Suicide is anything but painless.

When everything around you seems barren and empty, life still holds beauty.

I have been the victim of suicide.  Not that I have died, and certainly not by my own hand, but my life has been shaped by the suicide and attempted suicides of others.  I understand only too well the hurt and anguish which can come into one's life.  Feelings of loneliness, ongoing depression, seemingly endless pain, hopelessness, and deep regret are the fuel that drives people to such desperation.  For those that succeed in their self-obliteration, they leave behind family and friends that will be scarred for life.  For those that do not succeed, their loved ones are left with the fear that another attempt may soon follow.

I speak from experience as a survivor of loved ones who have taken their lives or have tried unsuccessfully.  My mother's brother and her mother both died from self-inflicted wounds.  My very good friend from Red Deer died violently at his own hand using a gun, as did my uncle.  A neighbour down the street, not three doors away, also died; I saw the paramedics unsuccessfully try to revive him.  All of these have affected me in various ways, but it was the numerous unsuccessful attempts of suicide by my mother that really inflicted pain.

I can understand what started it all.  Her brother was deeply depressed and, in spite of medical interventions by her dad, he eventually ended his sufferings with a bullet.  Shortly after his death, her mother took her own life.  I do not know if there was mental illness in the family, but the events culminated in my own mother's downward spiral into depression and reliance upon alcohol.  This began when I was only 2 years of age; over the next 18 years, my mom made 7 suicide attempts on her own life.  Some occurred without my immediate knowledge, but others are seared forever in my mind. 

We were a dysfunctional family in many ways.  For me, I lived with the constant anxiety of wondering if I would find my mom or her corpse when I got home from school.  So many memories, so few of them positive, because it was not just the ongoing uncertainty of suicide but the unexpected explosive anger released by the alcohol coursing through her system.  I left home as early as I could, as did my sister, and when I was 20 years old I came home for the holidays.  It was Christmas eve, 1980, when my mom made her final thrust towards self-inflicted oblivion.  After an ambulance ride and our doctor's rigorous response, she gave up the drinking and the healing finally began.

For me, the die had been cast, and I have fought a lifetime of overcoming anxiety, self doubt, and internal anger.  I can say without hesitation that suicide, and attempted suicide, will throw loved ones into a state of chaos and misery.  Do not think it is a chivalrous end; rather it is a contemptuous beginning.  The pain in life is temporary, but the pain to others in death is permanent.  Weather the hard times, cling to life and those you love, and find sunny days once again.  The clouds will eventually part, even though you may not see them on the horizon.  And spare the ones you love the pain of losing you.

Thanks for reading.