Writing My Way to the Future

For many months I have been working on a manuscript called Mirror Image. It is a project I have always felt was worthy of telling – not only for the story itself, but for the underlying messages too. It is a manuscript I believe in and I know that, if I were to write it well, it is a story that would catch editors’ attention.

However, it is also a story that runs parallel with my own life. Whilst it isn’t the story of my son’s suicide, it closely travels the path of what my family went through. This makes it a manuscript that stirs emotions in me that I cannot control, cannot combat. And I doubt I’ll ever be in the situation to face the heartache that the manuscript puts me through when I’m working on it.

After much thought and soul searching, I have decided to put this manuscript aside…permanently. The pain it causes me isn’t healthy. The feelings it stirs in me makes me depressed, which leads to not being able to sleep and when I do…I have nightmares. In turn, the sleep deprivation causes me to feel irritable and angry towards other people. And I don’t mean just angry, I mean really, really angry – to the point of wanting to hurt someone, anyone. This isn’t me at all and it scars me. I thought I could pull myself through it and I thought it would become easier with time, but I can’t and it isn’t. For my own sake, I have decided that I have to put my health first in the hope that my emotional strength will improve over time.

I have also decided, finally, not to tackle the manuscript I had planned and started to write called Suicide: A Mother’s Story. If I can’t write a fictitious story about suicide, there’s no way I’ll be able to write the true story.

Having given myself permission to stop, I feel somewhat relieved…and free. I didn’t realise these two manuscripts were like dark clouds hanging over me until the decision to stop was finally made. There’s no guilt, which is something I expected. I do not see the time spent on these manuscripts, especially Mirror Image, as a waste of time either. I can chalk the time up as writing practice, but more importantly I see the writing as therapy. Maybe that’s all I really needed from the manuscript. To face the emotions and torment I felt. Maybe I’ve spent the last two years working on something that has made me face my past so that I can move on to my future.

Let Me Scream…Please

The last two days have been especially difficult. For a time, I actually thought I was close to having a mental breakdown – perhaps I was, I don’t know! Anyway, I’ve had a lot of time to think…in fact, too much time…and I realised something important.

People who tell me I am strong and that I will get through this, are actually putting more pressure on me.

I know they mean well and I know they do believe I’ll get through it because of the person I once was, but does that person still exist? I can’t answer that. Do they still see glimpses of that person? I can’t answer that either. All I know is that pressure is causing me to bubble silently inside. Yet the more I bubble, the more likely it is that I’ll explode and I’m scared of that happening because I don’t know what I’ll do…or who I’ll do it to.

Maybe I’ll be at work. Maybe it will be a client on the phone. That will be alright, won’t it? I can’t physically attack the person, but what about my job as PR for the company? What damage will I do there? How will it affect me and the company? But…maybe it will be a work colleague or an over the counter client. What will happen then? I shudder to think about it. Unfortunately, I don’t think my work colleagues realise just how vulnerable I am or just how close to the surface those bubbles are. At the moment, it would take very little for the eruption to occur.

Maybe I’ll be on the train. Maybe I’ll break control with a complete stranger. Maybe that person will deserve it too. But I doubt it. Nobody deserves what I think could come from me if pushed too far.

I’ve only ever had one meltdown, that was three years ago, shortly after Barry passed away, but it is still something I am not proud of. I can’t remember any of the words spoken (screamed), but I clearly remember what I was feeling and thinking. I wanted to harm the person in front of me and I’m not talking about a slap or a punch, I’m talking about something much more sinister than that. I never, ever want to feel like that again. Never! I still can’t quite grasp how a usually quiet, reserved person could show such a savage side in a space of only a few seconds. Because I have felt that total loss of control before, I’m aware of what could happen again and I’m fearful of it happening again.

Last time, I was lucky enough to have a tiny voice in the back of my mind reminding me that what I wanted to do wouldn’t provide solutions, it wouldn’t change anything, that it wasn’t right, that it wasn’t like me at all. But will that little voice be heard, or heeded, again?

