Suicide

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day.

Please read this post as you never know who you might come across.. Waste: Explicit lyrics.... Heard a song I had not heard in a long time. It's called Waste. Brought on many thoughts. I heard the edited version though I have heard the unedited before too. "But these words, they can't replace, the life you waste." The song is about suicide. Aaron Lewis years ago was approached by a kid's mother about her son having committed suicide. She wanted to know why. The lyrics ask the question of how one can see that as the only option left. Suicide. Some call that selfish for one to commit. Others call the deceased a coward. Others blame the family. Don't judge till you have been there. I was there. I was one who wanted to kill myself. I was 12. Those who commit suicide, see no other way.... The pain runs too deep. They feel unloved, uncared for, abused, hated, etc. They feel that the world is better without them. They feel that suicide is the only answer to forget the pain.... Others turn to drugs, sex or alcohol but eventually they all hit rock bottom. Many eventually come to this.... Our job is to reach out, not judge. Our job is to show love and patience. Not all of us will succeed but even if one of us does, then we did our job and saved at least one life. I do know in the past by sharing my story and how I got out of that darkness has saved at least one from killing herself...


Let me share my story. If my story alone prevents one suicide or even attempted suicide, what I survived is not in vain... This is not for the young to read...
Growing up, I was not with church. Growing up I wasn't even really in a happy home. My mom kinda did what she could but she was overwhelmed. My father, (Not the one I call dad or my daughter calls grandpa) had frequent visitations with me. My earliest memories are of when I was two and he abused me over the years. I was physically, sexually, emotionally and neglect abused. I won't even get into details because it would make you sick.... To this day, I can't stand the smell of beer because of him. The abuse lasted till I was seven and a half when we got moved out of state because of the military. While we were still in my birth state, the only people that ever seemed to show that they loved me was a teacher I had named Mrs. L, my maternal grandpa and a child psychologist named Dr. H. That was it....

It was soon after that the anger took hold. I was eight years old when it got really bad. I had been told all the time from my father that I was a "worthless piece of shit" and was also told before that I should have been aborted, by him and several others. Because I thought that over time, I became very violent toward myself and others. I was failing school and getting into constant fights with other kids. People learned at school not to piss with me one day when I attacked a kid with my umbrella. Finally then when I was almost eight a counselor at my youth center who at the time was about 19,20 molested me by making me perform oral sex on him. At that point I told someone and nobody would believe me because he was well known and he had a good reputation. That situation with the molestation and the no justice that came with it only made me even angrier.

The breaking point though was when I threatened to kill a few students that went to my school who were bullying me. At that point, I went to Juvenile Detention for about a week. To me that felt like prison. I was behind bars in a padded cell at the age of eight. They did my fingerprints and they strip-searched me. We had recreation hours but most of the people that were there with me were older juveniles and they had actually had criminal histories. I remember the fights that would break out there. I saw one guy actually kill another in there by smashing his head in a wall and breaking his neck. Other times it was just regular fistfights. That place scared me but it also made me harder so to speak. It made me rougher. After that week and a half, I came back home.

Soon after, it got bad again. This time it was more at myself then at anybody else that I would lash at. I was pulling out my own hair, I was beating myself up, I was smashing my fists and my head into walls, and many other things. I then started it with others again. When that happened, I went to a placement called Valle Vista.
I got to that mental hospital and because I was still eight I went to the child unit. I was still on Ritalin at that point but one of the doctors decided to diagnose me as psychotic so they tried me on Haldol. I wound up being allergic to that so I was re-diagnosed as severe ADHD and put back on Ritalin.
I was put into restraints quite often because I was still being violent against others and myself. I would threat to kill any guy that came near me because I thought that all men were out to attack me. I was even put on suicide watch because of all the holes I put in the walls with my fists and or my head.
When I would sleep at night the staff would have to come in and find out what was going on because I wouldn’t stop screaming. At that point they did a sleep test on me. They monitored my brain wave patterns and my vital stats. They also watched me for one night of sleeping. They figured out that my father had to have abused me because I was screaming things like, “No Daddy, That hurts!!” And things like that. After two months of this place I got out.
From there I was transferred to a group home in Illinois. At least there I was in a group home there I wasn’t locked up. I at that point had begun to relax a bit and stop lashing out at others and myself. At least I was only verbally abusing myself. That continued the whole time I was there. I just didn’t make it well known.
In fact, I slapped one of the staff members were kissing all over me in my sleep. She was slapped and she never did that to me again. Yes I said she. I later found out that she was like that with all of the residents there. By that point, I was nine. I was in there till I was a month away from turning ten.

