The Wrong Solution to a Temporary Problem

The following may be triggering for some - discussion of suicide.

Two days ago one of my neighbors drove into the mountains. He took a gun with him and ended his life. He was 51 years old. He couldn’t see any other solution to stop his emotional pain. His death was discovered by some people who just happened upon him; they will now deal with the emotional strain of finding a body. His wife and children are left with grief and questions.

Many years ago, a childhood friend of mine was overcome by this same despair. She took her toddler to daycare after her older daughter to school, and then returned home and shot herself in the heart. Her step daughter found her when she came home from school. The emotional aftermath is huge for the survivors (those the suicide victim leaves behind). They are left to question why and ask, “Was it something I did or didn’t do to cause this?” They feel guilt and anger.

Some may say, “What a selfish thing to do. How could they do this to their family?” Yet I know that in most cases a person does not contemplate or attempt suicide for selfish reasons. Most who attempt suicide do so to end the overwhelming emotional pain – their pain simply becomes too great to continue on. I know this because I have been on the edge of the cliff – literally.

Toward the end of my first marriage, I was standing at my kitchen sink washing dishes, and up until that time, I had hope behind my rose colored glasses. As I washed the dishes I realized that this was a good as it was going to get. My husband who had baptized me several years before, was not going to stop drinking and partying, he was not going to go to church with our family, he was never going to take me to our temple, he was never going to want to do things with our children – as a family, and the money we needed to pull ahead would go to buy alcohol – we would never get ahead. It was hopeless. I knew that I could not go on pretending things were fine when they were broken.

I was twenty-nine years old and had been married for fourteen years. I had four children – the oldest thirteen and the youngest only three. I felt like I was trying to carry a giant bowl of marbles without the bowl; I could visualize the marbles dropping everywhere, rolling under tables, far away where I could no longer get to them. All around me people expected me to be there for them, yet they didn’t want to give anything back to me. I was the empty orange juice pitcher in the refrigerator. You know this pitcher; it is the one mom put in the fridge full of orange juice, but everyone has already used it up. They try to pour from it, find it empty and put it back in the fridge. Everyone wants the juice, but no one wants to refill it. I was that pitcher. I had nothing left to give.

At this time in my life, I did not yet know I had D.I.D. I knew I lost time once in a while, but I hadn’t yet been to a therapist. I was always proud enough and strong enough to take on my own life and that of the world, but now I was barely able to function. I was empty.

I lost time one day and then wondered why my teenagers were not home from school. I looked at the calendar to see who was bringing them home – my name was on that day. I felt sick that I had forgotten to go get them. Where was my head? I was 15 minutes late. As I raced to my car, one of the other moms pulled up and dropped off my kids. I apologized profusely, but felt that I’d failed – again.

I began losing weight. Food didn’t taste good to me and when I ate, I felt sick. At the end of two weeks, I’d lost ten pounds that I couldn’t afford to lose. My step dad was worried about me. He said to my mom, “She looks so unhappy.” I was more than unhappy; I was severely depressed. Even the sunshine could not break through the darkness that surrounded me. I felt only despair. Each day started with the prayer, “God, please help me not to kill myself today.” When I drove, I looked at concrete embankments and bridges in a whole new light. I considered how to do it. I knew that when I did it, I would make it look like an accident so that my kids wouldn’t be left with the guilt and the questions that I had when several years earlier my dad had attempted to take his life.

At this point, I decided to go with my brother to visit my sisters in a town several hours away. They lived in a beautiful canyon. My children were sad they weren’t going with me, but everyone felt that I needed a break from every stress. My husband stayed with the children so that I could get away for two days.

I liked being with my sisters, but even they could not lift my despair. Usually when we were together we celebrated with good food, but I couldn't eat. When morning came, my sister whose home I was staying at had left to take her children to school. My brother was not quite awake. He was awake enough to ask me to wait for him. I told him no, I wanted to hike and think by myself. He said, “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” I assured him I was fine. He didn't know that I had a plan and to carry out my plan, I needed to be alone. He tried again to get me stay. He said, “You haven’t even had breakfast yet. Let’s eat before you go.” I told him I wasn’t hungry and hurried out the door.

I hiked about a mile up the canyon and begin climbing. After I climbed for a while, I stepped to the edge. I calculated that if I stepped off the edge at this point, I may just be injured – which meant physical pain on top of the unbearable emotional pain. I didn’t want to be a paraplegic and burden my children, so I climbed higher. When I calculated I was high enough, I stepped to the edge. I was over 100 feet up. The rocks below would do the job. Everyone would think I had slipped during my climb. It would work. I had told no one that I was considering suicide – it would never cross their minds when they discovered my body.

I stood there for a long time willing myself to take that step. I thought of my kids. I knew they would have their dad, but then I realized that if I died, he would take them to his parents to help him raise them. If that happened my daughters would never be allowed to go to college. My in-laws believed that a girl in college took the space that a boy should be in. Girls should be married and having children – not going to school. I sat down and wept. I was a failure even in this. I couldn’t even kill myself. Later I would be thankful for bad in-laws. They are the only reason I didn’t take that step. I wanted my children to know they were loved. I wanted them to know that they could do anything they set their minds to. I cried for a long time, and then hiked back down the mountain to my sister’s home.

When I got there, she asked what I had been doing. I said, “Why do you ask?”

She said, “When I was driving back from town after dropping the kids off, I had the worst feeling about you. I didn’t know what to do, so I pulled over and prayed, ‘God, whatever she is doing or thinking, keep her safe.’” I told her what had happened. She cried with me.

During the drive home, I knew I needed to prepare myself to see my children. I knew they would be happy to see me, but I still had nothing to give them. When I walked in the door, they came at me with homework, and other things that needed my signature. I failed them that day. I looked at them and said, “You have more than one parent,” and then I turned and walked right back out the door. I was frustrated that my husband had not taken care of everything while I was gone. I was mad at myself for completely over-reacting about school papers. I was mad at myself for not allowing my kids to welcome me home – even if that welcoming included – “Mom, we need you.” I couldn’t be needed when I was still empty.

I called the next day and made an appointment with a therapist. He didn’t discover my D.I.D., but he did help me heal and find hope once again. My family was wonderful to me during this time. Word got around what I had considered on that mountain. Every day, every one of my siblings called to see how I was. They didn’t need anything from me. They gave of themselves and helped me refill at a time when I desperately needed them. I was blessed that day on the edge of that cliff that I didn’t make a permanent decision fora temporary problem. I still struggle with depression on occasion but not at that level. I have wanted to “go home” but was determined to wait until my children no longer needed me. Now that I have grown children, I can see they still need me, and besides life is sweet. I’m glad I stayed.