What I need is for the people around me to say, “Go ahead and scream. Let it all out. Come on, I’ll scream with you.” I think that would defuse me quicker than anything else – being given permission to scream at the top of my lungs. Just thinking about it, make me feel calmer.

So maybe I should go somewhere well away from people, where only the birds and wild animals can hear me, and scream until my throat bursts. Yes, that sounds good to me and if the breeze carries my anguish away then that would be even better.

Three Years Later

It’s strange, after three and a half years one would expect to be coping with the grief of losing a loved one. In many ways I believe I am learning to live with my loss. And I admit that I have more good days than bad these days. However, emotionally I am not as strong as I once was. I find I can no longer deal with pressure. I can no longer make difficult decisions – or any decision – “on the spot”. I am easily flustered and quick to intolerance. In fact, I still feel emotionally drained.

The people moving through life around me, such as work colleagues and friends, and even family to a certain extent, don’t realise that what they see is not a well formed person. They don’t realise how thin the exterior is, how delicate I really am. How dangerously close to breaking I continue to be.

For me, I can feel the difference. I can see it when I look in a mirror. I am consciously aware of the fine line that separates me from a blubbering idiot I could easily become. I have learned the art of pretence well, but I am finding it harder and harder to maintain. Especially when life seems more difficult than usual and life has a habit of throwing those moments at me over and over again. I can feel the balance is not secure and I find myself wondering if, or when, I’ll break!

The thought of going to sleep and never waking up is refreshing to me. Yet I can guarantee you that I am not suicidal. I would never take my own life for I know what it does to those left behind. Suicide is not on my mind. Peace is. I just want peace and quiet. I crave it like some people crave fame and fortune. I want to stick my head in a hole and not know about the problems of those around me, or about my own problems. I just want peace.

This website is aptly named, for I can feel the walls crumbling away around me. Am I to live with this feeling for the rest of my life?

Yesterday, I realised that I need more counselling. I doubt I’ll get that help as time restrictions are at a minimum for me now, but I acknowledge I do need help. Is that a beginning? Is it enough?

There was once a time when I could shoulder responsibility and I would tackle anything worthwhile. People always commented on how strong I was; not physically, emotionally. Some people even said that I must be a cold fish for the lack of emotion I sometimes showed. But that was then. It’s not the case now. Now, I have nothing left to give. Now, I feel as if giving anything more will make me fall apart. For I am not strong any longer. I don’t know how to cope with the pressures of everyday life.

At this moment, I feel total confusion and complete weariness. Will that be my future? I hope not, as I don’t want it. Not today, not tomorrow, not any day. I just want peace.

The Grief Continues

After a long hiatus, I find myself pulled to this website again. There are a couple of reasons:

• I want to “clean up” the website as I want it to be a testimony of Barry’s existence.
• Because of the first point, I really want to document Barry’s life. I can’t do it in words, as I’m not emotionally strong enough, so I will probably do it in photos instead.
• It’s important for me to show that there are more good days than bad and the difference of my grieving now that a little over three years has passed. Having said that, I also need to show that the grief is still strong, at times still moving me to tears and depression.

To begin with, you will hardly know I’m here, but I will be visiting frequently to do some house cleaning. I’ve already started by adopting a new theme and uploading new images of the banner…and of Barry, in the sidebar. I have also written a couple of posts, but there will be more of them in the future.

Lastly, please let me reiterate that I am not in a position to counsel people. Not only am I not qualified, I am not able to deal with the pressure (this is a continuing side affect of grief that I must deal with on a daily basis). I truly feel for everyone who is suffering a loss or from depression and I wish I could help you, but I can’t. I can only advise you to call Lifeline.

Book Review: Perfect Victim

Perfect Victim by Elizabeth Southall and Megan Norris

This book is a true story about the disappearance and murder of 15 year old Rachel Barber in March 1999 in Victoria, Australia. There are two “stories” running parallel – the story of Rachel’s family’s anguish and grief as told by her mother, Elizabeth Barber (using the pen name of Elizabeth Southall), and, an account of the investigation and court case by criminal court reporter, Megan Norris.

