December 28, 2022
A few months ago, a movie came across my path. A story about a woman who had her life threatened in a rather unusual way. She made the decision after months of being unable to comfortably leave her home, to quit her job. While she waited outside the building where she had been employed, having sent her friend in to hand over her resignation letter for her, she came face to face with the man who attacked her. This man who made her feel so helpless, she forgot how to live, was standing across the parking lot while she sat in her car waiting for her friend to return. It came suddenly, this need to confront him, the anger welling up inside over the months because of how drastically her life was changed, to the point of leaving the job she loved. She got out of her car, went over to the group this man was speaking with and let him have both barrels. All the anger, frustration and fear from months of self induced isolation flew out of her, then she walked away. This was the moment she got her life back.
He made her feel helpless, which caused her to stop living, becoming suicidal, not in the regular sense, but a slow process of giving up living her life. The opportunity to finally face this man, see indeed he was just a man oblivious to how his own actions, which came from a place of great fear at the time, affected her. This moment in time brought her back to herself, empowered her because she finally could see she was not helpless. I believe this movie was based on a true story, which for me made it more rewarding to watch. She took back her resignation, took her life back – the message was there for me as I continued to deal with Dennis in my own work place, unsure yet how to get my life back.
This morning this movie jumped to the foreground of my thoughts because it confirms what I have been thinking about. Once the story written the other day about being suicidal just the week before Christmas became public, I began wondering why I felt it was important to share something so personal and in reality incriminating. At the back of my mind there are thoughts swirling around about others wanting to put me on drugs or have me committed. This would be my worst nightmare, especially understanding it is not at all the correct way to view my admission. It was rather enlightening this morning to see clearly why I was suicidal. My power had been taken away…..again, because I felt unable to solve the dilemma of having this man invade my personal space. Because he did it in such a way, which meant one of us would have to quit to solve the problem, this was at the very root of my feeling helpless. Really I could not afford to give up this job and it was completely wrong to have a boss so insensitive to my concerns that this became the only way out for me.
The morning, I believe that when I felt myself slip into the abyss came after quitting and being treated in such a humiliating way by the owners of the store, happened because I was brought back to my childhood at a time when I was made to feel powerless. This of course would become a recurring theme for the rest of my life and exactly what my abusers wanted. Dennis was just another in a long line meant to remind me of their intended place for me – under their boot. It was the idea if just 10 people went into the store over the next few days refusing service from Dennis, which made me realize I was not helpless, therefore no longer helpless.
Is this how all suicidal victims feel? Is it this impression they are helpless, for whatever reason, which causes them to want to end their life? Yes, I believe so. We feel invisible, our pain unnoticed by family or friends, their inability to see our pain adding to feeling helpless, too ashamed to admit to ourselves, let alone them how far we have fallen. How many who feel the pain of the person who committed suicide only after it’s too late, have asked why they did not see it coming?
The thing is, the only one who can take us out of suicide momentum is ourselves. It is only by realizing we are not helpless, thereby empowering ourselves again, in order to move past that option which is almost always irreversible. For me this can be as simple as deleting a contact on my phone or in Facebook. Making the decision to cut someone out of my life, even if it is temporary, brings me back to a place where I understand I can make my own choices about who is allowed space in my life. Until recently, this was not something I was allowed to believe, at least in a guilt free way. Each time I made bigger choices, which inevitably put me in a place of great uncertainty, I grew stronger. These seemingly negative situations, combined with the beautiful moments, have been the rope bringing me out of the deep dark pit. The beautiful moments were like rewards after the frightening situations were dealt with.
Because I don’t believe in Heaven and Hell in the religious sense, but also because I know God is Love, I also feel there are those who must experience suicide in this life – it is their path, not a sin, but their need. It is therefore our responsibility to not judge them, forgive them for leaving us without understanding and accept it was their path, not ours. Most of all we must love them!
I have often said, because I have had so many times in my life when I hoped for my life to end, so the pain could stop, that I did not have the courage to take my own life. So for me, I see suicides as being very brave in order to face the end, in often very awful ways, so alone. Unfortunately we do not always learn what they had to face which must have been very terrible, to believe this was their only option. We most likely will never comprehend the pain they felt, attached to triggers we do not face, so therefor cannot understand.
I was asked once when in one of these dark times where I felt so incapable of being in this life anymore, if I really wanted to go through all of this again. That one comment brought me out of my helpless state of mind and it was something I have thought of quite often since. Because I have so many triggers, because the sorrow is so great, I often find myself in the dark pit of despair, so this statement has been one of the threads which kept me anchored to the present. But this is perhaps the truth we do not think of as we contemplate taking our own life, that we will have to repeat the lesson in the next life – hopefully getting past the need to fall. I knew with certainty the moment Billy said that to me, I never wanted to have to repeat all I have gone through in this life, not even a fraction of it. It absolutely gave me the strength to move forward at that time.
