Rest in Peace, Airman

One Sunday this past March I awoke mid morning to find a missed phone call on my cell.  The time stamp said 4:35am and it was from my cousin, Cleopatra.  Cleo and I are similar in age and very close.  In the last few years, I've introduced her to 2 of my closer girlfriends and as a result we are all now friends.  Cleo is the go-to person among us when things REALLY hit the fan, for a variety of reasons.  She also left me a text to give her a call.  I was curious, knowing she wouldn't have called me at that hour if it weren't serious.

What I heard sobered me immediately, bringing me fully back into my body.  Our mutual friend, DJ, had called her in the middle of the night.  DJ's father had committed suicide in the early morning.  Shotgun to the head.

Shit.  Statistically men choose more violent forms of death, and this man definitely wasn't messing around.

I immediately called Cleo, knowing that she was probably asleep and had likely been on the phone with DJ for a loooong time.  She didn't have many details.  Only that DJ had spoken to her father earlier in the evening, and scant hours later he was dead.  The family kept the manner of his death under wraps as long as possible for the sake of the 5 grandchildren.  Quite a feat in a small Midwestern town.

Suicide is a sad, ugly business.  A person has to be in a lot of pain physically and/or emotionally to truly consider it(1).  It takes a terrible toll on those left behind.  Questions of why, the typical grief of loss, feelings of inadequacy over not being able to help, anger at the person for killing himself. 

I'd be lying if I denied that I'd never thought about it in my darkest days.  I didn't really contemplate an active suicide.  When I considered suicide I didn't think so much that it was a sin, more that it would kill my parents.  I do vividly remember one day praying fervently for my death, and meaning it.  I begged God to call me Home.  But I didn't feel I had the right to end things myself.  My days were horrible, ongoing numbness interspersed with pain.  I found escape in television and bad romance novels where the heroine is saved, usually socially and financially, from a bad situation.  All the while earning the love of a somewhat domineering, well meaning, wealthy man who ends up utterly devoting himself to her.  And they all live happily every after.  More often than not, though, I found escape--if not peace--in sleep.  I remember thinking that it would be so nice, so easy to go to sleep and never have to wake up.

One afternoon/evening, I had been crying for hours and couldn't stop.  I finally called my father, waking both my parents at 2am.  I confessed to him how nice I thought it might be to go to sleep and never wake up.  Warning bells went off for him, but he kept being my calm, reassuring dad.  A few people had already suggested to me that it might be beneficial to spend a little time in the hospital.  Get some perspective, rest, rebalance(2).  My father asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital. 

I really didn't, but I agreed it might be a good idea.

So then the question: do I admit up at school, or do I drive the 4 hours home to be admitted near family and friends for extra support there?  The plan became for me to get some rest, pack my stuff, and drive home the next day.  I spent a few days resting at my parents house, and then admitted myself to the local psych ward on a Monday afternoon(3).  I didn't want to be there, but recongnized it was likely needed.  I was in for almost a week.

I promised myself I'd never go back.  Another discussion for another day.  There are still times of depression, or times that are just plain trying, that I continue find escape in sleep.  Getting up and getting motivated can be difficult.  But I know that if I can just get myself OUT of the house, I'll feel/do better.  I'll get things accomplished and my days/weeks won't be wasted in terms of completing regular tasks.  Getting up out of bed is the first challenge.  Getting out of the house is the second.  It's a toss up as to which is more difficult on varying days.  Having accountability with school and/or work helps with that.  Knowing that there are people who care about me and WANT to see me, to spend time with me, is a welcome balm to my aching heart.

But I digress.

The Master Chief isn't the only person I know to have committed suicide, and may not be the last.  DJ's entire family-- widow, children, and grandchildren are getting therapy.  The grandchildren and their parents are doing individual as well as family therapy.  DJ's widowed mother moved back into the house about 1 month after her husband died.

I feel for them in ways I can never explain.  I am glad I'm not a care provider with their family helping through the grieving process.  And I know that to an extent, there but the grace of God go I.

Rest in Peace, Airman.  May you find healing, and your family solace.


(1) Although there is the occasional asshole who kills herself as a final act of cruelty to those around them.

(2) There is NOTHING restful about a psych ward, by the way, but that will wait until another post.

(3) The process was AWFUL, and traumatic for me and my mother.

Follow-Up to March 20, 2010

I mentioned about two four ago in my entry Sometimes Healing Hurts that something set me off into a crying cycle.  It was seeing the photo a professional acquaintance took of me and Bobby the previous weekend.  It touched me deeply. I ended up texting with Felicia for over an hour as the swing took it's course.  It was a VERY depressing exchange.  I saved the texts to pull out and examine later.  Below is our conversation, with very little edited.  It shows how I was thinking/feeling at that point in time.