Because of the nature of the book, I do not feel it’s relevant to dissect the book as I usually do and talk about characters, plot, setting and voice. These things are what they are…true, disturbing, heartfelt and a complete waste of a young life. It would be wrong for me to “critique” a book which has been written out of love, need and pain, so I am going to talk about this book in relation to the loss of my son in 2006.

The loss of a child by murder and the loss of a child by suicide are two completely different things, yet they are so similar as well. The loved ones of each are left with unending questions that may never be answered. The deep feelings of guilt are overwhelming, although usually unwarranted. The grief is never ending. The lives of everyone close to the person who has gone forever are never the same.

Reading Elizabeth’s words made me cry…not only for her and her daughter, but for me and my son. As I read the Barber family struggles with accepting what had happened and their feelings of isolation, distress and frustration, I thought of my own family facing those same issues.

And then, when Elizabeth spoke directly to her daughter through the book, my heart broke. In her words I heard echoes of my own thoughts and feelings. It was like Rachel’s mother had crawled into my mind and plucked secret thoughts from my head.

Finally, Elizabeth mentioned that she wrote the book not only for herself or for Rachel…she wrote it to make the appropriate authorities – such as the police and the court system – aware of how the family of someone who has gone missing and murdered are feeling, how stressed they are. She needed them to know the anguish, frustration and total devastation felt by Rachel’s family and closest friends. It was important to her to inform and educate them of these things because she didn’t want another family having to deal with the lack of communication and isolation she experienced during the disappearance and then the murder investigation of her daughter. I could relate to the reasons, although in this regard my reasons are quite different. For me, I want to raise suicide awareness in others and I feel the need to educate people about grief.

In conclusion, Elizabeth said that at the time the book was published, it had been three years since her daughter’s death. It has been three years now since my son’s death. She said that her family were trying to move forward, although Rachel’s memory would never be forgotten. My family feels the same way. She mentioned the pain she still felt and the tears still shed on an everyday basis, but especially on “important” dates. I can attest to that as I’m the same. She also said how difficult it was to face everyday questions from strangers, such as “do you have children?” and then the inevitable questions that follow, like “how many?” and “what are their ages?”. For most people, these are easy questions and they eagerly reply. For a parent who has lost a child these questions are difficult and bring a lump to their throat because it’s hard to know how the questions should be answered as we are fully aware that whatever we say someone will feel uncomfortable.

In Remembrance

It’s been three years. I miss your smile, your laugh and your hugs but I treasure the memories you gave me.

Love you always,
Mum

The End of the Road

In three months it will be two years since Barry decided to end his time on Earth and move into the great unknown. For the family and friends he left behind, we grieved in many ways, for many months. In fact, the process continues for most of us, to varying degrees.

However, I have reached the end of the road when it comes to sharing that grief in public. The words on this website were necessary and they were put here for other people as much as for me. The words are private, yet it was my choice to make them public. I wanted, needed, to tell people what it’s like to lose a son to suicide and how a family suffers. It was important to me. In fact, it was the only thing that kept me going at one stage. It was therapy. I also wanted to raise people’s awareness because I couldn’t stand the thought of another mother having to go through to agony I’ve been through. I thought if I could inform people of the risks, then maybe – just maybe – it might make a difference to another family.

It was my choice to share, and now it is my choice to stop sharing. I feel sad that I never did write about Barry’s life in the way I really wanted to, but grief plays tricks on the mind and I couldn’t write about something that I couldn’t really remember. Now, nearly two years down the track, I realise it doesn’t matter. My son is in my heart and he is in the hearts of everyone who loved him. I will write Barry’s life story in private and I realise now that’s how it should be.

This morning, I wrote the following in an email to a grieving aunt:

I feel happy and content…and so peaceful. It’s a wonderful feeling. I don’t know what the future holds, and I may or may not decide to write again, but I know I can face whatever is thrown at me. I guess in some ways I feel cleansed.