I feel Dennis was perhaps the worst reminder of my past to trigger me in many years. It also feels as though it is the last reminder of what I don’t ever want to go back to. In this way, there is belief my staying in the light rather than needing the reminder it is there always holding me by going into the darkness, will be my future path. Facing him, his energy in my work space, one I felt I could not financially afford to let go of, which became similar to my childhood prison, then walking away from that situation without fear of how it would affect my ability to survive – that was the moment of getting back my power. It is far easier to make difficult decisions when we are comfortable in our lives. It is when we make a difficult choices during a time when we face losing everything which set us free.
Fear is what kept me in that situation, so facing the fear by walking away was the answer. This is because the fear came more from the understanding I would once again have to make a significant life choice – facing him was very uncomfortable, but not the reason for my fear. Although I must admit his energy reminded me of what I endured as a child, seeing the possibility he would be happy to put me through it again was indeed frightening! Strangely this was part of the trap, this idea my decision, either way, could ignite a violent reaction from him towards me. One of us had to go, that much was understood, but knowing it had to me, in a way to avoid such a conflict was the answer. It was not just the choice, but how I made it which was of great importance. The fear came from understanding all of this, as to me it was a very delicate situation. The loss of power came from making a choice which felt unreasonably in his favour. But the lesson is more important than what feels fair at the time. The gift for me, came from realizing he inadvertently gave me my power back.
I did not have a choice as a child, this time I did have the choice to leave or fight a battle which would not have been as rewarding as taking back my own space thereby forcing him to stay.
December 29/30, 2022
Yesterday morning, the 29th, I remembered my dreams for the first time in months. This made me realize what I was dreaming was not connected to my past but was an indication of possibility for the future. The second dream was disturbing enough that I almost forgot the first one, details were most likely lost in any case.
The first dream involved my co-workers from the job I had this time last year. It was a happy scenario, which because it involved the one person who forced me to leave that job, was very happy. Although it may seem to be a disrespectful or cruel thing to say, what I was witnessing was not her normal character. Not that she was not often happy, especially when our boss was absent, but this was clearly different – she was so much like a child in her happiness, without the adult troubles attached. As I write this I am wondering if it was her spirit self I was observing. Her hair was long and curly also not normally how she wears her hair, as it is quite straight by nature. In this dream she was so happy to see me on my visit, something very unexpected to be sure. I am still uncertain why I had this dream, what the message was, but it will come if it needs to be understood. Perhaps it simply means she has found a degree of happiness, no longer needing to take her frustrations out on me. Water under the bridge so to speak.
The next dream was a bit frightening to say the least. What I can remember now, was standing in an open room frozen in my space as I watched several scorpions approach me. They were different sizes and colors, although I’m really not sure what I remember about those details. It seems, upon first reflection there was at least one lighter coloured one, possibly yellow, the others were dark, so perhaps dark red, or brown. I actually did not realize there was such a variety of colors, my idea of a scorpion always being black or brown. Reading about the spirit meaning of these arachnids was a bit of an eye opener. Expecting something negative or threatening, I was surprised at the very positive aspects of such a dream. Apparently it is quite rare to dream of a scorpion, so this in itself felt positive, although the meaning is not yet clear. It does feel as though both these dreams are related to the changes I have been experiencing of late. As I begin to walk in a new circle, the message seems to offer both a warning and confirmation I am moving in the right directions with my thoughts, ideas plus the new people I have been talking with. The warning, according to the interpretation of this dream, came with regards to someone who has harmful intentions who is not yet finished with me. My first thought was of Dennis, but it could easily be Patrick. This brings me to this mornings message.
After disclosing to two different people, who my father is, caused me to turn things over in my mind last night which inevitably brought forth the message today. Often after speaking with someone about my father, a personal simulated internal debate usually occurs as I wonder how their view of me may have changed if at all. Because it is such “an out there” statement, my reaction to bringing it out in the open is always the same. The question is, what do I gain from telling anyone who my father is? It is pretty rare when anything substantial is the result. Many people here have never heard of him, those who have don’t really know anything about him other than the most obvious, and I have yet to meet anyone who understands as I do, what it really means for me to be his daughter, although a few have come close.
