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Where imperfections are perfect and flaws are flawless
Teenager Who Committed Suicide From A Bullet Of Revolver...

Suicide. My Impossible Struggle for Recovery

I Know Too Well the Sad, Traumatic and Cruel Consequences of Suicide For Those Left Living.

How does one even begin to heal after suicide strikes your family? (My Answer: I Don’t. Ever.)

Maybe the pain, grief and guilt wouldn’t be so severe, or last so damn long, had my father lived a long, happy life?

Had he passed away, of some natural cause, at some ripe-old age, maybe I’d be able to heal and recover. Maybe? Sadly, I can never know for sure.

What I do know?

I know the burdens I now carry will remain unbearably heavy for the rest of my life.

I, in no way mean to diminish the pain felt by others who have lost a parent to old age. Losing a parent is never easy. Always painful. This I understand.

But losing my father to suicide is the cruelest life experience I could ever imagine.

It is a haunting nightmare that lasts 24 hours a day.

It forces me to now question… Is there a God?

Is there a God? If yes, where was this God when my father needed him? After these last few years of persistent pain and relentless suffering, I say, No. I can now sadly say, I no longer believe in God.

No matter how much times passes, I am beyond sad. I am devastated and angry. My anger comes and goes in waves, as bouts of rage. Rage so powerful, it actually scares me. Some days, the only thing I can do is get in my car, drive away from the house, roll up the windows and just scream. Just scream at the top of my lungs. I realize my windows are not soundproof. I know I can be heard. I don’t care. It must be done. If not, I fear I may explode. Or crumble. Depends on the day. Depends on the mood. Rage or Sadness. They seek release from within my mind, body and soul.

I scream in attempt to release some of the built up pressure of guilt, anxiety, grief and rage.

How do I live with myself knowing that my own father would rather die than to be with me? How horrible a person must I be for something like this to actually happen? How could I have let this happen? I still pray that it was a mistake. Not real. Even though his ashes remain in my living room, where they will always be.

I greet him daily as if he were really here. I talk to him constantly, as if he can actually hear me. Sometimes I chat about life. Sometimes I scream at him for abandoning me. For leaving me here in this life of hell. This lonely life of hell, that I am now forced to live without him. But mostly, I just cry. 6 years later and I still can’t make it through one day without crying. The unfairness is maddening.

I had no choice. No opinion. No chance to say “I love you” or even “goodbye.”

I don’t know if he thought of me before he pulled that trigger.

Did he think of me? Talk to me? Tell me he was sorry or that he loved me? I will never know. All I can do is pray.

I continue to pray to a God that I don’t even believe in anymore.

For his sake. For the sake of my Father’s soul, I will continue to pray.

I must now go the rest of my life not knowing if my own father even loved me. But, even more painful is the thought, he died not knowing if I loved him.

When you already have a living mother who doesn’t really care if you even exist…. A mother who has consistently treated you as an inconvenience… I was always in the way of her near constant attempt to have a spotless-clean house and to find the perfect man. Now on her 5th marriage, if only she could have seen what I saw? My father was the perfect man. He was a gentle giant, who stood at 6’4″. Tall, thin and handsome. He was also kind, sweet and funny. The Silly-funny type. Any child’s dream Dad. And he was mine for 10 years.
His downfall was that he was too kind. Too soft. Especially for someone as hard and cold as my mother was.

He never remarried. He died of loneliness and by his own hand. My mother never batted an eye. She was on marriage #5. He was just marriage #1. He meant nothing to her. Regardless of the fact that they made 3 children together. I was stunned that anyone could be so cold. So heartless, as to not feel a drop of sorrow at his passing and the way it all went down.

What’s done is done. No matter how badly I want to change it, I cannot. He is gone.

My questions will never be answered.

I am eternally destroyed. Forever in grief-mode.

I am now the girl whose father committed suicide. This is what defines me. I allow it to define me. I allow it to torture me and to swallow me whole.

I am lost in a sea of darkness. I cannot find my way out. Forever stuck in sadness. Forever the guilt sits on my shoulder and whispers in my ear. “You didn’t do enough.”

How do I live with this? How will I get through this day… this life?

It seems as though suicide has become much more common these days. I feel like I hear about at least one every week.

Suicide is never the answer. Never!

I never want anyone, any man, woman or child, to ever have to live with the pain and guilt as I do. It is way too much pain for anyone to bear. Please find someone to talk to. Please seek help from a friend, neighbor, co-worker, clergy or medical professional. (Or even an online support group. There are many out there, all you have to do is follow your favorite search engine. You could remain anonymous while still getting needed help and encouragement.)

Do not end your suffering by inflicting life-long pain on all of those who love you.

This is exactly what suicide does. It transfers pain.

It does not end it.

Think about it.

Be strong…

Even if you have to dig deep within your soul; be strong and know that things will get better.

It may not feel like it, in the heat of high emotions, but things will get better.

Life will get better.

Talk. Write. Share your thoughts. Just get it out.

I miss you, Dad & I love you. I can’t wait to see you again someday.

Shani Bella URFAB

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

1-800-273-8255

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