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 |   A suicide survivor's story. |
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so I am using this as my book. a messed, up, not compiled series of thoughts that will eventually become a book. I am also using it for nanowrite....and here I start to pull out thoughts at random just to get words out. Eventually it will be edited. I know that it will be filled with typos, misspellings, and bad grammar. the point is to write and edit later. Start from the last page and read up. |
| We ended up going to an urgent care that did not find my 'problem' so urgent. I could not stand still and the promised half hour time frame before I could see a doctor was too long. I told my sister that we could not wait. we must go to another hospital. She drove me to my mother's office instead. my step-father is an orthopedic surgeon and what she thought they would be able to do,i am not sure. my sister now looked scared. I do not remember if my daughter was with us, but I believe I left her at home. she was 13 and old enough to stay there until I got back. I am glad she stayed home as the scene was becoming ugly. i was pale and shaky enough that when I entered my mom's office she immediately put the oxygen mask on me. she kept telling me to calm down. Impossible! I kept repeating 'something is wrong, Something is wrong", but when asked what, i could not answer. i did not know. I remember after what seemed hours of her wanting me to explain my symptoms, I threatened if she did not help me NOW, I would run screaming through her waiting room that i knew was filled with patients. She told me we would go next door to the doctor I usually saw. Why i didn't think of this myself i am not sure. When we arrived, I must have looked a sight because I was pulled back into the room immediately. They took my vitals as I tried to explain what i was feeling. Now, about an hour and a half had passed since i started first experiencing symptoms of insanity. The doctor came in immediately to explain that i was having a panic attack. he prescribed me xanax and told me it would stop soon. What!? I had no ideas what he was saying or what a panic attack waqs and why now, and why, why, why? how does crazy appear and suddenly go away? We went and my mother got the pharmacist to fill my script immediately. i took a pill or two...and was driven home. Still wild eyed and pale, I went immediately to my bedroom to rock on my bed until the pills took effect. i did not want my daughter seeing this... My sister sat with my daughter in the living room. I must have feel asleep at some point as when I looked out the window it was dark. i went out to the living room and saw my sister and daughter sitting on the couch together watching TV. My sister jumped up when she saw me. I still did not feel normal. I was not even sure I knew what normal used to feel like. had it only been a day since I 'turned crazy?' "I have decided to move tonight. I am going to finish packing my things. I have to go, connie!" I stared at my sister. "What? you are not supposed to move until next week. why now?" I knew the answer. My sister was not able to deal with my sudden trip into insanity. she had not accompanied me to my father's funeral and now she was not going to accompany me into my decent into madness. I sat down by my oldest daughter and held her. I nodded at my sister and she left my house. I would not see her again for months. She was dealing with my father's death the best she could as well. it seemed no one was handling the death very well, except for my mother, but then again my mother always handled everything well. it was in her nature to hide behind a mask and pretend all was well for as long as she possibly could. I obviously lost my mask...I wanted it, believe me. I think it got lost on the way home from Disneyland. I could not pretend all was fine anymore. I sent my oldest to her fathers. My youngest was with her dad. i was in the house alone that night. I ended up calling my ex to take me to the emergency room in the middle of the night because despite the pills, I was still insane! I paced back and forth outside the ER and waited for them to see me, shoot me up with who knows what. I went home and fell into bed, crying softly. In the morning, I proceeded to call psychologists. I made up my mind I was not going to just accept crazy. I was going to fight for my sanity. Again, I had no idea why this first panic attack came on at the time that it did. It was almost a year since my father's death and I was 'fine'. I would later uncover, with the help of a counselor, that i had buried many issues, any which could have triggered the panic attack- it ended up as well as i tried to pretend all was fine (like my mother) my father's suicide brought to the surface all I had buried. Unaware of the sudden volcanic spewing of buried memories into my deep recesses of my heart and soul, my mind could not handle the truth....so it scramble4d all my thoughts and caused me to panic. I wanted to flee from those ugly memories- I was experiencing an adrenaline jump where the body experiences something called fight or flee. I choose to flee but could not flee my own mind, thus the panicked result. |