I’m telling you this because I want you to know that it will get easier. You just have to give yourself lots of time. The healing stops and starts unexpectedly, but you do heal.

I don’t know why you came to this website. Are you curious about suicide? Are you a grieving parent/sibling/child/grandparent? Or was it just a complete accident that brought you here? It really doesn’t matter how or why you are here. I just hope you leave feeling some form of comfort or more suicide aware after reading my words.

Kindred Spirit

Two weeks ago I found a long, lost aunt. I had been searching for her for some time and was overjoyed when I saw her photo on a company website along with her contact details. I have since reunited her and my mum and it made me feel proud that I succeeded in doing that.

However, my efforts provided a reward for me that I never envisioned. You see, my aunt is only five years older than me and she lost a fifteen year old son to a drunk driver fifteen years ago.

I have mentioned him a couple of times on this website as his death was needless and a shock to the family. At the time of the accident, as a mother, I looked at my two young sons and thought I understood my aunt’s anguish. I felt for her and thought I could imagine what she was going through. It wasn’t until after 18 May 2006 that I realised I had no idea how she felt. No idea whatsoever. My imagination didn’t stretch far enough. How could it? Only those who have experienced the tragedy of losing a child could understand. I didn’t know that then and that’s why I can excuse those who think they understand now, when I know they don’t.

My aunt has walked the path I’m on now. In fact, she’s still on the path except much further along and I now have the benefit of her knowledge. She can tell me what to expect. She has already assured me that I’m not insane and that my thoughts and moods are normal. She said she still cries, she still gets angry, she still wonders what his life would have been like if he were still here, but she has mainly accepted what happened and moved on.

The one thing she said to me that I found incredible is…she claims that one day I’ll climb into bed and suddenly think to myself, “oh, I haven’t thought about Barry all day” and then another night I’ll think, “I haven’t thought of Barry for a few days” and then it will be a few months. She made it sound so natural, but I’m not at a stage where I can imagine that happening…but I guess it will sometime in the future.

Since Barry’s death I have been in contact with many people who are in a similar situation to me. Without even knowing those people personally, I felt a certain closeness with them that I wouldn’t normally feel. However, this contact is different. This woman is family. And she stood where I stand now. This makes that closeness more concrete. I started looking for her because I wanted to reunite sisters who had lost contact, but I found so much more than I expected. The search was definitely worth the time and effort.

Looking Back at Christmas Day 2007

My family has experienced a second Christmas without Barry. From my point of view, and that’s all I can really comment on, we did extremely well.

I deliberately changed the ways we do things this year. I invested in a new tree and decorations. I invited the family to join us for Christmas lunch – I haven’t done that in a decade. I purposefully didn’t leave the wrapping of Christmas presents until Christmas Eve as that would have tormented me and this time of year is meant to be happy.

This year, I did things differently, but I still included Barry in my own little ways. On Christmas Eve, Gary and I visited the cemetery. We removed the flowers in the tiny vase (which we will return in the New Year) and placed a festive decoration in there instead. We spent some time walking around the cemetery and then we wished Barry a merry Christmas and left.

On Christmas day I had intended to light a “flame of life” while everyone opened their presents, but in the chaos I forgot. I did feel guilty about this later, but quickly told myself that it was OK. Not lighting a candle isn’t like forgetting Barry. He was with me all day. I wore a locket with his photo inside. I looked at the photos we have on the walls and shelves numerous times. Barry’s name came up in conversation several times too. Life goes on.

Gary’s grandson (aged 3) asked his mum who the drawing was of and I heard her say, “That’s your Uncle Barry.” She didn’t know I saw or heard this, but it felt good to know that Barry has not been forgotten or overlooked.

I feel we have made progress. We are mending. We are moving on. Barry would have wanted it this way. Barry would be pleased that we managed to enjoy Christmas.

WARNING Signs of Suicide

By: Dr Mike Shery

Suicide is among the scariest words in our language; it inspires an immediate horror among the family and friends of the victim. People frequently experience a gut-wrenching dread, denial, shock, fear … and even guilt.

