Baby in Black

Here I am; haven’t been able to catch sleep all night and into the early hours of the morn. I lay in my bed staring into the dark, holding myself back from taking all this pain away. My boyfriend and parents are asleep, so I need not bother them with my emotions as of now… but I need an outlet, so, I bring you all (who are willing to listen) a (rather long) story.

Why am I really writing this, besides as an outlet? Well… let’s just say this is the reasoning behind why I will never, ever end my life (I hope). I hope some will find this inspiring or at least interesting… I endeavor to spark some hope within a heart or three… if you’re reading this now, you’re probably a tough human being. You’re still alive, after all! There’s so much hope in that.

To begin my story, I’ll jump back in time to when my grandpa was alive. From a prominent Scottish family, he grew up with material comforts all around. He was also very intelligent, later going on to Harvard and Exeter to major in the medical sciences. He became a fantastic pathologist and coroner in many states. At some point, he went into the army and ended up in Vietnam. He survived the war, and came back to continue his career as a coroner. So, you can already see that he had stared death in the face for a living, bluntly.

He and my grandmother (they met in the hospital, go figure! She was a nurse for a while, and later went on to work in a psych ward.) had 3 children; one of which, of course, was my dad. Now, my grandmother was a very distraught woman who dealt with alcoholism often, as wonderful as a soul she was (sometimes the ones who hurt the most are the most wonderful people). She drank heavily while pregnant with my dad… soooo, you can already guess how he turned out. His fetal alcohol syndrome wasn’t too severe, but it still had a major affect on his mind and body. His death wish began in 1st grade and he first put a loaded gun to his head in 4th grade. He hid his pain from his family, all the while absorbing all of their pain. He took care of everyone, but no one took notice of his problems.. All through his life, he’d sit outside with a rifle in his mouth staring at the moon, or stand with a noose around his neck. The one most serious attempt almost took his life… he tried to kill himself the way his own father did. He found himself with a puddle of tar draining out from him, along with his life… when he heard a voice urgently telling him to get out of there. His mother found him later and they saved him, somehow. He ended up visiting a few different mental hospitals 7 times, receiving multiple shock treatments and medications that only worsened his depression (all the while, though, he helped the others in those facilities).

I now jump back in time to when my grandpa and grandmother got a divorce. My grandmother married another man later on, and was very happy with him until he died of cancer. My grandpa also remarried, and had another child (my favorite aunt!) with his new wife. Now, here’s where things get really twisted. My grandpa was very successful in his line of work (one of the best coroners around), and was all lined up to go to another state for a new position as head coroner… Now, his wife was very messed up in the head. She did a lot of narcotics and cocaine, also suffering from schizophrenia. Anyway, she ended up driving my grandpa to his suicide by burning his things, torturing him mentally and slandering him to the point where his reputation was deteriorating. He was fed up, things were bad enough at the office, where he had too much work to handle (meaning, bodies on the secretary’s desk, on the windowsill, on the floor.. bodies everywhere!)… so, he closed himself up in the garage and started the car… put a jacket over his head and breathed in the sickly sweet carbon monoxide aroma of death.

Of course, this affected everyone terribly… my father was destroyed: he felt abandoned and helpless, wishing he could have stopped his dad from leaving. My aunt was only about 6 or 7 when her daddy killed himself.. she was devastated. She ended up having to live with her crazy mother who dealt her a great deal of pain in many ways (I could write a whole page on just that story alone, honestly)… she, naturally, was a very suicidal person, as well. She ended up killing herself once, not so long ago, but was very luckily brought back to life.

Now, let’s jump back in time again to some years after my grandpa’s death. My father had been taking care of his mother, who came down with Alzheimer’s disease and was dying a slow and terribly sad death. He watched her lose her mind and forget everything.. even how to eat… but they laughed and laughed… he gave her the best last years he could, until he had to admit her to a home. He tells me my mom (whom I’ll go into more detail about here in a second) would never visit her because it was too sad to see. I got to meet her a few times as a wee baby, though she never remembered me… she would always ask my dad “Who’s baby is that?? She’s so beautiful!” and then she’d forget and repeat the question again the next visit… She died shortly before I turned 4 years old.

