I know I am a little late, as this holiday was yesterday, but
this is a topic that is important to me. Being a survivor of suicide I feel the
need to talk about this.
In 2010 the Nationwide number of suicides for that year was
38,364 or 105.1 suicides EVERY DAY. That
comes out to an average of 1 person every 13.7 minutes that took their own
life. (reference http://www.suicidology.org/stats-and-tools/suicide-statistics)
This may be shocking to some people. Many people assume that
suicide will never personally affect them, and it is something most people don’t
think about. Many others believe people who are depressed, suicidal, or have
committed suicide, are weak, insignificant, sinners, or even that they deserved
that outcome in some way. Now, that may sound shocking, but those are all
things I have personally witnessed people say.
This mindset offends me on so many levels. First, we don’t
shame people for having cancer, diabetes, high blood pressure, Lupus, or
anything like that, even when some of those diseases can be prevented. So why
do we shame people with mental health issues of which they equally can’t
control. Second, people are generally ignorant of the subject and are quick to
judge things they don’t really know about. Third, with all the shame
surrounding these issues, it shuts down conversations so people struggling don’t
seek the help they need for fear, embarrassment, or a variety of other
reasons.
Many people don’t understand the mindset of a person who is
depressed or suicidal. I will try to give you a small insight into what that looks
like (this will not pertain to everyone suffering with this illness, it is
based off of experiences in my own life). Imagine waking up every morning
thinking I wish I could just stay in bed. Facing the world today may just be
more than I can handle. But you have things to do and a living to make and
maybe even people depending on you. So you force yourself up and slap a smile
on your face if it’s a good day, if it’s not a good day, you’re happy just not
to be crying. You go through your day. If you’re lucky you only have good
things happen to you. You may start to feel better. Maybe I can make it through another day! But
what if things don’t go well. What if something happens that threatens your livelihood,
it doesn’t matter how big or small the event is. What if someone is “joking
around” and tells you you’re worthless, or prods your insecurities. Well you
already feel worthless. Now you “know” other people feel that way too. So what
is your point in living? What good are you contributing to the world? What is
your purpose? If you can’t find good answers to those questions you may
consider ending your life, and therefore your suffering. How should I do it?
Will one way hurt more than another? Where should I do it? Who will find me? Will
finding me torment some innocent person? These questions and others begin to run
through your head. If you are lucky you actually have people who care about
you. You begin to think of them and how it will effect their lives if you are
dead. This in its self can save some. Unless the misery becomes too much to bear.
This scenario is just a basic scenario for a basic person
suffering with mental illness. Can you
imagine if you had been abused, sexually assaulted, had a traumatic event, witnessed
something traumatic, or had a generally sad life. This is the case with many
people, and you add mental illness to the situation and you can see how bad
that can be.
My father committed suicide 7/10/2009 making that one of the
worst days of my entire life. In an attempt to make a long story short here is
a summary of events: My dad had some awful things happen in his childhood causing
him to turn to alcohol at the age of 15. He struggled with alcoholism for the
rest of his life, with periods of sobriety in between. By the time I was about
4, 2 of his brothers had died as well as his father (my dad is the second child
of 7). Late in his life, he began
getting sick. He had diabetes as well as several other genetic health
conditions. Just a few months before my
dad died, He was told he would need a walker within months, and would be in a
wheelchair before the end of the year. For a man who was only 54, and had
always been athletic I can only imagine how difficult that would have been to
hear. A few days before his death, my
dad went to a shooting range, drank, drove home, got into a car accident, and
was arrested. When he got out of jail,
he grabbed his laptop and said he was going to work and none of us ever saw him
alive again. The day before we found
him, my mother and I tried to find him. We went to all of his normal spots we knew
of with no luck. I talked to a friend
that night and expressed my concern that I wouldn’t find my dad, but would find
a body. Friday afternoon I discovered I was right.
