A life enveloped in Suicide

The beginning:

I was born in the year 1990 to a 17year old mother. The youngest, with 2 sisters and a sick brother. She had another child, a son in February 1994.

On the 25th September 1995, she hung herself from the beam in our attic. My brother was in the house with her. I was with my Nanny, who found her. I do not have any memories of this...as far as I know. Repression is a friend of mine.

Grandparents tried to give me the best in life. My brother was adopted by the eldest of my aunties. Me and my brother never seemed to get along, it always felt like more than the 'normal' brother and sister fights, so I was happy to be an almost only child with my Nanny and Grandad.

From the age of 11 I began horse riding. I lived, ate and slept horses. I spent as much time working with and just being around them as possible.

11 was also when I found out how my mother really died. I had always been told it was an accident. Never questioned it, as I was afraid of what the answer would be. My Nanny later told me she was waiting until I was 16 and I would be able to handle the information better.

I stayed with my (other) aunty and uncle for a summer. They began arguing one day. My uncle (not even blood related) decided at that moment to shout to my aunty ''Why don't you tell the reason her mother really hung herself??''

Shock. The whole sentenced resonated in my mind only as 'she hung herself'....... What??

Little did I realise the impact the rest of that sentence would have on my life.

My aunty made allegations against my Grandad of sexual abuse. Social workers arrived, I was given countless 'assessments' and forced to move out of my house for 6 months during the 'investigation'. I also began secondary (high school) during this period. Disclaimer: My Grandad never, ever showed me any other than unconditional, innocent love. The case was eventually dropped.

I spent a long time pondering these things. How and why would a mother do that to her children? Why would a member of our own family try to split us all up again? I became full of anger and bitterness. Too many questions with no possible answers. Then I discovered alcohol.

The middle:

School: I was smart, but ‘troubled’. As is the tradition in Ireland, everyone starts drinking in the field in your estate around 14, and I followed suit. Every weekend was spent getting shitfaced and making shameful decisions. I was a cheap thrill seeker. Get drunk and forget about life for a while. I became promiscuous, but always stayed emotionally distant. I was diagnosed with depression around 16 and put on medication. It helped to calm my impulse control, but it never worked for long. Drugs appeared when I was 17/18. I became a stoner and seller of weed, which continued for a several years.

Men were for fun and money in my mind. Boyfriends were for convenience. The boyfriends I did have didn’t last long; I usually lost interest after 3 or 4 months and moved on. The ones who left me I had a hard time getting over, but self-medicated as best I could.

The party lifestyle began to take its toll and my equine work began to suffer because of it. I had a rough time with one of my younger horses, and along with that confidence knock, and the paranoia brought on by weed led me to taper off and eventually stop with the work I was doing with horses. I was around 19.

The last 3 years/the move:

I moved to Holland in 2011 with the intentions of getting a job, and engaging in a more hard core version of the party life I had already lived. It did not go quite as planned. I got lucky with full time employment, and was extremely lucky not to get fired several times. Once the police came looking for me as I had kicked a door down. I called in sick (more than once) from a hangover or still being drunk.

Then I met a boy. He indulged me in this lifestyle, but still seemed to tame me in many ways. I was in love. After doing too many pills at a festival, I have a 3week bout of depression, and he was there for that, he tried his best to motivate me but I could see the toll it was taking on him, we had no idea what was around the corner….

The death of my brother:

On the 1st of February 2013, I got a phone call while I was in work. It was my uncle (my brothers ‘dad’). He told me to sit down. I did not. He told me my brother was dead. He hung himself from the beam in the attic. My aunty found him. I dropped to my knees.

Every single molecule in my body froze. I just kept thinking…What! No, no, no, I was the suicidal one, I was the only selfish one who wanted to end my life but wouldn’t put the family through that again….

My then boyfriend came home with me for the funeral. There are no words, except it was a 6 day, traditional Irish funeral. Crying, a lot of food, A LOT of alcohol. Xanax and Valium on the side. I came back two weeks later. In hindsight, that was too soon. I pretended I was okay for about a week, and I broke. I polished off bottles of wine before 10 in the morning. All I could do was cry, sleep and drink.

I went back to a therapist I had been to before. I had one session and she booked me in for two weeks later for another one. I was not amused when she tried to reschedule that one again, so I told her to fuck off.

The aftermath:

Too much drinking. A lot of fighting with the boyfriend. He has enough, packs my possessions in his house (this was 6 weeks after my brother died) …I did not take it well. We fought in circles for months. Turned into the dreaded on/off romance. It soon became mostly off than on.

I went on a family vacation in June. The day I got back, I got all of my anti-depressant medication and took it in one go. I passed out on the floor and my roommate called an ambulance. I spent the night in hospital. I was sent back to the therapist centre, and was told I could get a new handler.

Present:

Me and the boyfriend from above are completely finished. He went to AA to get clean and I followed him. He devoted a big part of himself to the program, I did not. Too much higher power talk. I knew my alcohol and drug abuse was not the cause of my problems, it was hiding them.

They did some mental health tests on me. I was diagnosed with a Borderline Personality Disorder. There was a definite relief to know my irrationality and inability to deal with situations on a daily basis (and complete inability to cope with the severe situations) and that my lack of control was not normal, and there was something they could do about it.

I began with a new therapist, went on the list for DBT and began group sessions.

I got a new roommate in November. He was sweet (too sweet), and I was not looking for a relationship of any kind. I knew in my heart I was not over my ex, but I was still in intense hatred for him. But, just as earlier behaviour has proven, impulses will prevail, and so I began sleeping with him.

For some months I was getting very good at pretending I was happy. Almost felt it sometimes too. Then, I wasn’t. And on the 19th of January I again tried to OD on anti-depressants and loranzepam. I again spent the night in hospital, and was referred to a psychiatric clinic, where I spent 2 weeks. I was there on my brothers 1 year anniversary. I wish I could say it did me well, but I closed myself off and then began getting medications from the other patients. My roommate lover was the only one of my ‘friends’ to support me through it. He was amazing.

When I got home from the clinic, my roommate lover became my boyfriend.

I faked feeling okay for roughly a week, before my depression has exploded and reached an all-time low (or high, whatever way you want to look at it). All I could think about was suicide. When, where and how to do it. Now, I don’t think about anything. Right now, I can’t leave the house, I don’t want to speak to anyone, and have stopped taking my meds. I haven’t eaten in days, and have no desire to do anything, not even my favourite drug or spending time with my boyfriend (who lives in the room next to me). He is trying his best to look after me, and doesn’t expect anything back from me but I can still see it hurt him that I want to be on my own in my own room, and as I feel nothing, I don’t want to be affectionate or sweet, and he really doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. So I can add guilt to my minimal list of thoughts.

The possible future:

My therapist has suggested a go to a live in BPD clinic for three months, with intensive therapy. I agreed. The waiting time is 1 month, so I should be there the beginning of April. I am going to give the treatment everything I have, allow it to help me help myself to get better, and address every little issue I have in my fucked up little mind.

If it works, I plan to immigrate to New Zealand or Canada and work with horses again.

I have learned a lot, in particular the last 3 years. I am ready to address my character defects, develop a healthy love of myself, and start over one last time and find an easier path in life, hopefully leading to inner peace, and a happy soul.

User Comments
Anon-1

Thank you for sharing your story. I find your honesty very moving. The fact that you have courage to share your story means to me that you really want to move beyond your past and have a happier healthier and brighter future. Please know that I am thinking about you. I hope you find your guiding light. It takes so much courage to tell our stories. Remember that your past is your past and does not dictate your future. You can create an amazing future for yourself!