Loss

I once read that a possible cause for suicidal thoughts, is when pain outweighs your ability to cope. Pain could be any number of things, physical, mental, I’m going to talk about loss. Suicide It isn’t weakness. I’ve coped with a lot. I’ve been molested as a five year old, beaten as an 8 year old, beaten in high school, cheated on by many girlfriends, and have always manage to fake a smile.  But I’ve lost, something that is without a doubt more dear to me than any kind of innocence… I’ve lost my child. I’ve only loved one person truly inside and out, I lost my virginity to her, I built a home for her… I made her my universe and damn well nearly worshipped the ground she walked on. When she got pregnant, I was ecstatic . A chance to do something meaningful with my own life, and chance to give someone a better life than my own. My own life *chuckles* My memories came back, of all of the shit that’s happened. Bad memories brought company. Anxiety, fear and depression. Something that should have been happy, turned into a twisted nightmare. I slowly slipped into insanity at the fear and the constant nagging of what happened to me, could happen to my child… After all… “Like father, Like son.” I’m a strong person, I’ve survived every suicide attempt, managed to shrug it off like a scraped knee,  constant bullying had built myself a rough exterior. That stuff isn’t passed on through genetics. I’m LUCKY (I don’t feel it, but in standard terms) to be alive. Every drug I’ve taken, every cut, every stab wound, every fucking fall and even the burns have healed. I never wanted my child to go through that. It drove me insane. Until, the love of my short life, couldn’t handle it. “(insert name here) You’re crazy, and you need help otherwise I can’t be with you anymore.” She was right, I seeked therapy, they medicated me. I took a medicine called “Citalopram”. Anyone who has taken it before can tell you, it does more harm than good. It kept me calm, but I hear haunting voices while I was on my balcony, telling me to “Jump, try to fly, think of how free.. falling can be.” Along with laughter… Hallucinations of myself hanging from a noose, violent dreams of torture, including hellfires, mutilation and being crushed. Absolute torment… It got to the point where I couldn’t be calm any more, crying, screaming, anger… I went back to therapy, they called me a fake, a “hypochondriac” I was torn… I wanted to get better for my family, and I ended up worse. That night I killed myself. Well mentally what was left of my old self, ceased to exist. I became a cruel, dark person. Hating everything, angry at everything, wanting everything to be as miserable as I was. I was, terrible, horrific, cold.  These are my sins. My love, my poor poor love, she couldn’t handle it. After a final fight she said “I fucking hate you, and I hope you get hit my a bus.” and like that, it was over. 6 months have passed. I’m back to normal, I’m alive. And I cannot believe what I have done… I’m trying so desperately to get things back in order… But, it’s all for naught. I don’t have my love, I don’t have my son. I don’t get to protect my family, like I was so worried about originally. Ironic isn’t it? THESE ARE MY SINS… I’m paying the price everyday, I am a father without his son. He is my loss.

How do you cope with that?

Scissorhands.