I saw my Aunts on suicide missions with alcohol and drugs. None of them were ever sober. The smell of beer is what I gravitated towards when I was old enough to pick a man. I picked a real dedicated suicide man when I was in my thirties. He drank so much that I figured he would stop if I drank with him. Thinking there would be fewer beers for him and maybe he would be someone different. I couldn't keep up with his drinking and I hated throwing up. So I had to leave him to his suicide mission and try to keep my sanity while I figured out a way to separate myself. I thought what I felt for him was love so it took me twenty-five years to stop "loving" him. I met him when he was twenty-five and I was the only ex that came to visit while he was dying. His suicide mission was successful, he died at fifty.
My mom was successful in her suicide mission of secret alcohol binges and tobacco. She would ask the neighbor lady to take her to the liquor store and hide her loot so I wouldn't find it. I thought I could save her or at least give her a reason to live by providing a stable home and plenty of food so she would never have to be hungry again. I grew up watching her give everything to us kids. She never ate, she would sit at the table with us watching us eat while she took long drags off her cigarette, lighting one after another while she waited for us to finish so she could do the dishes.
My oldest brother is on a suicide mission and I called him an alcoholic once because he would drink a beer before breakfast. He got mad and said, "I can stop anytime I want". He switched to wine. I guess that was more respectable. He also knew of the family patterns of sloppy drunks. He is still around, battling diabetes, obesity, and heart problems.
My middle brother wasn't much of a drinker, he preferred drugs. They were easier to get and easier to hide. Marijuana was his drug of choice and sometimes when he was feeling particularly suicidal he would try other things. I have a memory of him coming home, foaming at the mouth saying the devil was chasing him. It took years for him to clean up his act. He switched from drugs to religion, which he pursued with the same intensity. It was just a different addiction.
My younger brother's suicide mission was unprotected sex with random men. That lasted for a while until the Navy kicked him out for retaliating against his shipmates for heckling him about his preferences. He spent years in jail for setting a fire on a million-dollar ship. He decided to marry and squash the idea of being with a man. He knew how that would play out in the Black community. He joined the church and married an obedient church woman. Had a son and substituted sugar for his drug of choice. Diabetes took his legs and now he waits for the floor nurse to come change him and give him a bath.
I have been moving fast my whole life trying to stay ahead of the pain. I knew instinctively if I stopped moving fast, the pain would be more than I could stand and the alternative would be suicide. I knew of suicide from the patterns around me. Sports saved me when I was younger. I had no tolerance for alcohol and I was afraid of the effects of drugs from watching my brother dabble. The idea of being out of my mind was not appealing to me. Girls who trusted the safety of group drugs ended up at the clinic trying to figure out which "friend" impregnated her. I remember trying to console a friend who trusted her drug group and was facing a difficult decision. I recognized her suicide mission and wanted no part of it.
I have been moving fast my whole life trying to stay ahead of the pain. I moved fast through men. The longest any of them lasted was two weeks. Except the alcoholic who died at fifty. We were in and out of each other's lives for the twenty-five years that I knew him. Both of us were too emotionally wounded to stop the madness. Maybe my suicide mission was picking a man who was a threat to my daughters and I would have to kill him if he ever violated them. I was saved from having to make that choice.
I have to thank Covid-19 for slowing me down. Facing my patterns of suicide has not been easy and going down that rabbit hole has saved me. It isn't that I am particularly courageous, it's that the Universe gives us opportunities to be courageous and when we don't recognize the opportunity, we continue on our suicide missions.
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