It is a word so charged with universal dread, guilt and burning emotion that people will avoid talking about it almost at all costs. It has become an intractable taboo.

We must discuss it, however, because the statistics are staggering: In 2001 suicide was the 11th ranked cause of death in the United States, but shockingly, it was the third leading cause of death for 10-23 year olds.

One group in the United Kingdom which provides confidential emotional support for those suffering from a crisis estimates that more than 100,000 people attempt suicide each year there. And, of these attempts, over 6,500 will eventually succeed.

Even worse, some estimate that as many as 20% of those who suffer from bipolar disorder will succeed in killing themselves. NOTE: One out of every five!

It has also been estimated that as many as 50% of all bipolar patients may attempt suicide at least once in their lives. This appalling figure shows the urgency required to properly screen, diagnose and treat the suicide-prone patient.

Therefore, it is as clear as a flashing neon sign that suicide is not something to be cavalierly ignored; it is not going away. As socially responsible family members and friends, each of us must make a commitment to be aware of the warnings signs of suicide-prone despair.

We must do our duty by being prepared to help a friend or family member in crisis. But to do so, we must be able to identify that cry for help for what it is-desperation and not be quick to cavalierly trivialize it.

Please note the following warning signs and red flags. You may just save the life of a loved one.

Situational Red Flags

1. Victim of Sexual, Emotional or Verbal Abuse
2. Sudden or Unexpected Death of a Loved One
3. A Terminal Illness Accompanied by Drastic Deterioration in Quality of Life
4. Sudden Detrimental Change in Financial Status
5. A Condition of Chronic Debilitating Pain with No Relief in Sight
6. Talk about the Possibility of Suicide
7. Extraordinary Withdrawal or Sullen Behavior
8. Traumatic Loss or Disintegration of a Relationship

Emotional Signs

1. Depression
2. Feelings of Futility
3. Oppressive Feelings of Guilt
4. Pervasive Melancholia or Sadness
5. Feelings of Hopelessness or Helplessness
6. Overwhelming Gloom

Recovering from Depression!

Sometimes as a person begins to recover from a depressive episode the possibility of a suicide attempt may increase. This may happen because when a person finally makes up his mind to actually kill himself, he sometimes becomes oddly resigned and at peace with the situation; his mood can begin to elevate slightly.

Also, the depressive lethargy may start to lift, and where a person may not have been able to find the energy to carry out suicidal plans before, he now may have it. However, regardless of the reason, this can be a very crucial stage.

Behavioral Red Flags

1. Hoarding Prescription Drugs which Can be Lethal when taken En Masse
2. Obtaining Possession of a Weapon
3. Overt Attempts to Bring Closure to Personal or Business Issues
4. Sudden Attention to Ones Will
5. Increased Reading or Conversation about Suicide
6. Gifting Away Personal Belongings
7. Reconciling with those who are Estranged
8. Sudden Interest or Attention in Ones Insurance Policy
9. Excessive Withdrawal or Isolation from Others

Thoughts and Comments to Note

1. I wish I had never been born
2. This life is a pile of crap.
3. I wonder what the best way to kill yourself would be.
4. My kids are the only thing I live for.
5. I can not see any way to get out of this mess.
6. Nothing ever gets any better
7. Nothing is worth living for.
8. I just do not care about anything anymore.

Of course, none of these signs by themselves are absolute proof that someone you know may be considering suicide. Any of these may be present individually, and a person still may have given little or no thought to suicide.

However, if any clusters of these are present take particularly strong note.

It is also possible that a person may give little, if any, warning of thoughts of impending suicide and still attempt it.

So, how can you be sure? Ask directly. Share your observations tactfully and honestly. Be open to talking about this with your loved one.

Is it awkward? It certainly can be, but even more important, it could save the life of someone you love.

About the Author:

Dr Shery is in Cary, IL, near Algonquin, Crystal Lake, Marengo and Lake-in-the-Hills. He’s an expert marriage counselor and psychologist. Call 1 847 516 0899 and make an appointment or learn more about counseling at: www.nextdayappointment.com