Trigger Warning: This post discusses suicide and mental health challenges.
I really don’t want to write about suicide.
My sister took her own life.
In my mind, I replay that night endlessly. I envision her consuming strong drinks, her eyes red and teary from the emotional turmoil mixed with alcohol. There were pill bottles and bullets scattered across the table, the aftermath of a tragic decision. The specifics of that night remain a mystery to me; no one has shared the details, and I haven’t sought them out. Some moments are better left to imagination, yet that very thought torments me. Did she leave behind any notes?
Her daughter was the one who found her.
Years prior, a young girl was forcibly dragged onto her front lawn by her abusive father. His behavior was terrifying but not unexpected. In a chaotic moment, he turned the shotgun on himself, a final act of madness that marked an end to a torturous cycle for that family.
That girl grew up, determined to break the cycle of abuse. She occasionally drank too much but committed herself to ensuring her own children never faced the horrors she endured—no more midnight awakenings or tending to wounds inflicted by addiction and violence.
But when her dreams of a loving family shattered, it’s heartbreaking to think that the echo of that shotgun might have haunted her mind as she made a tragic decision to end her life.
I don’t want to talk about suicide.
My mother didn’t end her life, but her brother did after being exposed as a predator. Mom simply succumbed to heartbreak, trying to numb the heavy burden of raising children in a world filled with pain and a family history of self-loathing. Just four months after losing her estranged daughter, her own heart gave out.
Two sons were left behind, grappling with the unspoken pain that threatened to consume them.
I still don’t want to talk about suicide.
I’ve stared into the depths of whiskey bottles, my face twisted in disgust as the liquid burned my throat. I tried to follow my mother’s path, drowning myself from the inside out. When that didn’t work, I attempted to wall off my past and everyone connected to it.
I took the prescribed pills meant to restore some balance, while simultaneously scrubbing my house, desperate to erase the invisible stain of my family name.
Yet here I am, compelled to speak.
In this family, we have a habit of self-destruction. Not always physically, but we find ways to dismantle ourselves from within. My sister, her father, my mother, her brother, my brother, and I—we’ve all faced our demons, waging a relentless battle against a history that has plagued us.
As my children play around me, I can’t shake the feeling that no one emerges victorious from this war.
I don’t want to talk about suicide.
I fear it looming over me like a dark cloud. When the antidepressants wear off, when the endorphins from workouts fade, when even the warmest hugs can’t fill the void, I remember the painful legacy of my family. Time is not on my side.
I still don’t want to talk about suicide.
In the early morning hours, clutching a butcher knife, I wonder how it would feel to die. No amount of anxiety meds or threats of intervention can calm my racing mind. I grip the knife tightly, pressing it into my thigh just enough to remind myself that physical pain is real.
I’ve never been closer to the edge. I close my eyes, envisioning the aftermath. I think of my sister’s tragic end and find myself laughing, a nervous reaction to the absurdity of the moment.
But my story didn’t conclude that night. I wonder how many nights my sister fought to survive. Is my own countdown to despair inevitable?
As my children sing and dance around me, I hear the haunting refrain:
“Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.”
I don’t want to talk about suicide.
But I will.
If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, it’s crucial to seek help. There are resources available that can provide support during difficult times. For more information on navigating family building options, explore this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, discussing suicide is incredibly challenging, yet it is vital. Many families face the shadow of mental health struggles, and opening up about these experiences can help break the cycle. Remember, support is available.