Things were going pretty decent till depression started partway into my 6th grade year.... In early 1993 not long after school started for me did I start becoming depressed more often then I should have. Just a few months before I turned twelve I started on Prozac. I was on 20 mg’s twice daily. Before I finally got off of that I was up to 30 twice daily. Anyway, the following summer became fun for me.
Summer 1993 I had asked my grandpa if I could play an instrument. Mom had, my aunt had, my uncle had and grandpa had. He even used to own a music store. I wanted to join in the family tradition. He said sure. He asked me what it was that I wanted to play. I asked him what he had left in stock from his music store. He suggested that I try the flute out. In many ways my flute became an upper to me when I was going through bouts of depression.
I was good at it and it was one of the few things I was actually good at. I considered his flute as a prized possession. I started in the 7th grade that fall of '93 ready and anxious for band. At that point I committed myself to be a forever eternally band geek. Music became one of the things that I knew would stick with me. Things at school were going pretty good.
My grades were going up because I had something to look forward to each day but, as school got better, home got worse. I was told that I had to start counseling again.  I had just started to feel comfortable with my counselor to be prepared to tell her and mom what all my father had done to me. Never did I think that a counselor would call one of their patient’s a liar. She even convinced my mother that I was a liar also. This just made me angry. I started to blame myself for all of what was ever done to me. I even blamed myself for not protecting my half-sister who was four years younger then me. At that point I started becoming suicidal again. I started to daydream ways I could kill myself and just have it over.... Just shy of 13, I wanted to die. God had no further use for me and I was just a waste of space. "She will never be an effective part of society" and more. Why bother then?

It was a day that we didn’t have school. I was watching TV when suddenly I knew that I needed to punish myself. I found a razor blade. I had tried to slice my wrists but it felt like a force or something was stopping me. I did about 25 slashes on my right leg before I stopped and saw that my entire leg is bleeding. On the 25th slash I cut deep enough to get to the bone. I then grabbed a towel and wrapped my leg up in it. At that point I was sobbing like crazy because I felt as if I had nowhere else to go. I was at the bottom of the pit. That pit got deeper when mom found out and put me into a short-term inpatient treatment center.
I was there for about three days while they monitored me. It was so boring there. They took me up to 25mg of Prozac and started me on Risperdal. Almost all of the time during the day it was a study time. I had no schoolwork because school had just ended for the year by this point. I was very bored. I borrowed a book called, The Courage to Heal and was one that I knew to look for later but I knew that I just wasn’t ready to be committed to something like that yet.
In fact, while I was there, I didn’t have much time to read that because I was only there three days. I went back home and a few days later I became real depressed again. I then got the same razor blade and tried to slice my wrists and hoped that nothing would stop me. That force stopped me again. Instead I sliced up my left leg. I did about 30 cuts on that leg. I wound up going to that place again. This time it was longer and I didn’t go straight home.

I went back into this placement figuring I would be back home in a few days. I thought wrong. It turned out that I would be in the short-term one for two weeks then I was going to go to Valle Vista again. This time I was going to be on the girls unit.
Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself here. While I was in the short-term place, they had me on the Prozac, Risperdal, and they also had me on Buspar all at the same time. They were trying me on all sorts of drugs. There are only some that I remember but you will hear of a few others later.
Anyway, I was working on a book called, The Castle of Pearl. I did two of those just for the heck of it. I wanted to kill time. There was another book that I liked it was called, “The Knight in Rusty Armor.”  I was also working on “The Courage to Heal” I knew that I wanted to buy that book eventually. That was mostly the extent of the short-term placement. That is it in two weeks of being there. Unfortunately, I spent my 13th birthday here. That wouldn’t be the last birthday spent in a placement though.

I went back to the same lockup place that had me when I was eight. Most of the other residents there were black and I felt left out because I was one of the few white people that were there. A lot of them didn’t like me because I was new. It was as if I had stepped into their territory. I was a ‘new fish’ as they would call me. We had a meeting that night introducing who everybody was and why they were there. Many of them were there because they had been convicted of crimes. One of them was there because she was suicidal like I was. In fact, her and I became good friends because we had so much in common.
I started to join in the group sessions there. There was community meeting there every night, there were daily one-on-one therapy sessions and there were three times a week group therapy sessions. There I became friends with a guy that I had a lot in common with.  We stayed friends but I later found out that he was a convicted child molester. It was hard for me to know that I was friends with someone like this when I knew that I have hated anybody that did anything like this to a child before.
Things went fairly smoothly here except for a few times that I threatened to kill myself and I was put on high suicide watch. I was forced to sleep outside of the room so I could be monitored. At times they would look up my old record from when I was there before. They knew why then I sometimes I would scream in my sleep. The other thing is that there were a few girls that would try to bully me till I let them have it. Not long after that, they left me alone. All of the girls but me however had staff members that would be their PCP. Basically someone who would take them under their wing. They would go do things sometimes. I was always the last one chosen for anything, if at all.
Basically, this placement went like the others did. Finally in November of 1995, I went back home. I started at the junior high school, 8th grade ready for band again. I was back home again. Things were going better but things between mom and I were still very bumpy. I was in band again but I still hated myself quite a bit.


