My Suicide Over Her

The Room I killed myself in The Fairmont Hotel In San Francisco.

This is the me in my head, without a head. In person I’m not so trim.

SF Fairmont Hotel 1

You should read How we Meet and How she Teased  first.

This is about me committing suicide after she left me.  The who how and why of it all.

It was hard when she left.  For so long I had seen her every day and we had flirted so far over the line.  A long story there that I will get to some day. She had told me she loved me, and then it seemed that she was gone, just like that. 

The whole time we worked together she was dating and she told me she was getting married.  This was just as cell phones were getting to be common, but I didn’t call her much because she was always with him.  So she got married.

But on her wedding day, I went to her wedding.  She was stunning!  For the past 2 years we had flirted etc, but for the past 3 or 4 months it had slowed down naturally.    It was hard for me but I saw it coming.  I went to her wedding kind of as a way to say goodbye. To acknowledge her marriage and see it for myself. 

During the wedding she never made eye contact even when she walked within brushing distance of me.  She didn’t make a connection of any kind.  We had been an item for 2 years by then and nothing.  After she was married everyone was hugging and say congratulations etc and we went though the line to do the same and it was very perfunctory.  Then after the line dissolved my wife and I were about to leave and I said I wanted to go say goodbye and I turned around and she was there! 

My wife had just turned to head to the car and Anneliese was right there. She had waited for a moment to steal away to see me before we left. She saw us leaving and asked “Are you staying for Dinner?” Here eyes were glowing and she was so beautiful and I was leaving because my heart couldn’t take it anymore and I said “No we were just leaving” and she pulled me very close and pressed her face against me and said in the most conspiritual tone.  “I will call you”.  

It was wonder, my heart pounded and I felt alive after months of almost no contact.  It was the only way we would ever be able to connect. She was moving into a new place, with a new man, new phone, new job, the only way I could contact here would be for he to call me. I was happy beyond description. I couldn’t wait to hear from her. 

Then she didn’t call. Not for over a year. I sent her a couple emails, kind of a prod of sort. No reply.  I got her number and said this is Wade and gave her my number.  Another prod.  Nothing.  At first I dismissed it, she was newly wed, making a home honeymoon etc,  But over the course of a year I texted her 33 times and she never returned a single text. Ever.  I emailed her and she did not reply.

During this time, this absence, it was hard for me.  I have other things that I deal with that are hard as well, so I need to touch on one of those things before I talk bout my suicide.

I served in the military and retired. I was in combat many times. I was wounded badly, and I killed out of duty, somthing that tour a whole In my soul,  and I had some PTSD issued that I had learned to deal with. But they were nothing compared to what Anneliese put me though.  She was the hardest thing that ever happened to me.

It is very hard for me still to this day to think that she flirted with me so directly and then told me at her wedding that she would call and didn’t call for a year.  It is hard to believe anything other that she was fucking with me.

I could not contact her and she did not contact me.  I have seen a lot of ugly things in my life.  More than I can explain, all due to military.  But this was by far the worst and it started to drive me crazy.  I started to think she had just used me as a play thing and that I meant nothing to her at all.   It drove me the brink of suicide.  Well I guess it drove me to suicide.

About her ,I decided she was done with me.  She had flirted in the most outrageous ways and I had done nothing about it.  She was courageous and sexy and brave, and I did nothing.  I decide that she had had enough of a do nothing coward and was done with me.  At least that’s what I though in my mind.  I though way to much.  She told me of other lovers and she was very direct in those conversations. She is a direct person. And I thought that she wanted to make love to me, that she had made that clear, and that I did not do it, and I throught that because of that she was bored with me.  

 The reason I didn’t ever try to push even a little was because there was the though in my head that if I made love to her, that I would go to hell.  Thats pretty simple to understand. 

There came a time when I could not sleep, could not do anything really except wonder what the fuck was going on with me and her. I wondered if she ever cared, if I was just someone she played with or if I meant anything and why she would not call, why she said she would and didnt. It fucked with my brain and still does.  Even not that we see each other I have to tell myself that she is not going to just leave me again. I know she loves me now, but for so long I was sure she just fucked with me. A year with no contact, how could I mean anything to her and she still do that to me.  Id never do that to anyone.  But then I dont blame her, she was making a life for herself.

Many nights I would lay in bed depressed and I don’t want to get into that except to say that my wife knew.  Night after night I would struggle and she would roll over and go to sleep. I spoke of my depression or sadness, whatever you want to call it, and she simply felt it was something I had to work out and get over.  Its bazaar to me to even consider her response to me.  She did not care enough to even speak or try to work it out, not even when I told her I intended on committing suicide. I don’t know, it was very hard. 

So I decided to kill myself. I couldn’t see Annelise and she was done with me and I didnt want to go on without her in my life. 

I didn’t want to leave a mess to be cleaned up by my family, (I had had to do that in my own professional life, cleaning up suicides) so I decided to sit in the shower with the water running and the shoot in the mouth as I sat in the shower with the water running. That would make the mess less difficult to deal with, or so I though. 

My wife knew I was considering suicide and she had removed all my guns so I had to go and apply for one and buy one.  I had a small stool I put in the corner of the shower and I started the water and put my .45 in my mouth. But I couldn’t do it. I tried over and over. I would pull on the trigger and just before I knew it would surly go off, I would get scared and stop.  I was afraid I might not kill myself, or that I would be a vegetable. I imagined it would hurt when I shot my teeth. All kinds of stupid shit. At that point the thing I feared the most was not killing myself and having to live with my head even more fucked up than it was.   I sat there until the water turned cold and I turned blue shaking and shivering and I couldn’t do it. I tried over and over but couldnt get it done.   Then one time I pulled on the trigger applying pressure slowly and was waiting for the sound of the shot and I was freezing and I shuddered violently once and it scared me.  I thought to myself, you just damn near died right here in the shower, and I couldnt do it.  Not to my kids or not to my wife.   Even though my wife has challanges I wont get into, I still couldnt do that to her or my kids and make them find me and have to deal with the trama of the mess.

