The Suicide Reaction
When I was nine I was awoke in the blind night to be told my daddy had been in an accident.
My eyes adjusting to the room glow brighter as my body adjusted to the panic around me.
I struggled to get dressed on my own as the four of us scrambled out the door.
Into the car, all buckled up, I begin to think about what went wrong. An accident I’m told and I think daddy’s wrecked his car.
And for 30 minutes the drive went on.
At the hospital we rush inside and are taken to the spiritual side. A dimly lit room with colored windows and rows of pews.
A man walks in to give us some news. We all stand and listen intently. He speaks rather gently to inform us daddy’s leaving.
We tried to save him but with the gunshot wound to his head we cannot resesitate him.
The room grew dark, the floor was red, and into arms fell my head.
Back in the car, all buckled up, tears and snot fell as trembling hearts sang out.
And for 30 minutes the drive went on.
But that is nothing compared to the 30 years of reliving that feeling of being abandoned, feeling alone, feeling at fault as I play the victim.
Staring down the barrel of a loaded weapon an innocent child seeks admiration. Here I come dad. I’m coming to see you. I miss you so bad and I really need you!
It hurts so bad Daddy and I want you so, but you see I can’t pull the trigger, it’s stuck, the safety is on.
You see, it knows the pain will not stop. Royce, Brenda and Mom, they feel the pain too and if I follow you dad, their world looses two.
Almost everyday, for 30 some years, I’ve fought this battle. Thinking it would be easier if I’d just pull the trigger. Maybe jump off the cliff or tie a nuse and fall off the ladder.
It’s ironic that by losing a loved one to suicide, I’m more likely to decide the same fate. Sad but it’s true.
The pain is so deep it became my identity. And talking about it just feels to taboo.
Even loved ones mocked my pain in disbelief, as they don’t know everyday my life may be over. How could they, I never told them.
And now I have two angels by my side keeping me alive 50% of the time.
But when they are gone the room grows dark and the floor turns red as that abandoned feeling creeps in again.
My mind opens wide. Tired of the pain and suicidal thoughts, it invites the likes of conscious minds. With Eckhart and Thay and Alan Watts I learn to notice I’m not my thoughts.
Armed with a pen I have a tool. To question the thoughts that are not too true. Given as a gift from Byron Katie, I have The Work I can do daily.
They all helped me find this boy in need of being held, being heard, and being seen. Helped him strip away the blame and the fear and all these thoughts are beginning to disappear.
Cycles are being broken. Beliefs have been squashed. Wrongs are being righted and life is being loved.
Consciously questioning is my way. If a pain is too deep I know what to do and that’s why I share this with you.
Who would you be without your story?