| After returning home from the funeral, i picked up from where I had left off. i resumed my duties at work and continued parenting my two young children, keeping things together for about 8 months after my father's death. Sure, I would almost blow up everytime someone would ask 'How are you doing?' I know they had only good intentions but i seriously wanted to scream, "My father just blew his head off, how do you think I am doing?" I pretended to be fine for almost a year, but i was not. I remember one day, sitting in a classroom when something set me off. A teacher had moved my 'stuff' from one table to another and had accidentally ripped my father's obituary that I kept between my papers. I went off on her, crying and yelling at her for being so inconsiderate and yes, dumb, before running like a child out of the building. Four days after that incident, I quit my job. I did not take leave, i did not allow my boss to put me on substitute status...I wanted out! I was not sure of what I wanted out of, but I had $120,000, part of my inheritance in the bank and I did not need to work. I went home that day and paid my rent for a year. I decided to myself that this was going to help me become a brand new me. I forgot, somehow, that before my father's death I was completely happy with myself and my life. i now viewed my life and myself as being inadequate, and I needed to fix me. I went out and bought new furniture for every room in my house. I designed new couches and displayed them proudly as my works of art. I bought a huge big screen TV that would eventually quit working about 3 days after the warranty expired. I redesigned both of my children's rooms. I took what furniture they had that fit my own bedroom and bought myself a 800 dollar bed. I would spend a lot of time in that bed, more then I knew at the time of purchase. I made over my entire 1800 square foot apartment and still did not feel satisfied. I did not know what was wrong. I had also bought my first computer. It was top of the line and cost me &3000.00. That was a lot of money in 2000. I spent hours 'researching' what my new life should be. I kept notebooks of career choices I had previously dismissed as unobtainable due to lack of time or finances. I decided I had always wanted to be a masseuse (not entirely true but at the time I believed it) and called a school that was taught in the mountains, focused on holistic healing and seemed to embody the same outlook on life and people that I held. They would be sending me a brochure and enrollment information so in the meantime I decided to take my kids to Disneyland. I went to a travel agent and booked a 5k trip for five days to our nations favorite theme park. The money was going fast...but i did not notice. I am not sure exactly what my children thought of our new found wealth or of me, but they were happy to be going to Disneyland. I was afraid of driving that far so we took the train. The train ride up was fun and we were able to see beautiful scenery together from our windows. We were unhappy to have to leave the train and take a dirty bus through the grapevine mountains. Eventually, we arrived at our premium hotel and prepared for five days of awesome fun. This was not to be. The room was fine and the first night, before visiting the park, we unpacked and dined with the Disney characters at a fun restaurant. Our hopes were high for the next day. I tucked the children into their bed and settled down myself and watched TV until I fell asleep. I know now that at this time of my life, I was doing anything from dealing or even accepting my father's death. If I kept my mind busy, I did not have to try and make sense of 'him'. The trip to the park was a farce. the park closed it's doors at 10am due to overcrowding. We were allowed in, due to our premium tickets, but that did not help us enjoy standing in lines for 2 hours to take a 4 minute ride. we were later told we were invited to share the park with only other premium ticket holders from 5-9 am every morning. We left the park early that day and for the remainder of our stay we awoke at 4 am and trudged off to ride as many rides as we could in the wee hours of the morning. We never made the parades, we never fully enjoyed the experience and you would think for the cost, we should have. There seemed to be some heavy cloud hanging over our heads. As much as we tried to enjoy the festive atmosphere of our Disney hotel, we just didn't. I felt it was a sign, I was squandering money, something my father would have disapproved of. I decided in our final night at the hotel that when we arrived home I would buy a house. My father was big into real-estate, and he would be happy to see me in my own home. I felt lighter. Our trip to Disneyland might have been a bust but I had bigger plans for my family. i did not realize at the time that i was like a hamster on a exorcise wheel, running, running, running but getting nowhere. I was running blindly, trying to fill this hole in my heart. How could i heal when I did not want to face the demons. I did not want to face my father's death. there were too many things besides just him dying that were going to have to be addressed. The 'Why's' being the biggest issue. I did not know why or how I was going to find