So I decide to go someplace else to kill myself. I tossed the gun on my bed. I did that on purpose to hurt my wife to be honest.  Leaving the gun on the bed and disappearing was a way of saying Im gone.    I got dresed, grabbed by wallet and I walked out to my truck and drove to the airport and I flew to San Francisco, someplace I was familiar with and where my wife was familar with as well so she could arrange to do whatever she need to do after my death, but someplace she would not have to discover me or where my kids would have to discover me.  In truth I didn’t really want to die, I just didnt want to live without Anneliese. 

I went down to the wharf and took a picture of the Sign on fisherman’s Wharf and I texted it to Catnip.  I said: “Please call me!” and I waited.  Nothing happened at all.  I sat there, such a pathetic man, for 4 hours waiting for a call or a text, Nothing!  So I walked the long walk up the hills to my hotel. Now that I’m much better I want to come here with Anneliese. It would be healing to do that. Anyway.


I had a very sharp knife that has served me well most of my life.  It has a sharp double-edged knife with a thin sharp blade. I had never used it in anger, but I decided to kill myself with it and in fact had brought it will me for this purpose and I checked into to a hotel and I wrote this poem.

I’ll Call you Your Last Lie

On mornings when I stretch awake

Then melt back into the sheets

I sometimes let my mind wander

When I need to feel your pain.

There is only so much

That I’m willing to lose

And I am almost there

Where you left me.

Weeping behind black lenses

Your words cut even deeper

Than when you turned and walked away

And disappeared into my memories.

Long after the tears were dry

Your voice crippled me into waiting

With words meant to sooth

In the valley between life and despair


Then I took a handful of ice and stuck it under my armpit until my armpit was basically numb and stuck a knife in the artery in my armpit.  The knive was very sharp and my armpit was cold, but I was still somewhat scared of the pain, and it did hurt, but I pushed the knive in about 3/4 of an inch where I had located an artery with my fingers and I cut that artery. 

I had killed before (never with a knife, but in combat and up close. ) and I had seen death and blood.  But I had never seen blood squirt like this did.  I was standing at a mirror looking at it to make the cut and the blood came out like a fast running squirt from a hose.  My armpit became a large ballon full of blook waiting to shoot out of the hole I had cut.

I was shocked at how much blood there was and at how quickly I started to get dizzy.  I turned to go lay on the bed which is what I intended but I started to black out very quickly.  In an amazingly quick period of time I passed out and I bled to death.  I don’t remember all of this but have pieced it together.  I know I was standing at a full length mirror with my arm up in the air looking at where I was putting the knife.  Once I did it the blood almost burt out of me and it shocked me. This I remember. I remember standing there for just a couple of squirts then started to get dizzy and want to get to where the poem was I wrote and I tried to move to it.

What I dont remember is that I apparently blacked out and somehow fell into a large TV that crashed into and through the window as I fell. I landed on a coffee table full force breaking the TV, and the Windwo and the coffee table all with a loud crash.  It must have made a hell of a noise.  And I am alive now because of that.

But by a series of miracles I was saved.  An ambulance had been called for a man right across the hall from me who refused to go with the medics.  They were exiting his room at the exact time I passed out and as I did I fell  on a glass table that crashed and shattered and made a lot of noise.  The medics and hotel management were right there.  They knocked on my door but I was out cold. I dont remember any of it, but they came in and got me. 

I woke up in a hospital which surprised the hell out of me.  It was 3 days later.  I dont remember anything at all during that time.  No bright lights, no darkness, no nothing.  They said I had died and that I should not have made it. If the EMS had not been right there I would have died.   I still have some memory issues because of it, but what the hell right. I mean if you stick a knife in your armpit there’s going to be repercussions?

I wondered what would happened because I was tied to the bed and I wondered if I would be arrested or in trouble or what.  Turns out, I was “sanctioned”, which is a nice way of saying held against your will without being arrested.  They use to arrest you in the past now they “sanction” you.  It a whole different word.  The maniacals they tie you to the bed with are the same however but no arrest record.

At first I was in a coma for 3 days. I lost a lot of blood and they didnt have blood in the ambulance so they gave me plasma so they circulated plasma and some blood whatever was left in me after the bleeding I had done, until I got to the hosptial and they gave me a transfusion and apparently I want into a coma at some point during all of that.    Once I came to, I sat there basically for more 3 days while the Doctors and the shrinks talked with me.  I don’t remember that much about that except that they had my suicide Poem and they asked me about it and focused on it and I didn’t really go into it ( it was covered in blood and they had it in a ziplock and I still have it in a ziplock) . What I remembered was thinking about Anneliese, and I wanted to be dead again.  Not alive in a hospital bed.  Kind of an odd thing is that when I was released they mailed that Poem to my house. It was unconventional as suicides go and my wife got the package the poem came in and that also complicated my life. All my fault of course. 

Before I decide to kill myself I wondered if I would go to hell if I made love to Anneliese.  When I was contemplating committing suicide I wondered if I would go to hell for killing myself.  Eventually and I decided I didn’t care what happened because she was gone, and what was left without her?  As I sat there strapped to the bed a thought came to me that said “Fuck em”.  I decided that being alive and doing wherever I wanted to do, with the chance of fixing things if I messed up was better than being dead.  And I decided that If I ever got a chance that this time I would make love to Anneliese.  I made a lot of changes because I decided that I woud live according to my own personal beliefs instead of what others said or believed.  When you get right down to it I’m a great guy and If Im not good enough then oh well.

 The decision made me happy and the shrinks saw a difference in me. I decided I would take a chance and live.

Up to that point I had not given them, the docs or anyone anyting so I gave them my wife’s name and phone number and they called her and she didnt come to SF.  She was very hurt and very sad which is another story.  But she couldnt bring herself to come to SF. Ultimatly I left my wife, seperated, but for complex reasons Anneliese does not know that.  I hide it from her for two reasons, I dont want to seem like one of those guys that says he is divorcing his wife and doesnt, and I dont know what will happen. And because it would kill me if she knew I had left her and Anneliese made it clear that she was not interested.

