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27 years ago...I took my life with a rifle.
Ms Sans Serif
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[quote:warrior poet:MV8yMTEwNzI0XzM1NTg0ODY1XzI3NThCNDg1] [quote:Anonymous Coward 26241126:MV8yMTEwNzI0XzM1NTg0NjA5XzcyMkE3MjIy] How was your family different after you went back home? [/quote] There were two hells I experienced that day. The moment after the gun went off and the other, chest tube insertion. I remember being wheeled into the trauma bay and at that point I was done. I wanted to go. I couldn't breathe, I was wracked with bouts of shivering from the shock and my pereption of time and space was different. Much like being at the beach. You decide you are going to perhaps walk back to the shore. Your head bobs under the surface, its peaceful and quiet. Than you break back above the surface and see another reality. The noise, air temperature and light etc. I wanted them to let me go. From what I can piece together I was about 1hr and 15 minutes to 1 hour 30 minutes post shooting by the time I hit the trauma ward. I remember turning my head and seeing my family out in the hallway looking in at me. They were visibly shaken and weeping. My father covered his face and walked away. Years later he told me, "Boy, you looked dead when I saw you..." I remember being upset they were walking away from me. I wanted them to come back, I didn''t understand why they left me, we had just made eye contact. I heard them say, "Hold him down this is going to hurt...." It was the chest tube insertion. It would be at that moment I broke the underwater perspective and went back to the reality of the trauma room. My brother had nightmares for twenty years after seeing me. I made a mistake of looking down at my feet after the shooting but just before the squad arrived and saw the mess I had become. The POW/internment type environment was folded up. He apologized to me in the ICU. I avoided the woods for over a year. To this day, at this time of the year I prefer to stay out of them. One year after the shooting he thought I had plenty of time, "to get over it" he dragged me down to the woods and made me stand infront of the tree I sat next to while I blew a hole into me. He made me walk to that tree and touch it. I thought I was going to pass out. The police gave him my report cards, suicide note and rifle. The suicide note and grades were unreadable, they were nothing more than a blood soaked rag. I haven't spoken to my family in 6 years. My father has problems with women. That was one of the issues in our home, his routine abusive nature and womanizing behavior. Shortly after his divorce from my step mother he showed up at my home wanting me to help him get established in our community, I said, "sure." For a few months I worked with him. My wife and I had a 2 year old daughter and our son was 5 months old at this time. My wife is striking and a head turner...one afternoon she tells me, "Your dad gives me the creeps, he wants to hug when we are alone, and I am afraid of him...." I said, "say no more..." I confronted him. He trashed my child-hood and was bent on allowing his sickness destroy my family. He demanded to see my wife and started to shove past me. I told him and I meant it, "take one more step towards that house...it will be your last....dad." I called my family, come to find out he was inappropriate towards my first wife, and I never knew. There was much more to him I found out that had been kept secret. I wanted to distance the man until he could get help. I thought surely, my family would rally around me, circle the wagons. Nope. He had manipulated them to make them believe, I was in the wrong. I divorced myself from the madness and planted new roots for a young family tree. [/quote]
Twenty seven years ago, at age 16. I took the end of a rifle and put it 1 inch from my heart and pulled the trigger.
Here on Jan 24th I will celebrate my 27th life anniversary.
I used to have a F/B account and wanted to acknowledge my upcoming anniversary but I discontinued my account two weeks ago (don't miss it). I started a suicide prevention page last year, I do miss the page but I left some admins behind to run it for me.
I suffered/suffer with debilitating bouts of depression. I grew up in an abusive home. On occasion I was hit until I bled and was blamed that the beatings...were my fault. I lived in fear for my life from the abuser. One night, when I was 14...the man stopped a truck in the middle of dark reasonably busy road. He turned out the lights on a blind curve, to yell at me for several minutes. I had a chainsaw swung at my head one afternoon. Locked in a bare room for days on end...it goes on. I tried for 7 months to reach out for help. I demonstrated many of the classic signs and symptoms of a suicidal person: I gave things away. I talked about no future...was obsessed with death. Cuts, bruises started to show up on my body. I even read an entry in an encyclopedia entry on suicide to see what I should be doing.
I finally gave into to suicide in June 1985. I made attempts at suicide from June to Jan. or "shows of suicide"... I made a pact with myself. I decided that between Jan 1- May 30...in 1986 I would shoot myself. I reached the resolution phase. The abuse at home was always bad over summer. I was safe in school or in public. The abuser was a high ranking police official. Because, i knew I was going to be dead I had no need for grades or school....my semester collapsed. Classes I typically maintained a passing grade...collapsed to failures. (Another sign something was wrong). I enjoyed my last Christmas. To this day Bruce Springstein's "Santa is Coming to Town" causes PTSD flashbacks. The song was played all the time on the radio a month before I shot myself.
On Jan 23, I brought home the worst grades ever. My step mother happened to catch a look at my brothers grades before mine. His grades weren't bad, but he had seen what happened to me growing up and he was afraid. My step mother warned me, "For your sake...your grades had better be better than this or I wouldn't put it past your father to hurt you."
I had my plan in place. I lied to her. I told her my grades were actually very good and I would have them for her on Monday. They were in my pocket. My exact thought..."It's time" My father got home and bought the lie as well. He gave me a very long list of chores to do for the next day. This list...like the report cards sealed my fate for the next day.
The next day Jan. 24th I got home from school. I set my plan into motion. I snuck a .22
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