Late in 8th grade, I went to my last group home. At this point I became ward of the court. For about two weeks I went to a foster home. From there I went to a group home I went to a new high school where I finished 8th grade and was at that place till the middle of my sophomore year. I was still in band. The band teacher that I had was much like my grandpa. My freshman year rolled around. I was going to court every five weeks to do a review of how I was doing. I started in marching band at that point.
From there on I became addicted to music and was constantly getting music stuck in my head. I called grandpa and told him what he had started in me. I started marching band having no idea what was really going to come out of it. My freshman year at state finals told me. That season we had won every competition but one. At state I was very excited because I was able to march in the RCA Dome on the Astroturf. I was very excited. We wound up winning the state championship in my class that year (October 26, 1996). I still have the championship ring.
Several days before state, I also became a Christian by accepting Jesus as my savior while at Student Impact as part of the church we went to at the group home. Honestly at first I only did it because the other girls did but by that spring, it was better. They kept me in line, like themselves going with our Student Impact meetings. I still have the Bible that the church gave me. I first really heard about God when I was 10 but didn't understand all of what 'being saved' was about till later. I still remember an after school aid named Dorthy giving me my first New Testament.
Things went rather well that year. Mom married my step-dad a month before my birthday. In June of 1997 I went to see grandpa because he had just had open-heart surgery. I played my flute for him and wanted him to hear me play again. Little did I know that this would be the last.
My sophomore year started. I was looking forward to another great season. I was in band practices and ready for the competitions. I was going to go on a weekend visit with mom and my step-dad when they arrived sooner then what I thought they would.
They told me that we needed to talk. Me, one of the staff members and my parents went to go talk. Mom told me that grandpa had died. This day was August 22, 1997. I didn’t believe her. I was in denial. I thought that all of it was ok. I thought that grandpa was ok now.
We headed out to go to the viewing. I thought that this was a trick that they were playing on me. We got to the funeral home. I was playing everything in my mind that grandpa knew about me.
Before he died, he knew most of what my father and everybody else did to me. He was my best friend and my grandpa. He was like a dad to me when I was a child. I then walked into the funeral home and seen a casket with a lot of flowers and pictures around it. I then saw grandpa in the casket. I feel tears welling up in my eyes. “This can’t be true!” I thought.
I reached out to touch his hand and it was so cold. At that point I knew. I started to cry uncontrollably. My step-dad came up to me and held me back because I didn’t want to let go of the casket. He knew how close I was to grandpa so he knew that it would be hard. He was cremated.
At the funeral it’s self it was a rainy day. I put some of his favorite flowers on the tiny casket. I then seemed to get a whiff of his pipe smoke and felt a hand on my shoulder. At that point I knew that he was in heaven with God. I started crying again when I felt the heat on my shoulder. When I got back to school it was just harder.
I got back to school and was ready for band again but I knew that it would be very hard for me to play that flute that he gave me. Let alone any music at all. I took my flute out of the case and just started crying again. My director helped me out. He was just like my grandpa. He was a big help and a great inspiration for me. We got 3rd at state that year.

It wasn't much longer that I went back home for good again. Things at home were honestly finally getting better despite normal teenage behavior and rebellion. I still had a lot of anger to deal with from my past. That didn't help me any in the choices of who I dated in high school. The boyfriend I had at the time was not good for me at all but common type for girls who have been abused, particularly by a father figure. I dated him for about two years before my husband and I started dating soon after I broke it off with the abusive boyfriend.

I was in college doing well and life was honestly finally going good when I got out on my own. I was able to start dealing with the past and the anger with it. My faith in God was growing again finally after I fell off the tracks for a few years. I have never been particularly close to anyone in all of my years. Nobody really had tried with me either, including family so I just learned to deal with it.

Life continued on, I learned how much of a planner I was and how I wanted things to always work out and know what is next. It's a blessing and a curse. It's also my way of honestly having control over what's going on around me because I was bound and determined never again would I allow myself to be in situations where things were out of control.