I had to sign an agreement to pay the hotel about $9000 to pay for damages, carpet couch, bed, table etc. and the city of San Francisco agreed to let me go and I went home.

Once I got home, my resolve to live how I wanted became harder to live, because I was still without Anneliese and I started to feel the same old thing again.  I had gotten a job and was working, but I was not happy.  I had not written or called or txted Anneliese, and she had not communicated with me and I decide that I was going to kill myself again but this time without the errors.  Life without her simply had not appeal, and I lived in fear of bumping into her and feeling like an ass clown.  I would feel humiliated seeing her thinking she had fucked with me and moved on. I didnt want to just bump into her. Then..

After I had been home for about 2 months, Anneliese called me and wanted to see me!!!!  My brain felt like it would spin out of control with all of the emotions I was going through.

No explanation no conversation, nothing it was like she had never left.  We just met for lunch and we started meeting again as if nothing had happened.  She would say things like, “did I tell you about so and so” as if we had talked last week!  But it had been over 9 months!  This went on for several weeks and finally I asked her why she had not called.  I could see a melancholy in her eyes and she simply said, “Sometime people make mistakes” and she paused and I didn’t say anything. Then she said “But Friends forgive each other”. That was it and we were back seeing each other again.

So how did I get over it.  So far I don’t have an answer for that. I havent gotten over it.  Its been 3 or 4 years or something and It still haunts me, I still measure everything against it like some sort of terminal baseline that is the pivot point of my life.  I have not gotten over it.  So now I’m a statistic and now I am still chasing Anneliese, and in fact I think she fucks with me on purpose some times.  Not in a mean was, she just calls me when she needs me and I’m there.  And she knows that I will be there. Whatever, I love her and Im going to keep loving her and caring for her until she understands what love is, or until I understand her.  We have had a couple talks about it. Each of them kind of shallow.  But we have talked enough that I know she does care for me, and if she was fucking with me or not then, she cares about me now.

I’ve never told her what happened.  This has been several years ago now. I sometimes wonder if I should tell her. What do you think?

Sep 2 2010

45 comments on “My Suicide Over Her

  1. I appreciate your continued visits to my site.Have a wonderful holidays.jalal

  2. I read the whole post twice ,then l went back and read the post again .Life is more precious than what you went through.Your strength and your love for your family saved you.Miracles do happen every day.Jalal

    • Than you for your comment. Life is very complex there is not doubt about that. Sometimes I wonder what it was that saved me and I think about it often. I know I am a better person for what I went through, that I know.

      Here is something I listen to that I think is awesome about living Now.

      Thank you for your thoughtful comment.

  3. So many lessons in this story. The felt all the pain in this post and I think of my own thoughts and how you capture it so well. And Thank God you were saved.

    • Thank you Mrs. Hastywords with the wild Red Hair. I do appreciate the comment and the insight. Its a hard post for me. I basically sad down and wrote it out all at once becasue it hurts to much to go back and do a good job. In truth, for all the pain it caused me, if I could go back and undo it, I wouldnt. I learned to much about myself in it. Thanks again. I love your blog by the way, I must have already told you that, but I do.

      • Often the hardest most painful and nearly fatal roads are the roads that lead us to the other side of the mountain. Without having that experience all your new experiences would seem nearly mundane.

  4. Thank you for the information and the story. Suicide is a hard subject to discuss. I was in the Army for 15 years. Suicide is 10 time higher then in the civil section. Many reasons to lose the desire to live. The hard suicide are the one’s we don’t understand. Last September. A strong man with a family and good job. He went to his basement. Broke his neck with his weight set. Left questions and sad family. What do you say to people who don’t understand. Thank you for your thoughts on a difficult topic.

    • John. Sometimes I avoid commenting on this section but I owe you a comment. Thanks for taking the time. I was USArmy SF 18B. During my career I was part of 6 suicides. Two were very hard. One of those was a very close friend. Dressed in his class A uniform silver star down to NDSM. Took his boots off and shredded the souls of his feet. Put his boots on the floor beneath where he hung himself. When he was found his boots were full of blood. No note nothing. The second was when I was a First Sergeant. A soldier restricted to his room hung himself with bed sheets ties to pipes in the ceiling. The other 4 were not as close. S I saw my fair share. It always sucked and I never thought it would one day be me. But life is complex. Thanks for commenting

  5. This made me cry…. I am glad you are alive! I don’t know you but, I know what it feels like to try to suicide… Its a deep black abyss and its scary but Life is worth living.

      • I only speak for what I feel and my honesty is all that I can offer and a great loyal friend :) You write with such emotion how can one not connect or feel your pain, confusion…..sorry but most women will always be confusing. I know i am a confused woman ;)

  6. Pingback: Man Survives Not Jumping from Golden Gate Bridge. | Primal Night's

  7. What a story. I couldn’t stop reading it. My heart goes out to you, and I’m glad the EMTs were there at the right time. Clearly, you’re meant to be here.

  8. Your story has set off a maelstrom of triggers for me. Foremost, that I’m mad at you for attempting suicide, knowing what your family would feel had you succeeded. I am desperately pulling the reins back from a horse that has gotten away from me, with the bit clamped down between its teeth. Don’t fuck up the life you have been given a 2nd chance to learn from. I’m glad you are alive.

    • Since you bring it up and since this is the only place I can ever be completely honest and where I can let things go, let them out of me, I will tell you what I think. Once i got home from San Francisco after i tried to kill myself, after a month or so i had recovered a little bit physically but had not seen her and i decided that I would go back to SF and try to kill myself again. Im insured to about a Million dollars and i lived past the suicide clause and i intended on going back and doing it again. i had no desire to live without her at all.