out why. Why? "Why" haunted me.... Random thought chapter-first panic attack I only remember feeling odd. I remember walking to the front door, opening it and looking at the sunny, beautiful day outside. I shook off the feeling of absolute terror I felt and for a second thought I was fine. this odd creeping sensation that i felt crawling up my spine was just a fluke. No reason, no rhyme..just a brief moment of unexplained uncomfortableness. I walked past my oldest daughter who was sitting on the floor in front of the TV, playing video games and walked back to my bedroom. I remember more, what i did, rather than what i felt. i walked, pacing, back and forth from my bedroom to the front door trying to shake the feeling of terror that was refusing to let go of me. "are you okay Mom?" my daughter asked. "No, call aunt candy" My sister arrived. she has also taken leave from her job and was planning on moving next week to santa Monica. Thank God she was still here. I explained there was something wrong with me but I did not know what. My hands were shaking and I had this feeling I was going crazy. I could not stop feeling like I was supposed to flee. run! run where? I dont know, but run! Everyone will see you and know you are crazy, you are crazy! what is wrong! I do not know what this is. I feel so strange! "connie, what do you want to do? What is wrong?' I tried to explain it to her. I explained it in terms I thought she would understand. "I feel like I have just smoked tons of pot and am having a paranoid trip, but I have not smoked a thing. It came out of nowhere. i am scared. i feel odd. i feel very, very scared." I started to cry. |
| The Domino Effect It’s hard to believe how easy life was just ten years ago. I had reached the age of 12, innocence and naivety still in hand as I entered the seventh grade. With puberty six months off, my hormones were still in check as I played the role of a good little girl. Cutesy quotes, such as “I love my mommy!” filled the pages of my diary. I had never suspected that, in fewer than twelve months, my entire world would be turned upside down. One lazy summer afternoon, just a few weeks past my 13th birthday, my mother woke me from a nap with a start, bursting through the front door, she shouted “family emergency!” She ran to the phone without another word said and frantically dialed, placing the phone to an impatient ear. Staring at her wild eyed and confused, I could tell that whatever this was, it was nothing good, and it seemed as though she was expecting the worst. As the phone fell with a dull clunk, time seemed to slow down. I remember it well. The way she screamed and ran down the hall, crying as though she were being torn open. It was an unimaginable pain I had never witnessed. Recovering herself after what seemed like ages, she picked up the phone with a shaky hand and asked, a note of desperation in her voice, “How’d he do it?” Endless tears streamed down her face, with an intake of breath; even I had a vague idea of what this meant. The silence that followed this question seemed impenetrable. Pieces are missing from this puzzle that is my past. As I dissect and attempt to translate what has happened since that afternoon, I find that I am at a loss. Blurs fill the empty spaces. I remember dwelling on his death. Pondering what was going through his mind before he blew it off, I pictured him standing with the gun barrel beneath his throat, tears streaming down his face in the same fashion as the ones he would later inflict upon his daughter. She was never the same. A feeling as though under cardiac arrest swept over her any time she strayed away from home for too long. Diagnosed with panic anxiety disorder, doctors pumped her full of prescription medication. Numbing the pain is much easier than dealing with it. Unable to function properly without them, she obliged. It was a difficult temptation to resist. At times, I’ve found myself feeling that maybe it would be best for me to just follow in her lead. With my heart hammering against my rib cage, every breath is taken as though I am struggling to stay above water, drowning in my own thoughts. Along with the physical strain, I am mentally weakened. During these moments, my sanity seems to cling by a single tattered thread. Darkness consumes me, as I trail away into this abyss that is my depression. Refusing the aid of medical help, my juvenile mind set lead me to take matters into my own hands. I was against prescription drugs, but the alternative wasn’t much healthier. At one point, I discovered focusing on physical pain distracted from the emotional pain. As I hovered somewhere between happiness and sadness, a feeling of emptiness washed over me, leaving me with a throbbing, tingling sensation that numbs the pain. Slowly the skin would tear; soon the wound would bleed. Dragging a dull safety pin across my limp wrist rhythmically, as though it was in my nature to do so, I felt a twinge. Bit by bit, my worries faded as the gash deepened. My sister was just a child when he died. She barely remembers the incident, but the effects of it continue to haunt her to this day. Though the consequences may have been indirect, the analogous pattern of behavior is indisputable. Unable to handle the