Talking to No One
I keep thinking about my father’s suicide, partly because of Christmas. I spent Christmas with him when I was a kid during my elementary school years and into my early adolescence. I have good memories of Christmas with him. Although now that I’m almost 40, he’s dead, and I’ve had a lot of time and distance to consider things in retrospect, I’ve been having this underlying sense of anger, like it’s leaking out the cracks of my good memories, not exactly ruining them, but definitely leaving a lingering sourness.
Of course, the main reason he’s on my mind is because the anniversary of his death is in three weeks. I want to go to Texas, but I’m not sure I can work it out. I went for the one year anniversary, but I didn’t go last year. I intended to, but I had some kind of cold type illness. Driving solo, halfway across the country and back, is therapeutic, but tedious, and at the last minute, I decided I wasn’t feeling up to it.
I go back and forth in my mind about should I go or shouldn’t I. When I go, I visit the grave, I take a flower arrangement, I remember the funeral, and how if I’d only come to Texas two days earlier, maybe he’d still be alive. If only, if only, if only. When I go to the grave, I always have this sense that I should talk to him. I certainly like the idea that he can hear me and is getting something from what I say, but you know I’m not a spiritual kind of person, so I don’t really think anyone or anything is listening, and I feel like a dipshit. I might as well go talk to a tree or a plate of hot wings. I never have a sense of resolution, and I suppose resolution isn’t possible. As people told me in the days and weeks that followed his death, there is no going back to what I knew. It’s a new normal that happens to be an open-ended void of inconclusion, which apparently isn’t a word, but should be.
Then there’s all the recent gun talk, so that’s got me thinking about him. It rubs me the wrong way when people talk about mentally ill people being violent towards others as if that’s the norm. Obviously and tragically, that happens, but people with mental illness are infinitely more likely to be violent towards themselves. I know it’s morbid, but I’m a visual person, and my mind reflexively fills with images of him shooting himself, a bullet in his head, blood all over his shower, him slumped in a heap. He lived for a couple of hours. He called 911 right before he did it so the police would come. Then the ambulance came, they took him to the hospital, they tried to save him.
He loved guns. He had a bunch of them. He hunted. He probably belonged to the NRA, or at least supported them. Then he used one to kill himself. It was a small gun, a handgun. I don’t know if it was a pistol. Can pistols and handguns be the same thing? I don’t know. I don’t need to know, so if you know, don’t tell me. It wasn’t registered. I think it was old, or at least old enough that it was acquired before registering guns was a thing. My aunt has it. She wanted it, like a souvenir. That seems weird to me, but under the circumstances, I accept it. She’s a lunatic gun freak who thinks everyone should have an arsenal. I hate guns. I think they’re stupid. I don’t understand anyone’s obsession with guns and weapons. Collect cuckoo clocks. Collect model cars. Collect fucking paperweights. I wish guns didn’t exist.
My father actually did collect model cars, but that wasn’t satisfying enough to give up his fondness for guns. He was a little OCD about collecting NASCAR shit. We have multiple boxes of everything from limited edition NASCAR model cars that are supposedly worth some kind of money to a collection of empty Kellogg’s cereal boxes with NASCAR people on them that as far as we’ve been able to figure out, aren’t worth the cereal that once filled them. All of his stuff tortures me. It takes up space, so much of it has no meaning to me other than that it meant something to him, and because I had such a negligible connection to him for most of the last 25 years of his life, it’s all I have. It makes me mad too. I can’t think about all his hobbies and interests, and all the time and money he devoted to his hobbies – cars, flying airplanes, scuba diving, guns, fishing and boats – without being reminded of his choice to spend his time and money on that shit instead of having some kind of better, more meaningful relationship with me.
I’m reluctant to post about any of this. It’s depressing. No one wants to talk about it with me, no one knows what to say, and if I talk about it, then people feel obligated to say or do something. Plus, I feel like a whiner. I want to talk about it occasionally, like now, but there isn’t anyone I want to talk to. I don’t want to whine to people I know. I don’t want to talk to people I don’t know, like on a forum for survivors of suicide. I tried that, and it wasn’t for me. As I mentioned, talking to his grave isn’t the answer, although that won’t stop me from saying something the next time I’m there, mostly just to confirm that it doesn’t work. I started to post on Facebook, and I decided I’d regret posting. So I’m posting here. I never post here anymore, so I don’t think anyone reads. That’s consoling I guess… I don’t fucking know.
I wish that words alone were enough to give you some measure comfort, but that would be just too easy. There’s a lot of pain and anger in your own words, and I hope that it helps. Just know that you aren’t alone. You have a lot of friends who care, and when you’re ready, will be there to listen.
Sucky/hard situation all around. Thinking of you and glad you got some of it out. I have been struggling with depression a lot lately too and totally get what you are saying about wanting to talk to someone and not at the same time. Kind of like, “I’m hungry, but nothing sounds good.”