      The people who had been hurt by my attempt were all good again, a couple of hugs a few weeks of phone calls and they figured i was all better and life had gotten back to the same old thing… I saw no value in continuing without her what so ever. So when she called me a few weeks after that, she saved my life because I would have killed myself and done a better job of it were it not for her calling me and the hope that I meant something to her…

      Death meant nothing to me and it means even less to me now that I was dead once. Something about me. I spent a career as a sniper in the US ARmy Special Forces and not to put to fine a point on it, I killed a lot of people. Twice in my career I cut down friends, fellow soldiers, who had hung themselves. (I will post a poem I wrote about one of them at the end of this). In those and in 3 other cases I made the notifications to the spouses of soldiers who killed themselves, and I’ve made the death notification in maybe 15 other cases in my career where soldiers died and I’ve seen how it impacted those families. So I am no stranger to that.

      Even so, had she not came back to me on some level, I would have killed myself again. As it is now, if she told me to go to hell and that she never wanted to see me again, I don’t know what I would do. But I am alive now because of her being in my life and for now that is enough for me and that sustains me. Death is different to me than to many other people and at the time I tried to kill myself I welcomed it and the truth is, now one of the only things that would keep me from killing myself if she were to leave my life would be that I know it would hurt her because she does care for me. If she were to cut me out of her life it might only change how she heard about me or something I don’t know, but I am alive because I love her and because I now that she loves me. For a long time I thought she had just toyed with me and that I meant nothing to her. I felt so low I can not explain it and knowing that I am important to her sustains me. So that’s where I am now.

      I do appreciate you comment very much. It’s very kind of you and I do believe that it’s heart felt and my intention is to live.

      I met Pat about 19 years ago.
      Sergeant First Class U.S. Army.
      Hell of a guy too.
      His wife didn’t care for me,
      And she hated Pat.
      We drank beer, played golf and
      On occasion we went off to “save the world.”
      He use to laugh when he’d say that.
      We keep track of each other through the years.
      Usually calling each other,
      After what we called “Invitationals.”
      What presidents call “Conflicts.”
      War. Whatever. It’s Where the infantry
      Are called in to do the killing.
      Pat was haunted by that, the killing.
      The fear comes back with the memories.
      He had nightmares too.
      He use to cry when he’d tell me about them.
      When we’d sit in my office and talk.
      I remember the last time I saw Pat.
      What I remember the most,
      Was the blood on his boots.
      He was in his dress uniform.
      Blue aiguillette on his right shoulder
      French fourragere of the Croix de Guerre on his left.
      He looked like a hero with all of his medals
      Perfectly placed on his Uniform.
      He was a hero, like all of those young men.
      He had a good haircut to.
      As his First Sergeant I was proud of him,
      Although his beret was askew.
      The rope around his neck
      Canted his head at an odd angle,
      And the rope had knocked his beret askew.
      That would have pissed him off!
      He was hanging about two feet above his boots.
      For some reason he had shredded the soles of his feet
      Before he climbed on his desk where
      He hung himself and bleed out over the weekend.
      No note, no explanation.

      • I can not imagine, not even remotely, what you went through. I can provide no accolades, no commonality to your story or to draw you to a different perspective because of our shared experiences. We don’t have any. Your story hurts me. Hurts me so much it makes me want to curl up into a ball, clutching my stomach and cry until I can’t breathe anymore.
        I am a military brat. I could not be told of my step father’s deployment as a child, because I would cry until I threw up. I lived in fear he would not come home. No one understands the pain you experience as the family who stays behind, and keeps smiling and being positive when all you want to do is the complete opposite, unless its other military families. We know the code. You have to be strong! You have to make sure he doesn’t worry! Its more pressure than you can imagine, pretending your heart isn’t breaking, every time you say good bye.
        My biological father killed himself. No note, no story, no goodbyes; just a bullet in his mouth in a rented room. He left behind a bible and a rosary on a side table. Guess what that does to little girls over a lifetime? Wondering why he didn’t love them enough to live? Take a guess at how hard it is for those little girls to not fear attachment or presume they will always and forever be abandoned by men who were supposed to love them? It colors every relationship they have, for their entire lives.
        Your life is not your own, when you have people who love you. You have a responsibility to protect them and shelter them from harm! You don’t have the right to kill yourself and inflict pain on every person whose life you touched because they question themselves on what they missed, how they could have helped. They take your pain as their own and they shoulder it. It breaks some people. Your burden crushes their spirit and their souls. You change who they are because you selfishly decided to not ask for their help. To give them a chance to lift you and hold you to their chest and cry tears with you accepting some of your pain as their own and share their strength to pull you from despair.
        When someone is injured and dying, you KNOW their body fights to live. You KNOW every single cell in their body screams for the chance to continue and sustain its body, even when there is no hope for survival. You have seen it! A fast death or one that comes from slipping away from pills, robs your body of its chance to fight and of your mind to scream at you that it wants to live. All you have to do is remember to hope. To H.O.P.E. ;its an anachronism for Hold On, Pain Ends; because sometimes that is all we have left. Hope is all we have to hold onto.
        And in those times when YOU have no hope left, that’s when the hands of every single person whose life you have come across; every single person who has read your words, or served with you, or met you in a grocery store, that’s when their hope reaches out in supportive hands to guide you, help you, hold you or drag you back to a place of safety and security until you are strong enough to do it yourself again.
        The guilt you would place onto someone for their failure to include you into their life is not limited to the person you are entwined with. The ripple effect is far wider than you can imagine. The pain you would inflict would last for a lifetime. The sorrow and hurt you would cause would have far reaching implications. It would change until it touched a thousand lives with the darkness that brought you to your decision. Is that the legacy you want to leave? Do you want to take out as many people as you can? To commit suicide is to become a suicide bomber to those people whose life you have touched.
        I am not so sure my comments are made in kindness, but from a place of blind and panicky personal fear. You have seen so much pain and death that you have forgotten that there is a simple joy in living. The level of sadness I feel for what you have gone through is not measured by the meagre spattering of words I can write to you. I can’t express what I feel through this pathetic medium that can give the magnitude of emotions I feel about it. Your value is more than you can imagine. Don’t forget it. Don’t forget to H.O.P.E.
        There is a girl in central Canada who cares.

