This is part one of a three-part series on my own battle with suicide. With the recent suicide of singer Mary McCready, clearly it is time to tell my story around this difficult topic. I have learned the reason for suicide began long before my first attempt and most likely is true for Mary McCready and anyone else who has committed suicide such as Kurt Cobain whose birthday is today.
Nevertheless, 24 years later I was diagnosed with posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). I began recovering specific incidents with my father, other male relatives and family friends.
Suicide continued to be more than just a passing thought since my first attempt. Once I graduated from high school, I lived a life bereft of any concern for my life or reputation. I was desperate for love in any form. Some of the men I slept with died from AIDS years later.
My choices were dangerous and life threatening. I secretly was hoping I would die and be taken out of my misery. How much more pain did I need to convince myself to just drive off a Pacific Coast Highway cliff? After all, I was so reviled by my mother I wasn’t worth an invitation to spend Christmas with her and my siblings.
My mother despised me. However, I have since learned that what she hates about me she hates about herself. She is insanely jealous of me and my accomplishments. She robbed my self-worth and self-esteem bank accounts without regard for my well-being. Mom was unable to rise above, conquer her fears, and challenge previously held dysfunctional beliefs and parent differently. Sadly, this revelation didn’t come until 2013.
Instead, the church further stoked the fire of abuse. The church was absolutely no help or refuge for what ailed us. I was screwed.
Frankly, this dysfunction was fueled by the Catholic church. There was very little support for people within the church, much less for children. Remember: Children were seen and not heard. Period.
|The original good ol’ boys network|
Sadly, my parents, who were hell-bent on destroying me because I said aloud that I was abused by them, later would attempt to exploit my previous desires to die into an opportunity to sue me for guardianship of my daughter and not my son. The latter detail would garner the attention of at least one court investigator who would see right through my manipulating, controlling and deceitful parents.
Who knew I would ever hear my father tell a judge that he loved me but I was “sick.”
ABOUT BORICUA CONFIDENTIAL©™
Boricua Confidential chronicles my new life as a single mom of two kids after my husband died from cancer on our son’s seventh birthday. Join me on this journey of change, revival, reformation, discovery and new direction ordered of God. Being a widow ain’t easy, that’s for sure. I refuse to rollover and die. Quite the contrary. I intend to thrive from this crazy life. You can’t keep this woman down. If I’m down, I won’t be for long.
God created me to bounce back. Watch me.
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