I’ve come here to this site, as I do to many sites about suicide, because I am what has been coined a suicide survivor. My grandfather killed himself with a gunshot to the head four years ago this October. Although not close to the family due to extremely traumatic events caused by this same family during childhood, I was devastated by his suicide. He was one of the few people in the family I cared for. I was the person delegated to clean out his room with his blood and brains still everywhere. My father had not done anything to have aftermath services (bio-hazard cleanup) take care of the room before I arrived even though I had provided him with phone numbers, prices, available services, businesses and their locations, etc. A number of people had even offered to pay for these services. Yet he did nothing to lessen the impact of seeing this on me or himself. Although I no longer have nightmares and have come to terms with his suicide (I know exactly why he did it, which I am fortunate in), I cannot seem to stop reading about it. The psychology surrounding it, at risk groups, research, stories about it, and so on. As I’ve told others, this is not a legacy I wanted and yet it is one I have to live with.
I believe I would not be as obsessed had I not gone through another gun suicide not terribly long after my grandfather’s. A neighbor of mine did the same thing the summer of last year. Not only did we hear the shot (we didn’t know what it was at the time), but I heard the wailing of the friends that discovered her, was questioned by police, saw the body, saw the emergency services, police, fire, detectives, coroner, crime screen unit, and family. By some awful coincidence I ended up leaving for an appointment as they brought out her body and drove out in a freakish procession of the coroner, CSI, and detectives. I was never able to learn her name or understand anything about why it happened. One of the most traumatic things was seeing them bring out her dogs that still had blood on their paws. They were distraught. I wish I knew what had happened to them.
I am here because I cannot help it. It’s hard for me to understand suicide as I have never been suicidal, but I must try. I believe everyone should be able to decide for themselves their fate, but I also believe too many people decide this outcome is the only answer. I have spent much time around depressed friends and family and know the hell that is for someone. I’ve also seen people helped out of that state and seen just how amazingly better they can be. My ex-step father was bipolar and he tried to harm both my mother and I. I know that disease very well.
Like many survivors I wish to do what I can to help people and keep others from experiencing what I have, even if at an absolute minimum only to ensure that the police make the discovery instead of family and friends. It is hard to describe just how devastating that discovery is, how absolutely ruining the aftermath can be.
1 comment
Life is often incredibly cruel, to the point of breaking a person. At that point, they are no longer willing, or even interested in continuing to suffer the enduring of yet another miserable day. No one wants to strive to survive just to suffer more. No one wants to work to earn more pain. And so, one last burst of agony to end the cycle, becomes quite an appealing notion, especially to those who are not wrong about their assessment of possible, or impossible, potential futures.
There’s really not much to understand. It comes down to “i’ve had enough, i can’t or won’t take this anymore, and i am done.”
When it comes down to either perpetual misery or death, lots of people choose death. Sometimes, what you and others might think should be a valid and effective solution, really isn’t.
Most of us are taught that when we face a “it’s this or nothing” scenario, we should accept whatever “this” is, because “it’s better than nothing.” At some point, this is no longer true, for some people… and “nothing” becomes the better choice… for them… regardless of whether anyone else disagrees or understands.