        • I’m sorry that my story hurt you in any way. Fr someone who never wants to hurt anyone I seem to hurt a lot of people. But I do understand being in so much pain emotionally that it hurts to breath. I’m sorry for the pain you went through as a Brat. It was always hard to leave my little ones at home honestly wondering it the last look you took of them would be the last one you ever had. My little ones were strong to and i know in their own ways they suffered too, and they were so small many of the times that I’m sure they didn’t know the difference between me going to work for a day or for months at a time, and I know my wife suffered along with them and for them at the same time. And many of,those deployments were so demanding that my full attention was required in a way that my family never has and so at times my difficulties made the separations easier for me than for them. But the times I missed them and wept for them and needed their gentle touch were so acute that it would be foolish to try to explain. Oh how I sometimes longed for the simplest routine beauties that were stolen from me. The nights I would have looked in to see them sleeping in their beds, or felt them falling asleep next to me leaving me to carry them to their beds. I saw so many brutal and senseless things that during those times I was not even me. I was a piece of meat in a uniform performing the tasks as they came to me. But when I was me it was very hard to be me and be away and so sometimes to cope with the separation or the hurt I was not there emotionally, I was turned off so that I cold turn on once again when I needed to be me. But that is a attribute that once learned can not be unlearned and one that continues with me, often without me even knowing it.

          I’m sorry you bio-dad checked out for whatever the reason was. I wish I knew and could tell you why so that you could put that to rest. I can’t I again what it does to a gentle little creature like a little girl. Or how it must have shaped you and I’m sorry for it, and I’m sorry my story brings it to your mind for you. I know this will seem hollow but I will say it anyway believe ing that its right and hoping that it will shave off at least a small sliver of the pain you must now bear. Your fathers death had nothing to do with his lack of love for anyone. It was a selfish act that considered only his own pain and I admit that it was selfish because I know that of my own self. But it’s selfish, at least for me, in the same way it’s selfish to go to sleep when you are so tired you can no longer continue on.
          I’m sorry you continue to suffer with attachment fears or with issues of being abandoned, but I will share something else I believe. We are all broken! The is no such thing as some who is whole and we all bear our scars and through them we are also strengthened in ways we would not have been without the challenges that broke us. Some things can not be repaired even if you ask for help. How do you help someone who needs to sleep except by allowing them to sleep?

          You don’t know that I’ve died twice! I was shot in the armpit and then ran over and my legs were broken. I passed out from the blood filling in my lunges, and I remember being loaded in the helicopter and hearing my bones crunching and grinding as I was dying and I remember that I couldn’t scream! I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything but scream inside my head and I remember the panic as I blacked out knowing I was dead. So yes I now that every part of you longs to live. So imagine how acute the pain and the suffering inside must be to have experienced all of that and to still long for it once again!

          I have so much more I want to say but I also want to stop now because so much of what you said is right. its selfish and no one has that right, and I feel like I am trampling on your grief when I have no intention or desire to do that because I do not want to rob you of what is yours, and because so much of what you said was so beautiful and it touched me in a way that makes me want to stop before i hurt you again. I don’t want to hurt someone as tender and compassionate as you clearly are. It might seem odd with everything I have said but I am also a loving being and I do not wish to hurt anyone. Whatever it was that motivated you to make your comment, kindness, anger, frustration, whatever it was exposed a something very beautiful. I love you little Canadian Girl. I know some people throw those words around pretty easily and so they are sometimes cheapened. But I am not one of those people and I don’t just say it, but then I also have the ability to love unconditionally because I’ve done so many difficult things that I’ve been called to do and did so without malice. Because of that I have an ability to love and to say so. I know that this has been disjointed and a lot of blathering, but I am working to heal as well. I hope this does not hurt you and I wish you the very best.

          • First, let me say that YOU didn’t hurt me…the memories were drawn out by your story. Your story was one I could relate so closely to, that it was surprising/shocking by the sheer suddenness of it. I love your writing. I love how you express yourself. I love that I know you in every word you write; I get it, I understand. I understand like I was there. I know about compartmentalization and closing off from your family. My step father struggled with it. I could see it as a child. I understand every word.
            I understand the selfishness of suicide. I also understand the unimaginable pain that just makes you want to rest, to let the darkness take you. I have felt the panic knowing you are about to lose your soul and being absolutely helpless to stop it. Screaming inside of your head and no one knows. It’s the last conscious thought you have, a primal, guttural scream.
            We struggle with our past don’t we? I know what my issues are and I have to fight against them. People think it gets easier over time…if anything it can be frustrating because it’s like always acknowledging the same thing over and over again. You want to get rid of it once and for all. It pisses me off at times.
            You have been through so very much. Mental and physical brutality. You have been beat up and thrown around and part of me wants to shake you and make you realize how important that is. The other part wants to hold you and protect you like a young child, close to my heart in arms that will never let go, with the ferocity of a mothers love.
            Don’t ever stop writing. Don’t ever leave this world. It would be a much poorer place without you in it, and I selfishly do not want to lose that. You voice is that of my father, of a lover and of a child. You make me feel so many things at once that it’s a maelstrom of words that want to clash and actions that I want to take.
            This is when the woman in me would want to take you to bed and give you the comfort of my body. To erase the pain and suffering of your heart by letting you use my body to vent frustration, to coddle you and to let you protect me. Unspoken words, trapped in the sad slant of your eye, to fall as tears on a weathered face. To force you to feel anger, sadness, grief and despair, just so you would know how wonderful the joy of my arms are.
            Thank you so very much…for all you have written…all you have gone through… because its made you into this person you are now…and I value you more than you can imagine. As much as I am sorry for the horrible pain you felt, its made you into a writer who needs to share his stories with a wider audience. I am so glad I found you.