My mom called me, crying and screaming. I was the first
person she called. I couldn’t understand a thing she was saying, but I knew
what happened. I drove home as quickly as I possibly could. The speedometer on
my car at the time only went up to 80, and I had it pushed past that. I arrive at my house, but had to park down
the street. There were police cars and medical examiners and detective cars
lined up. We were not allowed into the
house or anywhere but the front yard where officers could watch us because our
home was now a crime scene. As time goes on some family members arrived. I then
discovered that a lot of the family didn’t know what had happened. By this point I had my mom’s and my dad’s
cell phones. People kept calling my mom, and I know she didn’t need to deal
with that too, especially because she found the body, and in turn was being
questioned to ensure she wasn’t responsible for my dad’s death. I then had to
do one of the most horrifying things of my entire life. I had to call my dad’s sister, from his cell
phone, to let her know not only was her brother dead, but how he died. I will never be able to forget the
screams. I also called my moms sister. I
knew she would need support from her family as well.
Now you can imagine the scene, my whole family on our front
lawn police cars up and down the street, friends, and church members coming to
do… well I really don’t know their purpose. We were now the stage of the latest
neighborhood drama. There was no escape as people from the neighborhood slowly
circled our street, staring at us, judging us, getting entertainment out of our
misery. Then of course the strangers who
thought that was the perfect time to introduce themselves to me. I am directing people, trying to find a
funeral home, trying to comfort my brothers. And these people I have never seen
before roll up on my lawn offering handshakes with “oh HI! I’m an insensitive ass!
I go to church with your mom! Nice to meet you! Oh, and sorry for your loss.” And
I’m standing there doing all that I can to keep it together for my family
because they need SOMEONE that can, someone they can lean on. My dad’s body is
literally within eyesight, only yards away, and you think NOW is an appropriate
time to make friends, and introduce yourself, or ask me to turn to god!? My youngest brother was on a church trip and
had no idea this was going on. So then it became a race against social media. I
couldn’t let my baby brother find out that his dad just shot himself in the
head via twitter, which would have happened because people started posting
things. Luckily, someone got in contact with an adult on the bus and all the
cell phones were confiscated so he could at least hear it from family when he
got home the next day.
But that wasn’t even the hard part. The viewing wasn’t even
the hard part. The funeral wasn’t even the hard part. The hard part is being
the rock for your family to look to. My
mom found the body, my brothers are young. The youngest still in high school. They needed me to be strong and wise. They
still need me. But the HARDEST thing, the WORST thing? Knowing that someone you
love, someone who gave you life, was so miserable, so sad, so beaten down, that
the only choice left for them was to take their life, and I couldn’t do
anything to stop it. I couldn’t fix it, I couldn’t do anything. I just have to
live with the fact that my dad was suicidal and I couldn’t save him. My dad went through rehab when I was about
21, and I went to all the family sessions with him. I wanted him to know I supported him. He told me in session when I was born, I saved
his life. I wondered and still do occasionally, “Why couldn’t I save his life
again”
Suicide is important. Suicide is a Public Health issue.
Suicide affects many more people than just the person who died. Suicide needs
to be addressed and talked about. Most importantly, suicide is PREVENTABLE. We
need to stop shaming people who have problems. We need to give support to those
who need it. We need to stop bulling, prejudice, and hate.
Here are some resources:
Just as a side note it is NEVER acceptable, whether you believe
it or not, to tell someone that a person you love is going to hell, or is in
hell. That just makes you an awful person, with essentially no soul. Keep that
shit to yourself.
In loving memory of my dad. Patrick William Anglin. That man was a freaking genius, and hilarious, and definitely made me the person I am, and I miss him constantly.
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My dad at my brother Scott's graduation
My parents on their wedding day
Me and My dad when I was a baby
My dad and mom, Me, and my brother Sean
My dad and his 5 brothers, Gregory, Jeffery, Thomas, Matthew, and Daniel
My dad in his favorite place (really nature of any kind) with his best friend Bruce
My Dad.
He had his problems, but he was a cool dude and you would have been lucky to know him.