Recovery is a PROCESS.  There are many ups and downs.  8 out of 10 days the issues discussed below don't phase me.  I'm healthy and very content with where my life currently is, and where it's going.  Many attitudes, fears, and wishes are touched upon.  Seemingly at random in some sections.  I'm posting this today to show people that they aren't alone in thinking this way.  That things can/do get better.  I'm posting it today to use as a springboard for further blogs.  I'm sure I can get 10 more out of this alone if I wish.  ;)


My texts are in underlined, plain font, Felicia's are in italics.  And yes, at one point she did just 'listen' while I got it out of my system.  For those of you who don't remember, Bobby & Felicia are married.  The three of us were becoming good friends, individually and collectively.  At this point I am closer to Bobby.  Felicia is ridiculously busy.  Full time mom, wife, career, etc.  I also seem to have stepped in it badly this summer.  Hopefully time will ease that.


Each helped me with the challenges of January-May.
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I haven't looked that nice in a foto in longer than I can remember.  I'm so utterly thrilled

Really?

Really.  It's one of the nicest things a near stranger has done for me in a very very long time.  I can tell how he edited it to make me more attractive.  I'm even crying over it.

How would he have edited it and why?  That's not a (name deleted) thing to do

He cropped it so my arm didn't look as fat.  See how there's more space to Bobby's left?  He also diminished my dark eye circles

You can't believe he centered it and you're just that pretty?

nope. sure can't

because?

Men don't marry women like me, Felicia.  I've know that for along time.  Men like Bobby are rare, and they're all taken.  I'm too outspoken, smart and eccentric.  I have family issues/baggage that will always be my responsibility.  I have a disease that could again fuck up my life and ruin those of people I love.  It's happened before.  There is a very good chance that I can't have healthy children.  And I'm fat.  It's just not in the cards for me.  It's too much.  No sane, healthy person would want to take that on.  And I understand.  Can't blame him for protecting himself.

You just described me.  Except for having the disease . . .   I'm just surrounded by it. 

The problem with being so utterly confident and competent in so many areas, is that people don't ask if you need help.  They know you can do it.  Or they ask, "do you need help" not "do you WANT help"  It sucks, but it's life.

If you think that way, it's a self-fulfilling prophecy.  It you're opened minded and 'whatever happens, happens' , you may be surprised where life leads you.

I try.  it's double edged.  Some days I have a great deal of hope.  other days not.  It fluctuates.  When I'm feeling bad, then the depression comes.  You and Bobby give me hope.  Sometimes I'll look at you two and want the same thing for myself so badly IT HURTS.

You two find my heart/mind attractive.  which is what I've always wanted.  I've never wanted to be a sex object, and hate women who use their appeal to get what they want all the time.  I'm not pretty, I never will be.  I clean up well, but it's not the same.

I want to be someone's one and only and I probably never will.  I became and adult at age 8.  Josh always came first, and the tragic reality is that I have to be in crisis to get that central regard

You need self esteem. 

I knew by high school that I wasn't what men wanted.  certainly not physically.  The other realizations came later.  so I learned to focus more on personality--which I already had been doing.  It's just not enough sometimes.  I'm female enough and shallow enough to want to be pretty, too.

People who have it don't talk like you do-- I'm fat, not pretty, and nobody wants me

I have PLENTY of self-esteem sans this one area of my life.  the disease makes it worse, esp when cycling.  That's not a cop out.  Self-esteem struggles are a HUGE part of MI.  ANY MI.  It's something we have to work on daily.  Events of the last two months are forcing me to re-evaluate. it's hard and scary. TALL vertical learning curve.  I'll get there.  Sometimes 'accepting' certain unpleasant 'truths' about your life is less painful.  it keeps you from wanting.

AND, you found Bobby young.  My time is running out for children, whom I want desperately.  But I know better than to be a single mother.  Then there's the factor of meds during pregnancy.  To risk her health or mine.  Which is more important in utero-- a stable mother or a drug free child?  what is she inherits?  and what right do --I-- have to knowingly bring a child into this world who may have to grow old quickly dealing with a sick mother?

That is NOT a pity party.  It's well thought out practicality, and the truth hurts.  terribly.

I had just become comfortable in my body and was awakening sexually in early college.  then I got sick.  it all went away and I haven't been able to reclaim it.  parts of it are different, more mature, better. but it will take a lot of time support and an INCREDIBLE amount of love to heal.

NOW do you see why I wared you both away?  part of me is a mess.  I can/do wear people out.  and hurt them unintentionally.  I'm coming to care a lot about both of you.  I don't want that for you.  for anyone!

Don't get me wrong. a few men have treated me very well in their own ways.  But when (name deleted) is kind and tender with me, it undoes me.  I've never had that, ever.  It makes me want.  Yearn.  True intimacy has been SO rate. I will cherish every moment with him, regardless of whether or not there are any more.

Pagan Princess = utter mess.  I will be sad if you two walk away.  Incredibly so.  But I will understand.  I want what is best for both of you and the kids.  But I'm rambling and repeating.  Probably depressing the fuck out of you.  It's late.  I'll let you get to bed.

rambling is allowed  ;)  it's a lot and it's late and we'll have to discuss it all over dinner some time  ;)

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End of transcript.  Now you see where I was that night.  Always interesting to visit things after the fact.  The stage is set.  More to follow at a later date.