I shall now tell you of my parent’s relationship in short… My mom had an abusive husband and was feeling awfully suicidal. She had 2 children, so she couldn’t do it, I’m sure… anyway, she met my dad pretty soon after his dad had died. Pretty sure it was shortly after her father had passed, as well. She says to this day that my dad saved her life. They fell in love, both in very very dark places… One day, she was at the end of a cliff, about to jump. My dad comes up behind her and takes her hand. She asks, “What are you doing?” and he replies “I’m goin’ with you!”. So, that’s how their story began; through saving each other. I was born into this world not too long after their meeting. My parents still tell me of the terrible blizzard that went on the day I was born, and the way I would only sleep if they danced me around to Johnny Cash for hours…

Shortly after my grandmother passed, we sold all we had and moved to another state to take care of my dying grandma on my mother’s side. It was my turn to stare death in the face. She suffered from cancer, but our presence prolonged her life by years, which was amazing. I remember always being so afraid when I was around her… maybe it was because I knew she was so close to death.

Now, from a young young age, my dad would tell me of the truth of how fucked up people really are. He taught me a lot. Along with that, he vented to me about his suicidal feelings (his mom did a similar thing to him, he says)… for a small child, it was a lot to handle. It was horrifying and depressing… I started contemplating suicide in 2nd grade. My parents fought all the time and my dad drank heavily… he was constantly taking care of my grandma while being treated poorly by my mom’s family… and at some point, my sister moved in to recover from her cocaine addiction. That was the last straw for my dad. His depression worsened, and he continued to vent to me.

I don’t want to drone on about my whole life story, here, so, I’ll skip around a bit. In middle school, things really fell apart for me. I started cutting myself. My father treated me very poorly (called me a failure, made me feel like shit, generally) because I was fed up with his constant venting.. I mean, I had dealt with it my whole life. Plus, I was a moody pre-teen and young teen… I was a ***** anyway. My parent’s marriage was falling apart even more so… I was a lonely kid (homeschooling didn’t help that) things were just all around bad at the time. In high school, I came very very close to attempting suicide multiple times… actually, I would probably have gone through with it, if it weren’t for a few friends and who is now my beloved boyfriend…

My point being, finally, is this: death hurts
Suicide hurts terribly… it may hurt you for a little while, before your life fades… but it affects all around you in so many negative ways, for generations.
All I have seen and all I have processed and learned all my life have left me with strong determination to fight the urge to take my pain away forever… because I damn well know that people love me, no matter how my suicidal mind tries to convince me I don’t matter.
I know all too well that, though people would not think of my death every day, my suicide would still hurt.
I know aaaall too well that even the thought, the talk of suicide is extremely painful and traumatizing.
And I know it hurts. Life is filled with pain… but it’s what you do with the pain you are dealt that is so so crucial to your survival and happiness (Such as my case, I help people who feel like dying as much as I can.. and I can take it because I’m so accustomed to hearing it… it hurts… but, I took that pain and turned it into something helpful.)
Death hurts, so why cause other people that pain by taking your life? Every time I feel suicidal, especially lately, I think of just how selfish my thoughts are…
As long as there are people who love me and people I love on this earth… as long as there are trees and stars and rivers.. as long as there are problems to fix and things to draw and paint… I will not end my life. Because every action is a ripple.. it affects so much around. So take care… I know that’s what I aim to do.

I wonder if anyone actually took the time to read this… if you did read all the way through this, I hope you got something out of it. Please, excuse any poor grammar or spelling.. or anything that doesn’t make sense, in general. I really need some sleep, now. Thank you for reading. Hope you shine on in life, and don’t ever, EVER let anyone (including yourself) douse that flame in your heart.