetheless…and they are offered to you for no other reason that you are in deep pain and you deserve relief. If you think you would like to write some more…to share or whatever…please feel free to email, if that would make it easier. Carey – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Hi, Fireflower… there are no words left. i have to do this. soon, i think… nothing left to hold onto… world spinning, numbness coming into focus, hard to stay in my body, why even try? just want this whole mess to be over. Before you read the rest of this, FireFlower, I have been where you are now; buried in the deepest, blackest despair, literally seconds from ending my life… I’ll share that after talking about a few things that the suicide – and attempted suicide – of people I care for has taught me… Why try? Let’s look at what you’d leave behind… Victory for you abusers; they win – they have succeeded in silencing you, they have succeeded in hiding what they have done, and see that as more justification to go on and abuse others… *and they will*, simply because they succeeded in silencing you, destroying you. The lesson to other survivors that it is OK to give up, that destroying themselves is the only way to deal with abuse. One suicide all-to-often triggers more suicides; that’s a fact of life. So, even though you won’t be there to see it, there will be others getting your message, getting the message that suicide is the only answer. Huge guilt trips for those you’ve left behind, those you’ve talked to, shared with, been with – be they friends or just acquantences; it’s called "survivor guilt". They will be questioning themselves, doing the "what if" and "If only I had…" to themselves over and over again, *blaming themselves for your death.* This last one I know very very well, FireFlower… I and my siblings were subjected to particularly vicious abuse as children; and after we were rescued by the law/system, we learned real fast that trying to talk about what was done to us was forbidden, not allowed… the old "it’s in the past, get on with your life" thing… In full hindsite, those adults and authority figures who told us that were wrong, very very dangerously *wrong*… In 1973, my sister Peggy overdosed on drugs and alchohol after pleading with me to talk to her; there was literally no one with whom she could talk, could process the memories except me; and she could no longer face the memories of what had been done to us, and needed to talk to me. I brushed her off because I just didn’t want to talk to her at that time. 3 hours later, she was in a coma. She attempted suicide using uppers, downers, and vodka. She’s now 48 years old, quadreplegic, blind, and has an IQ less than 60; and has been so since 1973. I *still* feel guilt, pain because I wasn’t there for her… as do all of my relatives, our relatives… In August of 1994, my second marriage was ending – my then-wife was divorcing me, and with the laws being what they are, I was royally screwed. The circumstances were such that my self-view was of a two-time debt-laden loser whom nobody could ever love, and whom nobody could or would ever want. The life situation was such that I literally could not sleep in my own (rented) house; the now-ex had already made one attempt on my life – so there were many many nights where I’d drive my truck to a park or a river, and sleep there. I saw no way out, I could not perceive of my life ever improving – and on a Friday night, decided enough was enough, and set up the mechanisms for committing suicide. My job was such that I worked a strict Monday through Friday; never did work on weekends. The company did allow employees to come in and work weekends if they needed to. All of my friends and acquantences knew I never worked weekends; plus, people rarely worked weekends there – so I had a very quiet, very empty place to go where I knew I would not be found until the following Monday. I had closed and locked the office door, and was *in the process* of suicide when the phone rang – good old reflexes; I put the items down and answered the phone. It was one of my friends, who somehow sensed that something was very wrong, and had tried finding me – and had a hunch to call me at work on that very early Saturday morning. I didn’t tell the friend what I was doing; all I did was let the friend know I was depressed, and how I perceived myself. Somehow, an hour later, something had shifted; the friend never knew until literally years later that the phone call had saved my life… I destroyed the items I was going to use, and just did my best to live day by day… it was hard, painful; despair and depression were my constant companions… I had no idea what the rest of my life would look like, FireFlower… I could not see it getting any better, and could only see a life of despair, loneliness, and depression ahead of me… I was wrong… I couldn’t have been more wrong if I had tried… In late 1994, various events occurred that started me on an entirely new path of life… things I could never have forseen in my wildest dreams… the end result is that I left New Jersey and returned home to California, my birth state; found a good job that – even though I have to make support payments to my ex-wife – still left enough afterwards that I could do OK; not great, but OK… and; I was found/I found someone who could look beyond my mistakes to my potential, who was very recovery/healing oriented… Smiling here… that person is now my wife and partner, and we’re approaching our sixth anniversary… and my life is far better than it has ever been… true, there are struggles, even moments of depression and frustration when things happen unexpectedly as life throws yet another curve ball at me – but I’m now in a place where I can deal with those curve balls… it’s hard, but it is also worth it… If I had suicided, FireFlower, I never would have the life I have now; I would have put a huge guilt-burden on my relatives and friends; I would have taught many of them that giving up, letting the abusers win, was the only answer. It isn’t the answer at all, FireFlower…
… read more »
Response:
i don’t know where the original post is nor do i know if this was cross-posted or how this got to this group but i must touch on one thing that ghostwolf said and thats that you might survive. think of the ways you might kill yourself and imagine what shape you’ve be in should someone save you. fart there’s a poem i need to post but i can’t find it right now so hold tight! i’m a coming back alexia begonia – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Hi, Fireflower… there are no words left. i have to do this. soon, i think… nothing left to hold onto… world spinning, numbness coming into focus, hard to stay in my body, why even try? just want this whole mess to be over. Before you read the rest of this, FireFlower, I have been where you are now; buried in the deepest, blackest despair, literally seconds from ending my life… I’ll share that after talking about a few things that the suicide – and attempted suicide – of people I care for has taught me… Why try? Let’s look at what you’d leave behind… Victory for you abusers; they win – they have succeeded in silencing you, they have succeeded in hiding what they have done, and see that as more justification to go on and abuse others… *and they will*, simply because they succeeded in silencing you, destroying you. The lesson to other survivors that it is OK to give up, that destroying themselves is the only way to deal with abuse. One suicide all-to-often triggers more suicides; that’s a fact of life. So, even though you won’t be there to see it, there will be others getting your message, getting the message that suicide is the only answer. Huge guilt trips for those you’ve left behind, those you’ve talked to, shared with, been with – be they friends or just acquantences; it’s called "survivor guilt". They will be questioning themselves, doing the "what if" and "If only I had…" to themselves over and over again, *blaming themselves for your death.* This last one I know very very well, FireFlower… I and my siblings were subjected to particularly vicious abuse as children; and after we were rescued by the law/system, we learned real fast that trying to talk about what was done to us was forbidden, not allowed… the old "it’s in the past, get on with your life" thing… In full hindsite, those adults and authority figures who told us that were wrong, very very dangerously *wrong*… In 1973, my sister Peggy overdosed on drugs and alchohol after pleading with me to talk to her; there was literally no one with whom she could talk, could process the memories except me; and she could no longer face the memories of what had been done to us, and needed to talk to me. I brushed her off because I just didn’t want to talk to her at that time. 3 hours later, she was in a coma. She attempted suicide using uppers, downers, and vodka. She’s now 48 years old, quadreplegic, blind, and has an IQ less than 60; and has been so since 1973. I *still* feel guilt, pain because I wasn’t there for her… as do all of my relatives, our relatives… In August of 1994, my second marriage was ending – my then-wife was divorcing me, and with the laws being what they are, I was royally screwed. The circumstances were such that my self-view was of a two-time debt-laden loser whom nobody could ever love, and whom nobody could or would ever want. The life situation was such that I literally could not sleep in my own (rented) house; the now-ex had already made one attempt on my life – so there were many many nights where I’d drive my truck to a park or a river, and sleep there. I saw no way out, I could not perceive of my life ever improving – and on a Friday night, decided enough was enough, and set up the mechanisms for committing suicide. My job was such that I worked a strict Monday through Friday; never did work on weekends. The company did allow employees to come in and work weekends if they needed to. All of my friends and acquantences knew I never worked weekends; plus, people rarely worked weekends there – so I had a very quiet, very empty place to go where I knew I would not be found until the following Monday. I had closed and locked the office door, and was *in the process* of suicide when the phone rang – good old reflexes; I put the items down and answered the phone. It was one of my friends, who somehow sensed that something was very wrong, and had tried finding me – and had a hunch to call me at work on that very early Saturday morning. I didn’t tell the friend what I was doing; all I did was let the friend know I was depressed, and how I perceived myself. Somehow, an hour later, something had shifted; the friend never knew until literally years later that the phone call had saved my life… I destroyed the items I was going to use, and just did my best to live day by day… it was hard, painful; despair and depression were my constant companions… I had no idea what the rest of my life would look like, FireFlower… I could not see it getting any better, and could only see a life of despair, loneliness, and depression ahead of me… I was wrong… I couldn’t have been more wrong if I had tried… In late 1994, various events occurred that started me on an entirely new path of life… things I could never have forseen in my wildest dreams… the end result is that I left New Jersey and returned home to California, my birth state; found a good job that – even though I have to make support payments to my ex-wife – still left enough afterwards that I could do OK; not great, but OK… and; I was found/I found someone who could look beyond my mistakes to my potential, who was very recovery/healing oriented… Smiling here… that person is now my wife and partner, and we’re approaching our sixth anniversary… and my life is far better than it has ever been… true, there are struggles, even moments of depression and frustration when things happen unexpectedly as life throws yet another curve ball at me – but I’m now in a place where I can deal with those curve balls… it’s hard, but it is also worth it… If I had suicided, FireFlower, I never would have the life I have now; I would have put a huge guilt-burden on my relatives and friends; I would have taught many of them that giving up, letting the abusers win, was the only answer. It isn’t the answer at all, FireFlower… it isn’t even *an* answer… I know life looks bleak and futile to you now – but as I and many of my friends have learned over the years, life can – and often does – throw *good* curve balls too, ones that can totally change a person’s life for the better…. Get out your catcher’s mitt, FireFlower… don’t let the abusers win… GhostWolf — - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – http://www.ra-info.org - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – Words that soak into your soul are whispered, not yelled
Response:
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