  9. Pingback: suicide sucks as an option | rougedmount

    • Everyone’s story is personal to them and I think if a writer has the ability to be honest and forthright people will connect with that. That’s what Rougemount was able to do, and I agree she shared some beautiful things. Thanks

  10. Pingback: Dead Angels. An old Poem about losing Catnip | Primal Night's

  11. I admire how brave you are to admit this and write about this. I too have attempted suicides more times than I care to remember. I have also once loved someone and cared for them many years even though their heart appeared to be elsewhere or at least torn between me and another. Its so easy for others who have not been through it to say ‘move on’ or ‘forget about…’ but when you’re in it its so hard. I’m sorry you are still caught up in it all I can say is do what makes you happy and hopefully one day you will be strong enough to step out of the vicious cycle like I did and find true happiness and wholeness elsewhere but its hard when you feel like the this is your destiny. Xxxx

    • Come on you can do better than that… Your all fucked up, or you’ll be ok, or Better luck next time, or what the hell were you thinking…co e on give it one more shot, just your most bottom line thought. I can take it, I’m not dead after all :-)

      • Ok. You asked for it.
        First of all, I don’t understand suicide over love for another person. I just don’t. The only exception i can understand is because of children. Thats the only excuse. For a woman or a man? No way. Its such self-pity, it makes me angry to see people trying to commit suicide.
        (I tried three times when i was a teenager. Was pure attention-seeking action. I think i was the dumbest weirdo that was vain and arrogant).
        Anyhow, im not saying devastation doesnt hit, when love matters are involved. Im just looking from my own perspective.
        I have never been in love, so its difficult for me to be righteous.

        • Awesome, and thank you for taking the time. Your right of course. A person who is, as you imply, mature and mentally sound would not go there. I’m glad you commented. There have been people comment on this page and ask me to delete their comments. People thinking about committing suicide and I think the more prospective the better. I was in a very bad place and not from this perspective I could not do it. But at the time death and escape was a welcome thought and I longed for it. It’s been a few years now and the very thing that I was trying to escape is now in large part mine. The best I’ve heard is that suicide is a permanent solution to a tempory problem and in my case that was exactly right. My life is richer now then ever before and I would have missed it had I succeeded. Thank you for commenting.

  12. Suicide note of an american soldier named Daniel Somors. It has a lot of the things I have gone throught, feelings of never being able to over come. These are his words:

    I am sorry that it has come to this.

    The fact is, for as long as I can remember my motivation for getting up every day has been so that you would not have to bury me. As things have continued to get worse, it has become clear that this alone is not a sufficient reason to carry on. The fact is, I am not getting better, I am not going to get better, and I will most certainly deteriorate further as time goes on. From a logical standpoint, it is better to simply end things quickly and let any repercussions from that play out in the short term than to drag things out into the long term.

    You will perhaps be sad for a time, but over time you will forget and begin to carry on. Far better that than to inflict my growing misery upon you for years and decades to come, dragging you down with me. It is because I love you that I can not do this to you. You will come to see that it is a far better thing as one day after another passes during which you do not have to worry about me or even give me a second thought. You will find that your world is better without me in it.

    I really have been trying to hang on, for more than a decade now. Each day has been a testament to the extent to which I cared, suffering unspeakable horror as quietly as possible so that you could feel as though I was still here for you. In truth, I was nothing more than a prop, filling space so that my absence would not be noted. In truth, I have already been absent for a long, long time.

    My body has become nothing but a cage, a source of pain and constant problems. The illness I have has caused me pain that not even the strongest medicines could dull, and there is no cure. All day, every day a screaming agony in every nerve ending in my body. It is nothing short of torture. My mind is a wasteland, filled with visions of incredible horror, unceasing depression, and crippling anxiety, even with all of the medications the doctors dare give. Simple things that everyone else takes for granted are nearly impossible for me. I can not laugh or cry. I can barely leave the house. I derive no pleasure from any activity. Everything simply comes down to passing time until I can sleep again. Now, to sleep forever seems to be the most merciful thing.

    You must not blame yourself. The simple truth is this: During my first deployment, I was made to participate in things, the enormity of which is hard to describe. War crimes, crimes against humanity. Though I did not participate willingly, and made what I thought was my best effort to stop these events, there are some things that a person simply can not come back from. I take some pride in that, actually, as to move on in life after being part of such a thing would be the mark of a sociopath in my mind. These things go far beyond what most are even aware of.

    To force me to do these things and then participate in the ensuing coverup is more than any government has the right to demand. Then, the same government has turned around and abandoned me. They offer no help, and actively block the pursuit of gaining outside help via their corrupt agents at the DEA. Any blame rests with them.

    Beyond that, there are the host of physical illnesses that have struck me down again and again, for which they also offer no help. There might be some progress by now if they had not spent nearly twenty years denying the illness that I and so many others were exposed to. Further complicating matters is the repeated and severe brain injuries to which I was subjected, which they also seem to be expending no effort into understanding. What is known is that each of these should have been cause enough for immediate medical attention, which was not rendered.

    Lastly, the DEA enters the picture again as they have now managed to create such a culture of fear in the medical community that doctors are too scared to even take the necessary steps to control the symptoms. All under the guise of a completely manufactured “overprescribing epidemic,” which stands in stark relief to all of the legitimate research, which shows the opposite to be true. Perhaps, with the right medication at the right doses, I could have bought a couple of decent years, but even that is too much to ask from a regime built upon the idea that suffering is noble and relief is just for the weak.

    However, when the challenges facing a person are already so great that all but the weakest would give up, these extra factors are enough to push a person over the edge.

    Is it any wonder then that the latest figures show 22 veterans killing themselves each day? That is more veterans than children killed at Sandy Hook, every single day. Where are the huge policy initiatives? Why isn’t the president standing with those families at the state of the union? Perhaps because we were not killed by a single lunatic, but rather by his own system of dehumanization, neglect, and indifference.