What a horrible thing for you to have had to experience. I think suicide is the death that hurts the survivors the most. So I’m not going to give you any platitudes and not going to expect any response, either, but I just want you to know that I care about the hurt you went through and are going through.
Just want you to know that you’re heard and I care. It’s not whining. Or if it is whining, it is with good reason. Rhetorical whining.
Best wishes.
Ive missed you Lee Ann! You are so totally NOT a whiner, and I feel the same about guns, entirely!! I can see exactly why you are in this “funk” right now….it sucks. Its horrible, my heart is just crushed for you. It saddens me even more that you feel you have no one to talk to about all this, as Im sure you would surely benefit from the release of pent up emotions….its so hard to find the right release, the right person with whom you feel comfortable! If I were in your situation living life after my Fathers suicide I have no doubt I would feel the same exact way, even imagining/picturing the gory details in my mind. Ugh. Im so sorry you experience these images.
Im in this same funk every Christmas (similar yet very different) since losing my Dad this time of year as well. (back in 2010) Holidays certainly do bring up crazy memories and feelings when something so tragic has occoured
((HUGS)) Wish I had something supportive and brilliant to say, I guess just know I can understand everything you are feeling, and know that I really have missed you blogging!!
We’re here, Lee Ann. With lots of love, virtual hugs, open ears (eyes?) and open minds. I don’t know what to say, as if there’s any words that do justice to the hurt you’re feeling. Hang in there, and keep exploring your feelings as you find the strength to do it.
LeeAnn, I am glad you chose this avenue to vent. It fucking sucks having a relative (in my case two relatives) shoot themselves in the fucking head (brother and cousin). Not same as a father. I totally hate not having any answers to “why”?? Not that having a note explaining their reasons why would ever remotely help in any way at all! I have never shared this with anyone either. A few years later, I was the victim of a serious violent sexual crime, landed me in a hospital with injuries for three fucking months. I sought out counseling, it did help! But then when certain holidays roll around, I get sad, angry, and confused! I think you sharing your story will help one person, that will be worth it! All this shooting and guns sickens me. I have vomited a few times over the horror of those little children. Sometimes there are NO answers! But knowing I have amazing friends who love and accept me without fully knowing my past, means the world to me! Venting and journaling as you know are healthy. Vent away! Know we love you and care about you AND are here for you! You are a kind soul. Sending love and hugs. And yes, some days really suck!! I get that!!
How I ended up on your blog I have NO IDEA! I have honestly NEVER even read a diabetic blog in my life! If I were in my right frame of mind I would love to chat with you sometime. To be honest, I’m just so pissed at this stupid desease right now I have been on the edge of just forgetting it all. It’s took my life and the and even with the best of attitudes I see NO WAY of fighting back! Right now my BS is over 500. It’s been running over 600 lately. How much, who knows since the glucometer only says HI after 600! A1C in the 13′s for ever! oh wait, I had a 12.9 back in May. I live in pain and on pills and the couch! That’s Life!? Oh well, if ya ain’t got money, ya don’t have healthcare! If ya have medicare, ya ain’t gettin no help from the drug companies, social services, family, friends or strangers!
I’m sooo trying not to give up but Diabetes, hitting the Donut hole in Nov., Just one insulin is $700.00 not to mention the Lantis or any other meds, Bills, Self centered adult Kids, Sick Husband, a tin can of a home that the ceilings are falling in and the floors are falling through with mold still from Hurricane Irene, a van that broke down and only a loan of the mother in laws car til something can be done to the van, (where’s that comeing from?) Which is the least of my caring cause I haven’t been out of this place 10 times the whole year. So this is my life. I’m Pissed at myself and everything. No rational thinking even if I didn’t have dementia. well, anyway I use to love art and any crafts. Just found it odd I ended up on your page. Maybe sometime I can ya the rest of the sad existance. I got a sperm donor and a step dad. All another depressing story, I basically never had a daddy except in physical body. Never around me. So, a whole life of mourning not having a daddy like the other kids. Didn’t matter, I was the four-eyed freckle face girl who sat wherever the “group” decided I was going to be. Lord let me stop! Shit, I’ve made a comment my own freakin blog! Sorry! I do hope you feel better quickly. Sounds like you have alot to get back up for. People need you. Evident by all your info. Thanks for the space to vent, whine or whatever.
I think there’s something to be said for putting this out there and knowing that others are reading and feeling for you, wishing we could say or do something to help. I hope that helps a bit, and that your hurt will lessen soon.
Talk about it, Lee Ann. Don’t worry about whether or not anyone is reading (we are) or if anybody cares (we do). Getting thoughts organized in paragraph form and out of your mind and into the open can be therapeutic. It can’t make the pain or sadness go away, but maybe it can help to organize your thoughts and help a bit. I hope so. Some of the most self-beneficial blog posts I’ve ever written are ones that I’ve been too insecure to publish, but it helped me just by writing them.