pressures of everyday life, she shuts down; closing out those she cares about most. With fear of vulnerability, of being caught off guard, she anticipates the worst. However, this strategy never lessens the blow of bad news. Recently checked into a hospital under suicide watch, I wait with bated breath, dreading that my little sister will follow in my grandfather’s footsteps. She was released after two days and is now continuing her struggle to live a “normal” life. It has been nearly ten years since my grandfather’s suicide. My mother is still battling with frequent bouts of depression and interminable anxiety, plagued with addiction to prescription medication. She has begged doctors to rid her of this mask, but rather than provide her with much needed help, they feed her new pills and occasionally wean her off of others. With one gunshot, my entire family would be forever scarred. One by one, we’ve toppled over and are left to pick up the ruminants of our life. Even today, as issues arise, I find that most root back to this. It is said that time can heal; how much longer must we wait? |
| July 31st of the year 2000, I was informed, my father killed himself. He took a shotgun and blew his head off. His brains were splattered all over the ceiling of his bathroom. The cops could tell by the positioning of his body that he was looking in the mirror as he pulled the trigger. I often wonder what thoughts were running through his mind at that moment. Was he crying, resigned, angry? Did he call out to God? Was he thinking of the people he was leaving behind; how they would react, or was he thinking only of himself? How long did he stand in front of that mirror before committing suicide? I have had many years to deal with this terrible thing that my father chose to do to himself and to me, yes to me. He left me broken for many years by one quick pull on that trigger. I have gone through the processes of 'grief'. The first year after his death, my spirit was weakened so much, it was like I was the walking dead, totally numb. I refused to accept he was gone and what he had done. It took over another year to even begin to realize the impact that his death had on me. It took even longer to remember the impact his life had on me. lyrics by Mamas and Papas-Monday Monday Monday Monday, so good to me, Monday Monday, it was all I hoped it would be Oh Monday morning, Monday morning couldn't guarantee That Monday evening you would still be here with me. Monday Monday, can't trust that day, Monday Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way Oh Monday morning, you gave me no warning of what was to be Oh Monday Monday, how could you leave and not take me. It was a Monday. I was in a place in my life where everything, for once in my life, seemed absolutely perfect. I was working as a Education Resource Leader and trainer in the preschool I worked for. I got paid decent, and I loved the work. I had a pretty three bedroom apartment that me and my girls loved. I had an almost brand-new car named 'Ben'. My life had no drama, no real worries, and I was enjoying it. Is everything going good for you Connie? Are you happy? I want you to be happy. I replay those words in my head often. He was making sure I was happy just to go and blow his own head off? Did he just ignore the fact that his actions would bring me pain and make me UNHAPPY, or was he just in a place that allowed him to believe that I would actually be fine after his death? Monday, I went to work. I knew nothing of what the day held in store for me. The day started well. I had been worried about my father's state of mind since his breakup with his fiance. I knew he had tried to commit suicide weeks earlier by sleeping pills, but I also knew he was seeking professional help and I knew this man. This man would never let anything get him down for too long. He lived through a childhood filled with poverty and abuse. He served in Vietnam and came back a whole man; both in mind and spirit. I watched the man, in awe, as he put out a rather large living-room fire with his bare feet only to return to work days after, burns and all. This was a man who had just been awarded a certificate of excellence from his job for not having a single sick day in ten years. He would make it. I assured myself with the knowledge that this was the strongest person I knew. I went on with life the best I could and this Monday he was not in my thoughts as I performed my duties at my job. I arrived home at the end of the day to find a note from the Police taped to my door. It instructed me to make a (((URGENT)))long distance call to my Uncle Chet in Indiana . My father had moved to Indiana ten years earlier from California where he raised me and my sister. We both stayed in our home state. Dread filled me and I remembered a dream, a nightmare I had a few nights earlier. It was ominous and I only remembered a phone call and some words...some words which would bring on a sense of déja-vue only minutes later. Well, He went ahead and did it! was all I heard before dropping the phone and letting out a primordial scream that seemed to last a lifetime. I can still 'feel' that scream. The next few hours were a blur. My mother and sister came over. I had to have my youngest daughter