It is sad to think that there are so many people living with such deep sadness that they take their own lives. There are more people living with this reality than we may think because most of us (and yes, I have felt like that before in my life, more than once) don’t tell people about it. Everyone has their own reasons for not telling anyone that they’re so strung out on life that they just want it all to end. Some because of the social stigma, or the fact that they don’t want to feel like a burden to their loved ones. Those are only two examples, as there could be numerous other reasons as to why they keep it to themselves.
We seem to only talk about tragedies when they happen and then they are quickly forgotten until it happens again. We see this with school shootings and other issues within our society. Depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, suicide, and many other mental health issues are on the forefront of life EVERYDAY. There are so many people who live it in silence. No one should feel alone like that. We need to talk about it and keep talking about it so that those people don’t feel alone so that those people may gradually feel more comfortable reaching out, and so that we, as a society, are better versed to understand the warning signs that someone we may love and care about is struggling. We need to take a stand and reach out to these people.
BUT
You can’t save everyone. Not everyone wants to be saved. No situation is going to be just like another one either. I have seen people essentially defending suicide but I simply cannot do that. I have lost a loved one to suicide and I’m still not over it. I don’t know that I’ll ever be over it.
My story is just one story. Someone else’s will be different. So, this is merely my experience, my opinions, and my feelings, and nothing more. I will not tell another person how to feel, especially about something as heartbreaking and serious as suicide.
The last memory I have of my mother is her showing up randomly one day, as my dad had gotten custody of me a year ago and I had not spoken to my mom since then. I remember being very excited to see her, yet apprehensive because she had spent years blaming her problems on everyone but herself, and I feared her believing that all had been forgiven and that things were fine if I showed her such excitement when they weren’t fine. They were far from it.
She brought me a kitten that day, a kitten she named Peanut (this was my nickname as a child). She told me that she nursed the kitten because she had lost her mom. The kitten was even born in the same month as I was. That kitten and feeling scared to be excited to see her are honestly the only clear memories I have of that day. When I was older, my dad and I were talking, and he filled in some blanks - I refused to be alone with her and she informed him that she was moving away.
My mom did not move away though. However, she could have because her father offered her a house and safety. Instead, she drove her car, which she had been living out of for quite some time, out to the railroad tracks. The only thing that is clear is that she stood in front of a train in order to take her own life.
I can remember my dad telling me that the police would be coming over but he would not tell me why. They casually informed me that there had been an accident and that my mom was dead. At the time, they did not rule it as a suicide, but rather that the investigation was pending and that they would inform us of the outcome before airing it on TV. This moment in my life is not very clear to me. That day plays more like a broken, silent movie wrought with anguish. The only thing I can say for certain is that I was numb. That numbness was followed by an overwhelming feeling of such deep pain that I felt immobile because to speak or move would feel as though my body was completely falling apart. I sobbed quietly at first, not quite knowing what to make of the information I had just received. The worst was yet to come.
I chose to go to school in an attempt to quell my pain and ignore the situation, for as long as I could, the next day. I only told my friend, whose sister gave us a ride to school every day, after she could tell that I simply was not okay. I proceeded to go into class. A friend who sat behind me told me she was sorry for my loss. I stared at her blankly, because if you remember, I was told that they would inform us what the outcome of the investigation was before airing it on the news, but they did not do that. I got to find out from a classmate that my mom had committed suicide.
I won’t go into everything that followed that harrowing news because it isn’t exactly important.
My mom had a very difficult childhood and past. She suffered from bipolar disorder (manic depression), drug addiction, and alcoholism, among many traumatic events in her life. One thing I know, and will never forget, is that my mom loved me. She wanted to protect me, but in her efforts of trying to protect me, she put in harm’s way and I ended up enduring much of what she was trying to avoid. Though I never told her about it, and I didn’t tell anyone until I was much older. My point is, there is so much going on in a person’s life that they often don’t discuss. I have discussed my issues with people at length because I, myself, have been suicidal. I was as a child and I was again after my mom took her own life. I hated myself for that. I hated her.
Suicide does not just end the pain for the individual committing the act, but it trickles that pain down to their loved ones. My mom did not leave me a note or anything to help me understand and cope. In fact, the only information I got to be left with was that she couldn’t deal with the fact that she had lost me. As a 15-year-old, I heard, “This is your fault.” My mom hadn’t lost me but merely lost custody because she could not care for herself, let alone me. Yet, that was the thought I was left with after she was gone. I felt like it was my fault for years. I drank to numb my pain, but drinking doesn’t really do that. In reality, it gives it a loud sound system and stage from which to project. There were at least 3 times I thought about taking my own life after that.
My mom committed suicide when I was 15 years old. I am almost 29 and I live with that pain every single day. I will never be able to go to my mother for advice or do any of the things that mothers and daughters do. I honestly don’t even know what that looks like since my mother left this world before we could spend time together as “friends” or however that works once you get older. I continue to suffer from anxiety and depression years later. I very much envy my friends who have this wonderful relationship with their mothers.
While I am in a better place now, I will never be without that pain. I still have questions that will forever go unanswered.
Please, if you are suffering, talk to someone. Your life matters. You matter.
Call the helpline
1-800-273-8255
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