Slashed Wrists

Suicide was such a prevalent enemy that was with me as I traversed the waters of growing up in treacherous abuse. As a child in a home of such control, there was no way to even consider attempting suicide. That, too, would not have been allowed.

It’s strange how such powerful control takes over every choice you have as a child. It was all I knew – follow.

To lead would take me most of my lifetime to learn.

The idealization of suicide was a romance novel hidden deep within me. Strange as this sounds, I didn’t even think I had the right to find a way to complete it. I went from the controlling parental relationships straight into another Nazi-like leader in my first husband.

I truly didn’t exist; to the point that I couldn’t find my value enough to perform the act of suicide.

That seems an oddity to write, but it was the truth of the hollow person I found myself to be. I was void of any and all control. I handed myself entirely over to other people. Ironically, that led me to more suicide ideology.

What did all that reasoning and inaction equate to? A life lived dull, at half speed and barely able to breathe. Happiness I never found in those days. I simply existed.

Praise God! Today I live out loud, full of strength and energy to conquer what ever it is my day brings.

That didn’t come without years of battling.

Suicide is the cost of pain unseen; unrecognized the suffering ends when the person’s life is extinguished.

Today, I look at that deadened indifference I used to have for my own life and am thankful for it – it helped save me!