picked up by my ex-husband who hung around too long before leaving. "Is this what he did, Mommy?", she held a toy gun by the side of her head. Where the hell did she get that gun? My flight was being scheduled, my bags being packed. Are you okay? So much to do, too quickly! Wait! This was all too unreal! Too much! Stop! Stop Now! Stop what? I was on a plane a few hours later, alone and without my sister who refused to fly. Whatever... A poem I wrote on the plane: Silent screams, yet unheard. A frightening fury takes a hold, a devouring pain tightens in on my soul until I have no choice to release or let it consume and shatter my core, my essence..... Pulling me slowly into the dark abyss sinking, sweltering in my divine mourning in the heat of hell, I cry out Silently.... Melancholy remembrance Merciless madness Futile and tired, Numb now and empty No longer screaming SILENT..... I could not cry. I stood in line silent, no tears staining my cheeks. I sat in my seat, quiet. No one had a clue. My mind kept replaying those damned words in my mind over and over again, like a needle on a scratched record... Well, he went ahead and did it! Well, he went ahead and did it! Well, he went ahead and did it! Well, he went ahead and did it! The flight seemed very short. No real time had seemed to have passed from the time I stood in line to enter the plane to the time where I stood now, waiting to exit the plane. Where had the time went? The rest of my day would have been a comedy of errors if it just was not so... not funny . My Aunt and her son picked me up. They, actually B.J. (an inexperienced driver with no navigational skills) proceeded to drive me through hell and back. We were lost on the road for hours when all I wanted was to go and see my father. I was quite upset by now, still not crying, but angry. Why could they not feel the urgency I felt? Why could they not understand time was of essense. I needed to get to the funeral home before it closed and see my father. I did not know at the time that I would not be allowed to see my father's body. I would not even be allowed to hold his hand. Why couldn't I cry? People cry at times like these don't they? I was not normal. I had some kind of problem with my emotions. I was not a good daughter. I could have stopped him before it was too late. I should have been there. I could have flown down and saved him. He would not have done it if I cared more! He would not have done it if I was there! OMG! He was all alone! He must have been thinking that as he looked into that mirror with that gun propped under his chin; that he was alone in the world! He must have thought no one loved him, no one cared if he lived or died! But I did! I did! I can't live without him. He was my father. He was my only source of unconditional love. He was my mentor, my protector, my Daddy! Who would take care of me now? I felt so small. My Aunt (((accidently))) drove us to my father's house. I walked in and headed straight for my father's bedroom. It was instinct. I was stopped right outside his door by a cousin who screamed in my face just one word, "no!". It seems that the cleaners had not even begun to clean up his bathroom and I had almost witnessed the carnage, or what was left of it, up close and personal. My Aunt Debby came out of his room excitedly muttering something about seeing 'it 'and feeling closer now to my father. Sick woman. Flash Forward!.. that is exactly how it felt to me. Like someone punched the fast forward button on the sick horror film I was staring in and my character was now standing in yet another Aunt's kitchen. I still was not crying. "Are you okay?" asked my Aunt Becky. How the hell is anyone 'okay' during times like these? "Yes, I am fine, thank you. How are you?" I stood awkwardly in the kitchen staring at all the faces of my family members, some who were unfamiliar to me. They stared back. I do not know what they expected. Were they wanting me to break down, cry for them, hold a heart-felt conversation with them all, join a new game of Canasta with them? Perhaps, they wanted me to do a jig, I didn't care what they wanted. I wanted to go away. I asked my Aunt where I was staying. She told me I was staying with her that night, perhaps the next, all depending on how hard it was to clean the 'place' up. Evidently there was so much brain matter in the bathroom, it speckled the walls and ceiling like some macabre party confetti. There was also so much blood loss that it had leaked onto the carpet of the room outside the closed bathroom door. The clean up was not going to be an easy job. No kidding, even if you didn't know the man of whom the mess belonged. What a job! "Do you want to get washed up?" My Aunt Becky asked. I nodded in reply. I was shown the bedroom which I was to sleep in and the bathroom down the hall. I turned down the invitation to rejoin the crowd, stating I was tired and needed rest. Needed to think was more like it. Think, think think, it was all I had been doing for at least 24 hours, but I had not arrived at any definite answers to the questions that lingered. I had many churning thoughts tumbling around in my tormented mind. Although it was always the same question, "Why?" |
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