    It leaves us to where all we have to look forward to is constant pain, misery, poverty, and dishonor. I assure you that, when the numbers do finally drop, it will merely be because those who were pushed the farthest are all already dead.

    And for what? Bush’s religious lunacy? Cheney’s ever growing fortune and that of his corporate friends? Is this what we destroy lives for

    Since then, I have tried everything to fill the void. I tried to move into a position of greater power and influence to try and right some of the wrongs. I deployed again, where I put a huge emphasis on saving lives. The fact of the matter, though, is that any new lives saved do not replace those who were murdered. It is an exercise in futility.

    Then, I pursued replacing destruction with creation. For a time this provided a distraction, but it could not last. The fact is that any kind of ordinary life is an insult to those who died at my hand. How can I possibly go around like everyone else while the widows and orphans I created continue to struggle? If they could see me sitting here in suburbia, in my comfortable home working on some music project they would be outraged, and rightfully so.

    I thought perhaps I could make some headway with this film project, maybe even directly appealing to those I had wronged and exposing a greater truth, but that is also now being taken away from me. I fear that, just as with everything else that requires the involvement of people who can not understand by virtue of never having been there, it is going to fall apart as careers get in the way.

    The last thought that has occurred to me is one of some kind of final mission. It is true that I have found that I am capable of finding some kind of reprieve by doing things that are worthwhile on the scale of life and death. While it is a nice thought to consider doing some good with my skills, experience, and killer instinct, the truth is that it isn’t realistic. First, there are the logistics of financing and equipping my own operation, then there is the near certainty of a grisly death, international incidents, and being branded a terrorist in the media that would follow. What is really stopping me, though, is that I simply am too sick to be effective in the field anymore. That, too, has been taken from me.

    Thus, I am left with basically nothing. Too trapped in a war to be at peace, too damaged to be at war. Abandoned by those who would take the easy route, and a liability to those who stick it out—and thus deserve better. So you see, not only am I better off dead, but the world is better without me in it

    This is what brought me to my actual final mission. Not suicide, but a mercy killing. I know how to kill, and I know how to do it so that there is no pain whatsoever. It was quick, and I did not suffer. And above all, now I am free. I feel no more pain. I have no more nightmares or flashbacks or hallucinations. I am no longer constantly depressed or afraid or worried

    I am free.

    I ask that you be happy for me for that. It is perhaps the best break I could have hoped for. Please accept this and be glad for me.

    Daniel Somers

  13. You have become one of my favorite blogs here, you are an amazing man and I wish I could wave a magic wand and make it all good for you and Catnip and any other parties involved. We live and we grow and we change and we sometimes have to live with choices we made long ago (ie marriage) and find a way to deal with that choice, my Mom always told me to do whatever I have to do to be happy and I keep that in mind always. I have scars on my wrists and I have swallowed more pills than safe yet I am still here…for whatever reason, I am still here, and I may not have a perfect life or anything close to it, but after a lot of therapy I’m able to deal better than before.

    It just breaks my heart to think you tried to end your life over someone else, please, don’t do that, ever. You are meant to be here for a reason, whatever that reason is, I certainly don’t know, but you bring so much to so many people thru your blog, you touch our souls and say things some of us may be too afraid to say, you are honest to yourself and the world, and while it’s none of my business, Catnip needs to do some soul searching herself, you deserve what you give, and you give all of yourself to her, I know I speak for more than just myself when I say we need you and your words here, I just hope Catnip realizes how wonderful you are. And again, killing yourself is out of the question! We need you here <3

    • That is kind and loving of you to say. I could repeat almost all of that back to you as we’ll. I’m glad you are ok, or at least not successful in killing yourself. I love reading your blog to. You are super good at it ad I love your writing.

      Catnip is good to me. I’m sure if I were single my whole would would be different and she would feel more free in how she expresses herself to me. She does love me and she loves me a great deal, maybe even as much as I love her. At least that is what I hope and even believe, But she protects her heart.

      I will respond more tomorrow. Tis meant a lot to me and I had to respond some but I must go for now. Thank you. With my love Cordell

  14. To share everything you have here is beyond the bravery you went through while serving in the Army, Service is following orders. What you have shared is of your own will which in my opinion trumps the terrible things you went through while in active duty. I understand the desire not to live but I have never fully grasped the desire to die. I desire not to live in a state knowing full well that the only constant in life is change. That in a moment everything can change – like the moment you met Annaliese. Do you ever think, what if we never met? Where would you be now, who would you be now, would you want to die now?

    And what of your wife. I am a little taken aback, a bit wary of your lack of concern, seeming lack of affection, the manner in which you refer to her as if does not exist. Do you ever consider how she may suffer at your hand? Why do you stay with a woman who you inevitably will only cause the same or worse damage that has been done to you. Would you run to her bedside if she had bloodied the carpet of an expensive, posh, landmark hotel in one of the greatest cities in the world?

    I went through a relationship once when I was younger. Too young and for so long he consumed me and I would think about my life before him. How one day changed everything – for a while – a long while but still, it passed eventually.

    I regret you were made to do things you in your soul were repulsed by. That is not what the armed services should be. I have known and dated 4 (hmm, I guess I do have a “type”, regimented leaders of integrity and strength to balance my erratic nature and general “all over the place” personality. Opposites attract?) men who have served, a marine, an engineer in the air force and a sniper in the corps. I cannot believe the coincidence! You having had the same role as my dearest! It seems, unfortunately your experience was vastly different from his. He chose his profession, he did not see combat, was intelligence and trained to learn everything about a target (and throughout his 5 years of active duty prior to the reserves) his “job” was mostly information gathering, scouting and reporting these details. He was a sergeant, leader of men and took pride in his work – despite it’s morbid nature. Again, I am saddened that your experience was negative and left you with scars opposed to increased strength of character.