Yesterday I really enjoyed the conversation which eventually led to me talking about my father and sharing his name. Of course this man was surprised, but he did not challenge me. It did occur to me it made him a bit uncomfortable though. Seriously, what does one say? How can the conversation seem normal afterwards? I suppose this was why I asked the question in response to the hypothetical one in my thoughts, “why do you think I tell anyone who my father is, risking as I do humiliation, disbelief, or even anger?” What was clear to me this morning is my reason revolves around finding the person/s who will understand the significance of my story. It’s importance is not a reflection of me or my accomplishments, rather it has to do with who my parents are, what this symbolizes and politically it’s great significance – this is why the story needs to be told. I suppose I have been feeling I am the only one who truly understands the weight of this story.
Dreaming about my hair just before waking may be what inspired these thoughts, I’m not sure. The only part of the dream remembered was standing in front of someone, I actually think it may have been my father, but I could not see the person, they were shrouded in darkness, their energy not clear either. I said something like “after 30? years I can finally cut my hair?” as I began unravelling it from the braided bun on top of my head revealing in the process the length of hair which had been growing for this period of time. The braid went to the very ends, quite tiny by that time which is what I remember the most about the dream – feeling the ends of my hair and imagining having it cut and styled. This was when I woke up.
Because of the dream had many years ago when my father explained to the woman who gave him his last meal, that she would recognize my by my hair, todays dream seems to indicate the end of an era somehow, even though I have not yet been able to meet this woman. So this has me curious as to what may be coming in my future. Of course I have cut my hair many times over the past 30 years (which is about how long I have been on this path of discovery) so the dream is symbolic of the time it has taken to piece together my shattered spirit. My hope is that someone, somewhere has at last realized I am here, I am alive, so in other words there is hope I can return home.
December 31st
There seems to be so much to digest over these last few days, the feeling I am still missing something important lingering at the back of my mind. An overwhelming sensation as I try to remember the dreams, understand their messages even though I don’t remember them and sort through the emotions attached. To have this happen at this time of year adding to this state. Overall, it is the sense of major personal changes which is at the heart of this.
This morning it occurred to me, my emotional connection to who my father was to the world has something in large part to do with this. The “wow” factor of this discovery a few years ago took precedent over the childhood emotional experience of just being loved by him. It seems so crazy, even to me, to not have connected my memory of him to the person everyone else knows. As a child, not seeing the side of his life which would have made the jump easier had I known, coupled with the fact all memory of him was locked up tight in that special room in my mind, the connection was never made. Admittedly, I did not take interest in his life, although I knew his name in a very general sense. Not having that information, there was no reason to connect the name so well know to us all, to my memory of him until seeing the face I dreamt of on his brothers book. Balance – this is what needs to be attained now. My recent understanding, first that he was indeed a real person, not just my imagination running wild, needs to be accepted in a way which allows my memories before accepting he was famous, to remain in tact. I believe my recent understanding of him, what he was to the world has clouded my ability to do so.
Is this yet another reason my story should be told? Not growing up surrounded by the legend of who he was, how much he was loved or hated, makes me a little unique because of knowing only the man I called Papa! His other children were not so fortunate as they lived in the middle of it all, surrounded by all it meant. Living in an environment which sheltered me from being reminded of him, locking the memories away, ensured the connection wouldn’t be made. The burning question for me, is how do I get back to how it was, how we were, now I know the truth? It seems impossible, but perhaps this is why progress is slow to non existent with regards to sharing all this. If others cannot fathom the severity of what happened and why, can they ever accept who I was born to? It is the memory of what we had which I wish I could share without all the trauma, lies and cruelty of those who tore us apart. This is impossible though as one understanding is completely wrapped up in the other, inseparable.
It must be said, the end for my father was inevitable, I would have lost him despite my hopes for a normal family life. However, how different would it have been for me to have been raised, not only with the knowledge of who he was, why he died, but also be allowed to remember who I was to him, how much he loved me? This is what cannot be fixed, the memories are simply not enough most days because I lost the very essence of who I was. Each day is a struggle to recognize at least a fragment of that person. The act of sharing my story, talking about my father, for those moments allow me to feel connected to my childhood and what it represented before the trauma. It is not difficult to understand why I wish to share based on such a realization. When I speak about him, I feel the truth of my story, centred and whole. It is only when I am alone with my thoughts for too long, when I lose track of the story’s importance for myself as much as anyone else. How can I make clear the complete loneliness felt carrying this story on my own? Sharing it, even the bad parts, eases the aloneness, the heaviness, the feelings of being invisible, one of the disappeared.
Grief never ends…..But it changes. It’s a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith. It is the price of love.
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
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