Lifestyle
We Need to Talk About Suicide.
Trigger Warning: This post contains discussions of suicide.
I’ve hesitated to write about suicide.
My sister took her own life.
I often replay that night in my mind. I see her consuming strong liquor, her eyes heavy and red from tears and alcohol. I imagine prescription bottles and bullets scattered across a table, remnants of a tragic decision. The details remain elusive; no one has shared them with me, and I haven’t dared to ask. It’s a moment I prefer to leave unexamined, even though it haunts me. I can’t help but wonder if she left behind any notes.
Her daughter discovered her.
Years prior, a little girl was forcibly dragged to the front yard of her home, where she lived with her abusive parents. Her father’s drunken rage was terrifying but not unexpected. As he aimed the shotgun at his daughter, his one redeeming moment came when he turned the gun on himself, ending the chaos that had consumed their family.
That young girl grew up, determined to create a loving family of her own. She occasionally drank too much, but she vowed to spare her children the torment she had endured. No more midnight awakenings filled with fear, no more tending to wounds inflicted by addiction and violence. Yet, as her dreams of a nurturing family shattered, I can only imagine her hearing the echo of that shotgun in her mind as she turned the barrel toward herself, closing the curtain on her role in this tragic story.
I still don’t want to talk about suicide.
My mother didn’t take her own life; her brother did after being exposed as a child predator. Instead, my mother died from a broken heart, struggling under the weight of raising children in a world that felt crueler by the day, coupled with her own familial legacy of self-loathing. Just four months after losing her estranged daughter, her heart finally gave in.
Now, two sons remain, desperately trying to escape the family’s dark history. The unspoken words continue to eat away at them.
I still don’t want to talk about suicide.
I stare at the whiskey bottle, repulsed as the burn travels down my throat. I’ve swallowed pill after pill, attempting to follow in my mother’s footsteps by destroying myself from within. When that didn’t work, I chose to isolate myself from my past and everyone in it.
I took the prescribed medications meant to help restore balance. I spent hours cleaning my house, trying to rid it of the invisible stain that has come to symbolize my family name.
But I will talk about suicide.
In this family, we self-destruct. Maybe not always in a physical sense, but we find ways to ruin ourselves internally.
My sister. Her father. My mother. Her brother. My brother. Me. Each of us has battled our demons, waging an ongoing war that has plagued this family for generations.
My children play nearby, and I can’t help but reflect on the fact that no one truly wins this fight.
I still don’t want to talk about suicide.
I fear its inevitable return. After the antidepressants and anxiety medications fade away. When the endorphins from exercise diminish. When mere hugs and moments of affection fail to fill the void. I have watched my entire family slowly disintegrate in one way or another. The clock is ticking.
I still don’t want to talk about suicide.
In the early hours, I sit with a butcher knife, contemplating the best way to end my pain. Anxiety pills haven’t calmed me, and the fear of police intervention can’t quell my turmoil. I grip the knife, pressing the blade into my thigh just enough to remind myself that I can feel pain.
I’ve never been closer to that edge. I close my eyes and envision the blood splattering. I see my sister’s tragic end and can’t help but laugh, a desperate attempt to escape the moment. I think, I am going to die.
But my story didn’t conclude that night. I wonder how many days my sister fought to survive. I wonder if my time is running out.
My kids sing and gather around me:
Ashes, ashes,
We all fall down.
I don’t want to talk about suicide. But it’s time we do.
If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, visit NHS for excellent resources on mental health and support. For those interested in family planning, check out our guide on home insemination kits here.
Summary:
This blog post reflects on the painful impact of suicide within a family, exploring the weight of generational trauma and the struggle to confront these difficult emotions. It emphasizes the importance of discussing suicide openly, as a means of understanding and healing.