Point of View

I recently had a conversation with a new friend whose son committed suicide a couple of years ago.  Listening to her story and how the loss affected her, it set me to thinking of my own failed attempt.  I started considering how I believe my friends and family would have felt if I had succeeded, now knowing how they SAY they would have felt.

To make it clear before I go any further, there have been widely varied reactions to my attempt in July.  Some family members and friends have called me names, including selfish and inconsiderate, some have cut me off completely, totally ignoring my existence.  By contrast, some of my family and friends have drawn closer to me and have been supportive in a way I would never have expected.  From one extreme to the other and pretty much everything in between.

But none of them have really ever stopped to delve deeper into how I was feeling and why I thought that suicide was my only option.  And I don’t think I have ever really gone into it that deeply with anyone.  So here goes.

The basis of it all of course, is the fact that I have no sense of self-esteem.  To me, my life is valueless and of no meaning to anyone.  I genuinely believe that no-one would particularly miss me if I was no longer here.

Yes, of course I accept that in the first instance some people, my sons included would be genuinely upset.  But I cannot accept that the grief would last, nor that there would be any lasting repercussions in their lives.

In fact, I am entirely convinced that everyone would be better off without me around to drag them down into the pits with me.  Not only do I feel that I am worthless, but I also believe that I am not deserving of anyone’s concern. 

Is it so hard for people to understand that whilst I know my sons love me as their mother, I am not convinced of the fact that they love ME.  In my mind, a child automatically has an innate, inbuilt love for their parents which does not need to be earned, though it can be destroyed.

Then there is the type of love that I felt for my parents.  They earned it.  The way they took care of me, made personal sacrifices to make my life better, stood up for me in challenging times and were there for me through so much of the trouble I caused all culminated in a love that will stay with me forever.

I have never done anything to compare in any way that would earn that type of love from anyone, my sons included.  I am just not someone that people can love.  And even if they believe that they do care about me, it is not the real me that they are seeing and therefore, it is not something that I deserve.

The level of desperation that I reached when I decided to take my life still terrifies me.  I just could not see any reason to carry on, causing so much havoc in everyone’s lives.  I could not see any reason to live.

And that is not the fault of any of those who were around me, with the exception of Alex.  I hid my feelings well, just as I hid who I really was.  I still do it to a large extent, because deep down inside, my opinion has not changed.  I know that many of my friends would shower me with messages if they knew this, but although in the moment of reading them I feel better, in time my mind takes back control and I know that the words are not truly meant and are merely things that people think they should say in that situation.

As the title of this post states, this is my point of view.  I am not saying it is right or accurate, but it is mine and just as I accept that others have their own point of view, I hope others can respect mine.

And if anyone reads this who has lost a loved one to suicide, please take it from me – there was nothing you could do, you were not to blame.