What am i doing here this morning? Did i not say i was gone from WP? Well a thought entered my head after reading a post in a closed group i belong to on FB… and decided to share here as well.
So, what is the group? Survivors of Suicide. A group i did not sign up for but was rather pushed into. And i reside there eternally.
I am healthier today. Actually quite happy. It hurts to say i am happy. I wear my brother’s pain… my grays and blues. Back in black on sunny days. No hat can hide or sunglasses conceal my tears.
Regardless i have survived two suicides and countless hopes to die myself. What follows is my posting to the group this morning…
“At some point life becomes unbearable… my mother was miserable and trudged through life. Her desire to die was known growing up and affected us children, as much as if she had died. I started to desire death at 8 years old. Then my grandfather did die by suicide… gunshot to the head, two months before my wedding. My desire to die increased and my happy day was miserable… it rained as my dad drove me to the church. Then, a rainbow appeared as i got out of the car. A tinge of hope engulfed me. That sparkle flickered for years. Fast track to March 1 2008 and my brother died by suicide. I was still a broken girl with dashed dreams (moments of hope sprinkled in) and felt compelled to leave this earth too! I spent days staring out the kitchen window while holding a knife to my neck, ever gently scraping… singing a lullaby to myself. Oh! and the knotted ropes in my mind would magically turn into snakes, dance in my head while telling me peace came with death.
“Lies!!!” i screamed back.
Today? Ten years later and 51, I have never felt so alive!!! I do not think about the past… my environment has changed. I live in a new house, a new town/state, surrounded by beauty and inner peace… everything before today was all a nightmare.
(To everyone in the FB closed group i told them ‘So glad you all are here. Talking. Suicidal thoughts are a disease. A product of overgrown emotions that do not know to express themselves outward. I went to therapy for ten years… my escape was to pack my bags and get the hell out of hell… i stay in this group because i cannot leave my brother. I so wish he was here. He would be happy to know i made it out alive.
Hope this isnt too harsh. It was my reality for 50 years.’)
I am always available to listen to you too. firstname.lastname@example.org
Steff: Andie, you’re a bitch. (From “Pretty in Pink”)Bitchin’
and only now,
after all this time
how the other half of the world
Do I remember what it was like at the peak of my depression? Or my inability to leave the house ravished by anxiety? Barely. How fitting to turn half a century (March) and be over the suicide ideation battle. I think i won. I think.
Nobody ever promises a rose garden. But i do remember to smell the blossoms while bloomed. Grateful for my loving children…
Dogwood have no fragrance and adequately make up for the loss with an exuberant blanket of petals, stitched together to create a covering for hearts, souls and minds. Enjoy your bitchin’ Mother’s Day, the best way you can!!
Chewing on Glass has done it again. What? Drug a deeply buried nugget inside me, up to the surface, in order for me to see the light! I am opening up the curtains!!! The difficulty will be to keep them open. I will try to remember nothing (good?) grows in the dark, unwatered and starved. (Thanks to Emotions of Life for giving me/you food for thought regarding good versus bad growth.)
All unbeknownst to Layne, I am grateful he stepped forward and shared this blog post. Today, i will scurry to sit and think and get some where with my brother’s suicide. This memory stuck in neutral needs to be eventually parked in order for me to move forward. What stands in my way? The screeching tires, the rubber worn, the honking ignored, the empty tank, the dirty windshield…
Finally, i may get a few answers. I will need to rake through powerful memories. I cannot be afraid of the truth. And perhaps i will find closure. Perhaps not. I cannot fear to face the sorrow. The truth as raw and ugly as it appears.
The questions remain… What happened? Is it possible to heal? Maybe i will figure this out. Maybe not. But i do hope my faith is restored.
I became trapped in my own selfish misery. I once held onto hope. Positioned as a shiny metal object, glistening in the sun, it promised better days. I prayed to it. Ran my fingers over the smooth surface. Worshiped the image broadcast back to my heart.
I learned that day about rust as tears flowed. Death approaches angrily, despite appearances. I wish i hadn’t fallen so hard. Knives are all too predictable. Perhaps there is the lesson. Learn all you can before you are trapped.