That was until my daughter was born. I was determined that come hell or high water, she would never have to endure what I did. I didn't care what it took, my children would never live through anything like I did. Little did I know what life would give. My daughter started a medical journey that would not only require me staying at home to care for her and allow secondary insurance but it would allow me to use some of my control tendencies for good. Over time as the diagnoses added up, the more I decided that since medical stuff wasn't in my control, I would at least have power to help her with whatever was needed, including finding good doctors, insurance battles, appointments and everything else. My life became about the journey. Research was also my way of dealing with things. Almost to a fault. In some ways, it honestly still is.

Over time, I began to see just how different my world was from those around me. Even now I struggle with that. I began to see what everyone else could and had the ability to do and I couldn't do it for whatever reason. I began to slowly struggle with jealousy and bitterness, and it became harder to see the blessings around me. I began to figure all I was was the elephant in the room that nobody else wanted to deal with or talk to as well. I tried to hide it, to not make it a big deal but it really was. Then my son was born. Within a day of him being born, I not only learned that his medical journey had just begun but a mass text had been sent out by a family member saying how different he was, he was just like my daughter but that they would love him anyway. I had heard much prior and after from this family member about my kids and how "different" they are, how cruel it was for me to bring children to this world, and so forth. That wasn't the only person to judge me for having two special needs kids. I have had other family say stuff too. Main one being that they pray we don't have more children because of the 'burden' my two already are.... Ever since all of that, I have really struggled with my feelings and keeping my attitude in line with where it should be.

I have often felt alone and isolated in a world where I have felt like I don't belong in this community. As much as I fight it, it has grown some and not for the better. People say they care for me and my kids yet I have always found it hard to trust that. It's nothing personal, just how I have always been. I have been burned way too much to really trust anyone right off. I have to 'test' them first. Test the waters so to speak. Most people when they say they care for us and or have been praying, I honestly take it superficially. Not because of them but because of the past, I have had to be hardened enough to not take anything anyone says to me like that as truth. Again, nothing personal. Yet even here when the storms rolled in and the sky's got dark, many ran who said they would be there. Normal fact of life but it has only made it harder to trust.

I felt like I had failed, like I wasn't strong enough in the journey God chose for me. Overall it has helped but I still have my days, as I had recently. Many days I wake up knowing there is likely some sort of battle ahead that most here don't understand. So often I have to have my guard up, it's like it doesn't come down anymore. It's not that I try to be pessimistic but yet after 30+ years of so much, I have learned to expect it. I shouldn't but I do.....

God has provided and shown me so much, despite it all. My biggest prayer in everything is that my children don't have to survive or cope with life the way I have. That's why I fight so hard for them, and for any injustice they may or may not face over the years.

I call things out. I hate injustice, especially when it is my kids being treated like that. I'm a momma bear and life has only made me stronger, more like that. Some may not like how I call things out but it's my kids too...... I can't just sit back and let it happen. I refuse! I think what I have to learn now is the balance. Learn how to find that sweet spot where I can feel like I'm doing right for my kids yet at the same time not feel like I am sacrificing everything else too. I admit my biggest blessing yet curse with my personality is my wanting to control everything, know everything, have a plan for everything. Yet also learn to step out of my comfort zone and allow people in more and reach out myself more. That's where I have to learn how to let go of the fear of rejection and isolation.

It's so much easier to feel accepted and loved in a place where you know others are on the journey with you, like when I'm in Dallas yet it's also easier there to really share the journey, step out on faith that you will be accepted because you know those around you are where you are. At home it's not that simple. Yet over time, I'm having to learn that there are more like me out there then I thought. I just have to honest to God open my eyes and heart to see that. I have to step out on faith that I am not the only one here who is facing this journey that only a select few walk. Yet my children are my gems. I look forward to watching them shine. The storms and trials will only polish them and allow them to shine brighter, even if there isn't much light sometimes. That is what I pray for.

Pray for me that I will do better with this and that I won't take things that my children have to face in life as a momma bear just waiting on someone to pounce on my kids so I can roar back. I don't do that on purpose but it's hard when growing up, that's all I learned in how people are so therefore it makes it hard for me to really trust anyone to not do that to my kids. All I want is to be a Godly woman, a good wife and a good mother to my kids.

Thank you for reading this. Even just in my story, the glory can be given to God and to know I survived that long, hellish storm, I can survive most anything....

Light a candle tonight to show support, remember those lost and to show support to the survivors of suicide....

If I had committed suicide when I was 12, I would not be a mother, my children would not exist. My husband would be someone else's. I would not be here helping others who are where I was. Maybe, just maybe had I killed myself, the world would be a little less bright. So much would not exist that does now.

Think of that.