I can’t relate to what you’ve been through so I can’t offer anything specific. But I can empathize. Just know that we’re out here and we care.
We are here and we care!!! Even if we don’t have any answers, I hope that reading / listening is at least some help to you.
oh Lee Ann. there are so many of us out here who are thinking of you, and knowing you’re hurting, we send our thoughts and prayers and hugs. I want you to know that by writing, whether you think people are reading it or not, you are helping someone else who is going through the same things you are and feeling alone. they now know they are not alone. and i want you to know that you are not alone either. I cannot say that I know what you are going through, because I don’t, and i can’t offer anything other than my support. I do believe that “venting”, whether that means writing or standing talking to yourself in the bathroom mirror, can help. it helps get the thoughts out and helps you see them for what they are. If you go to the grave this year, talk to your dad. tell him exactly how youre feeling. it cant hurt and it might help.
Please remember that we are here for you and will do whatever we can, whatever you need, when you need it.
stay strong, and keep telling yourself that you can do this!
We read. We’re here. Even if we don’t know how to help, other than to let you know that we’re reading and thinking of you, we’re here. Hugs to you.
The after effects of death last forever. Sometimes I wish they didn’t. My brother died in a motorcycle accident in 1984. It was a long time ago, but I still think about him all the time. He was only 22. I was 13. He was supposed to get married that summer. He had been diagnosed with diabetes at age 20. I was diagnosed at age 3, so I had experience on him there. Everything else, he had life figured out. His future looked so bright. Then crossing railroad tracks on the first snowfall of October, he went off the road and was killed.
The worst for me are small reminders here and there. The worst is a scene from Stand By Me. It’s the scene where the older brother has died, and the younger brother, Gordie, is at the funeral with his parent and family and friends. It reminds me of my own brother’s funeral. In the movie, the father looks down on the boy, sand says, “It should have been you, Gordie.”
Those words pierce me every time. I feel that way sometimes, that I should have been the one who died, instead of my brother.
What Scott said
You know, anniversaries are only important to the living, right? The dead are dead, they don’t measure time anymore. So go easy on yourself for the whole being there physically thing. I couldn’t bring myself to visit my mom’s grave for almost that long and she died of natural causes (albeit suddenly). And you know, when she died the first thing people did was shove orange juice in my face, as if finding out would send me low immediately! Now there’s something only another PWD would understand. And because you wrote this post, I got to tell someone who gets it. You.
Hugs, lady
Dear Lee Ann, I still read this blog. I guess it’s the best I can do in terms of keeping in touch. Facebook just doesn’t work for me. Anyway, I’m thinking mostly of you this morning and wishing we were at the cemetery together. Much love, Lj
There is a history of depression in my family. It appears to be biologically based. People who suffer severe depression are at very high risk for suicide. With the proper medication most can be stabilized and live normal lives. I think perhaps some people can have a hard time finding the proper medication and many are lost to suicide before they can be helped. Please do not blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done. Your father just could not deal with the pain anymore. I’m sure he did not want to leave you but just could not face living with the pain. If only the mental health laws could be changed so that we could admit adults involuntarily for observation before injury to themselves or others have occurred. Laws like this used to be on the books but the Civil Liberties Union has made it extremely difficult for the families of the mentally ill. I know there is a fine line, but common sense must prevail sometimes. I know your father is free from suffering now. I’m sure he loves you and is watching over you. And of course you are angry that he left you. I’m sure he didn’t want to leave you. I’m sorry you have to go through this. I wish you the strength to heal.
just another person chiming in to say i hope that writing about it here helped you feel better in some way. also, your use of “dipshit” made me chuckle since i’ve not heard that term in some time, so thanks for that.
Lee Ann – I came across your blog site somewhat by accident initially … but thought I recognized your name from my recent attendance last fall of the 40th reunion of the NHS class of 1972. As it turns out, your mom and I were classmates throughout junior high and high school in dear old Nac … and very good friends since we both were in advanced placement for math and science (we had the same classes in most subjects … she still is today one of the most intellectually gited people I haver ever known in my life). I didn’t really know your dad personally (only from afar) since he was a couple of years older in school. I distinctly remember when you were born but never actually met you … nonetheless, I feel strangely like I know you through your mom. After college I lost track of you both for 30 years or so since you and she moved away to the midwest and northeast (I went to Dallas, California and now back to Houston) … so it was quite delightful for me to finally see her again at our reunion in October after such a long time.
Enough blathering about the past … I’m quite impressed by the extensiveness of your blogging and your unique work in counseling diabetes sufferers through artistic expression. I really can’t imagine living as you do with such an oppressive disease … but you must know how instrumental you can be in using your own personal experience and expression to help others who are suffering in the same way. Good luck in your doctoral program … and best wishes to you and family as your lives continue to unfold.