    Please. Live for yourself. LIVE. You do not want to die you only want the pain to end and it can, it may not but it can and you cannot end the possibility of something just around the corner that is amazing just waiting for you. Annaliese was not that. She sucked you dry and turned you from a leader into a slave to your feelings. Be strong. Be alive. Be there for your wife or divorce her because how would you feel if YOU were the cause of yet another death; a civilian’s death at that!

    People only cheat (emotionally or physically) because they are not receiving something from their current romantic situation. They are not fulfilled by it. Perhaps working on changing that and things will improve for you…. just a suggestion from someone who has been through the pain, dissociation, the fear, anxiety.. all that bullshit that kills you before you are even dead. I still struggle with it. It will likely never end. But it is a battle. Everyday, and you more than most are trained to survive, to thrive in battle.


    • Thank you for your heartfelt reply. Life is complex and busy so I appreciate you taking time to write. I will respond, It may be a day or two. Its Sunday, I have court tomorrow with the man who tried to kill Catnip. Tuesday night I leave for North Africa, I will be in Europe by Monday and will reply fully sometime shortly after that. As with all things this is complex. I will give you a very very short answer now. I love my wife, very much, but that is not reciprocated. She is broken and it was my service in the Military that broke her. More on that in a week. Thanks you

      • I’ll be in Europe Monday too! Next Monday actually, but what a coincidence!

        I too appreciate that you will take the time to respond. I’m very sorry about you wife, life is hard… Being w someone who isn’t physically there.. I can’t imagine

        • Hello Missy, I have a bit of time and will reply. Forgive me if this kind of pours out but here goes.

          I do think about what would have happened to me if I had not met her. I believe that I would have still tried to kill myself and maybe succeeded. I don’t know. But I was not happy in the life I had. I know that within a couple of months of trying to kill myself I was contemplating killing myself again, and had my Catnip not contacted me again, I would have killed myself again. She gives me reason to live and I love her. My service took a toll on not only me but my life as well. I don’t know who I would be or where I would be. I wonder myself. But I know that from where I am now I cannot abandon her or be happy without here.

          I don’t speak much of my wife here and when I do I purposefully try to speak in neutral tones. She is a beautiful and wonderful woman and I love her very much. But that is how I feel. Not how she feels. I treat her very dearly and I have great capacity for love and forgiveness and she requires both of me. I don’t believe that she suffers at my hand at any degree near the way I suffer at the lack of concern and caring that comes to me from her. It’s a very long story but I will tell you two parts of it. I’ve written many songs and many love letters to her over the years as well as many other creative writing etc. I don’t believe she has ever listened to a song of mine. Including the one on this site that I wrote and the you can find a few post back and listen to. I wrote the words and the music. She cares nothing for me or my interests. I have written her letters that I have found unopened weeks and months later and the same for other interest of mine. I am an administrative concern for her. Having said that I have to say that she is broken and I am the one who broke her. It is a long story related to my military service and hard to explain. The short version is that I came home in a hospital bed after one deployment and stayed there for a about a year. During that time she retreated into a shell from which she had not emerged. That has been 22 years ago.

          Our relationship is excellent in most ways. But she can show concern or tenderness or affection towards me in traditional ways. She provides service to me instead. The doctors say she has a psychoneurosis caused by my repeated deployments then the shock of my near death. He said that her distancing herself from me physically and emotionally protect her from the fear of it happening again. And that it is also a form of protecting me! In her subconscious mind if she does not allow a connection then it cannot be broken and therefor I cannot be harmed. She is wonderful to me in all outward apperances and works very hard to care for me through acts of service that are not personal. Cleaning, cooking, meeting my non-personal needs. But she cannot touch me emotionally, she CANNOT, not wont, CANNOT. He brain will not allow it and it troubles her as well it tortures her, but she cannot overcome it. There are people close to us who know her and who tell me she could stop if she wanted to. But that’s not true, any more than an obsessive compulsive or can simply decide to stop or you can stop your reaction to your fear of spiders or whatever. The Doctors say she may never overcome it and if she does it could take a long time, but it’s not something she does it something he brain does to her. As I said, it is complex. She wants to be affectionate to me, but can’t and when she tries she has an emotional reaction that is strong and hurts her. There have been times she had been so desirous that she tried very hard and we’ve started making out, foreplay if you will, and it bothered her so much she started crying then had to abruptly stop and get up and run crying as if she had been held underwater too long, then cryed for hours and apologized the next day for what happened and expressed the desire to try again. In twenty years it has happened hundreds of times. She can’t help it.

          I am married with children who have children. They know of it but can’t possible understand the depth of it. To them she is the perfect person, they receive a greater outpouring of affection as a result.
          I treat her wonderfully and I commonly hear people speak to us about our perfect marriage. How lucky she is and I am etc. I do not talk about her here because my behavior is bad enough (yes I know that) without demeaning her in some way. But I am very kind and loving and good to her. Yes I’ve thought of leaving her, but that will not fix her or me. I have worked very hard on us, but it very difficult. I work very hard on us and frankly don’t think it improves much, but I do love her and it would be selfish of me to leave. Just as it is selfish of me to love and care so dearly for Anneliese. If the answers were clear I would move on them. But they are not.

          I’m sure this reply does not do justice to either my wife or Anneliese, both of which I love very dearly, both of whom are very different people and different relationships,both of which deserve better, and neither of which I will sacrifice. If I had to guess what will eventually happen, I would hate to do that because it is to painful to contemplate.

          Thank you for taking the time to reply. Enjoy Europe. If you happened to be in Hohenfels Germany between tomorrow and the 25th I would meet your for coffee.

          For tonight, Goodnight from Garmisch Bavaria

  15. I loved someone that deeply I wanted to die. I ached for years inside my soul after he left. It was like everything that made me who I am was taken from me. I never loved like that. It was beyond intense. It was dangerous to my sanity. Even now 10 years after he is gone, I still weep for him. My mind went through a total reset the moment I heard his voice. It was like I had finally been loved wholey.

    If you are ever in the UK let me know :-) You deserve a hug from a friend who totally understands.

    ~ailish x

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