Suicide Attempts, My Mother, and What’s on My Mind

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[box_info]This post is very personal, and I fought with my mind for a few days about releasing it. Some hesitation, with that inner voice asking a lot of questions, but I feel I must release this. This is about my life, my suicide attempts, mostly about my relationship with my mother. My life isn’t Cookies ‘n Cream, but I carry on. Nobody has a perfect life, there’s no such thing. This has a few random bits thrown in to get some stuff off my chest.[/box_info]

I just wanted to kill myself.

My mother has always told me that killing yourself is the pussy way out. I’ve only attempted suicide three times in my life, and all three times, I was gonna go out with a hanging. The perfect death, right? (So I must’ve thought — but no, no it‘s not). One night when I was a kid, in my mind, it’s like my mother chose my cousin’s house over staying with me to watch a movie. I went to my bedroom, put Man in the Mirror on by Michael Jackson, sunk deeper into depression, with millions of thoughts rushing through my head, and that’s when my jump rope looked pretty nice. We had these hooks screwed into the doorframe for my nephew Iain’s baby swing, and I got the idea of hanging myself there in the doorway so when she came home she could see her son, and feel sorry for walking out on him that night. (Writing that just sounds completely idiotic to me). This moment was my third attempt at leaving a world distressing to me, but thoughts came to mind and they’re why I’m here today.

[pullquote_left]Bradley Howington is only a body I inhabit.[/pullquote_left]

I made a noose, put the rope in the hooks, cried and thought about my mother and family I would be leaving behind. And that’s what stops me every time. Those thoughts. The thought of my mother, sister and nephew stop me from leaving this world. I have no desire to kill myself anymore. My mother has tried to kill herself a few times. She contradicted her belief that “killing yourself is the pussy way out.” So, do her attempts make her a pussy? Death has always intrigued me. As a child I’d think about what it’s like on the other side, and killing myself to go to the other side and see what it’s like, but my mother has always said: “Once you do it, there’s no coming back.” Yeah, we talk about a lot of things. My mother is always honest. If you ask her if she likes the shirt you‘re wearing, she’d tell you the truth: “I don’t like it. It looks like shit.” After that, you might say something like: “Oh, thanks!” Then she’d come back: “Well, do you want me to tell you the fuckin’ truth, or would you rather go out and look like a fuckin’ idiot?” Yep, that’s my mother, always speaking her mind.

When I think about my mother, I sometimes cry. It’s my fault we’re not as close as I’d love to be. When she dies, a part of me will go with her. Today I listen to the music she loves just to feel closer to her. The songs bring tears of joy, of pain, and the melodies surround me as if a hug from her. We’ve never had anything in common, we’re completely opposite. We’re not the type to share our feelings with each other. We hardly tell each other “I love you.” I do love her with all my aching heart, and would die for her. I’ve blamed her for a few things, but today I lift that blame. I’ve got a lot to work on, mentally. Flawed is my middle name, for nobody’s perfection. Death we’ll all meet, and I don’t fear him. My mother fears Death. We have one thing in common: we hate the thought of aging.

[pullquote_right]These bodies are only temporary.[/pullquote_right]

I’m not this reserved person who doesn’t say much and stays to himself. I’m an outspoken person who will tell anyone what’s on my mind and how I feel about anything. I’m a person who loves to be alone, who loves to spend time with himself, and not be bothered sometimes. An “introvert” would be the best word to describe me. I enjoy being alone, but I understand the repercussions of always being alone. Alone is not where I wish to be, trapped in a lonely mind for eternity. I want to let everything in, but it‘s not easy. I’m slowly working on changing, and this will take some time. I always doubt myself, and I know that’s infecting me, poisoning my creative mind, and preventing me from creating the ART for which my heart breathes. Doubting is something I do constantly, it weighs on me, holding me back from doing all of the things I’d love to do. I beg you, never allow doubt to control your life. I’m slowly trying to break him down.

[pullquote_left]In this life you get one chance, so don’t spill your blood on your hands.[/pullquote_left]

Today I still think about suicide and ending it all. I’ve always felt it’s the only way out, but now I know it’s not the only way to deal with problems. We’ll all face demons, whether they’re the demons of our past, future, present, we shouldn’t allow them to control us to the point of spilling our blood. This is what most people want. Those people feed on your pain and the thoughts of you suffering. I’ve been bullied, and still get bullied today for being homosexual. It’ll never stop. People get bullied every day for such foolish reasons. If you’re having a hard time and need to talk, please contact me. I’m here for you. I’m not a professional, just a person who’ll give you advice, but if it’s really serious, suicide prevention information will be listed below.

One day, thoughts of suicide, this little piece was born:

[quote]I am so sorry, but I must go
forgive me, if that will see you through
I am one, within every word, of every poem
read my babies carefully, speak their secrets
make sure you are alone in your room, before you fall asleep
sing my words to me, I want to hear you weep
for I am by your side
know this day had to be, written for me
we can never hide from Destiny.

I am so sorry, but I must go
please forgive me, if that will see you through.

I LO♥E YOU.[/quote]

That little poem was for my mother, sister and nephew. They’d have my collection of poetry and remember that there’s a piece of me in every poem. It was written 4/4/2013, and brings tears to my eyes remembering the night I wrote it. When I write a poem, it becomes part of me. There’s a piece of me in every verse. I just wanted them to have a piece of me. Now I understand my mother: “Killing yourself is the easy way out, so it‘s the pussy way out because you‘re trying to escape your problems when you should try and deal with ‘em.” I understand if you kill yourself to escape from what you can easily change, it’d be the pussy way out, but some feel that‘s the only way to solve the problems that can’t be easily fixed. When I get thoughts of suicide, I just say this to myself: “I’m better than that.”

It’s not time to go.

Suicide prevention:

[quote]I stand as a living statue which nothing can penetrate; but, that‘s indeed a lie, because emotion lies within all of us.[/quote]