The human body can only contain so many secrets. And I was born into a big one. My father was a brilliant and very successful physician. He’d written countless papers, discovered and named a few diseases, and had people traveling the country to see him. Over the course of his career, he had treated over 1 million patients. (And yes, he counted each and every one of them.)
But he was also not okay. (For starters, he counted his patients.) He had a dyslexia and photographic memory, which no doubt was a blessing and a curse. He also struggled with depression, anxiety, and for a minute in the 80s, paranoia. Yet my sister and I were instructed to tell no one: We did as we were told.
In fact, even after his death, my remaining family will say nothing of the truth. The obituary read: He died at home with his wife of 58 years. “Oh yes, it was sudden.” “So unexpected.” “No, no autopsy was performed.”
I, on the other hand, wanted to scream. I believe that my dad was tired of secrets. I think he wanted the world to know that his life was not what it seemed. And in truth, I was already carrying far too many secrets of my own.
As I writer, of course, I started there. In 2017, just a year after my father’s death, I wrote a manuscript entitled Ashes Float. Yet, as the story unfolded, it hit too close to home. I guess I wasn’t sure if it was honestly my story to tell. Did I have a right to expose my mother and sister? My kids? Even writing it as fiction, after 200 pages, I abandon the cause. The whole idea somehow felt too dangerous.
Around that same time, I recognized that while I can pretty easily say “My father died by suicide” I have never once used the term dad in that sentence. Like choosing to write in fiction, (rather than non-fiction), I had created a separate persona for the man I’d lost. The word father refers to our genetics - not our relationship. In truth however, I had never once called him, father. He was dad, daddy or Pappy to my kids. Yet, to this very day, I can not link those words with the word suicide. My dad did not die by suicide… my father did.
Yet the human body can only hold so many secrets… and if writing it was too dangerous, and uttering the words without a false persona too difficult, where on earth do you unload this trauma.
Although I’m embarrassed to admit it, it seems I unknowingly began to seek out (and tell) people who simply weren’t able to hear me, and certainly weren’t able to help me. As ridiculous as it sounds, telling someone who is emotionally deaf, somehow felt safe. A known narcissist, for example, will simply ignore your secret and quickly proceed on with their emotional drama. We all have those friends and acquaintances, who simply aren’t listening. So yes, it was them I chose to tell first.
This is a huge mistake. And if you’re thinking of doing the same, please think again. While a friendly narcissist may feel safe, just revealing the secret, really isn’t the point. Imagine this scenario: I finally, with great fear and hesitation, reveal that my father struggled with paranoia, and the listener responds “Oh my God! My mom was the worse, blah blah - they share a normal mom story. Obviously, I don’t feel any better.
Clearly, I failed to realize is that just saying the words was only a small part of the process. What I really needed was to be heard and understood; accepted and validated. Yet someone who simply can’t hear you, can’t offer you any of that.
What’s worse, sharing a secret with the wrong person only increases your need to be heard and ultimately you start to “scream” louder. You lose energy, you lose self esteem, and foolishly, you turn to yet another “safe” but un-listening ear.
One step up from that, I began to tell my “self-appointed” therapist friends. You know, the people who run around constantly trying to fix and heal everyone. Needless to say, this proved to be an even more disastrous phase. You can’t fix grief and you don’t “get over” losing someone you love to suicide. Although well-meaning, everyone’s helpful analysis and ridiculous words of wisdom did far more harm than good.
What I finally recognize ( I know, right? It’s taken me nearly 6 years!), is that yes, I do need to share this secret; the human psyche can only hold so much. But I also need to seek out people who are capable of truly hearing me. Suicide grief is so complex. Anger, judgement, guilt and loss roll together into a twisted web of emotion so tangled you can barely breath.
It is not a web that most people (even many professional therapist), are able to unravel.
So as for myself, I will no longer share my story with those who simply can’t hear me, and I encourage you to do the same. Not everyone deserves your deepest truths. Seek help from those who are familiar with suicide loss. Ask for support from those who share the experience. Find a group, read survivor blogs :), call hotlines, and/or seek out a counselor who specializes in suicide bereavement support. But please think twice about revealing your deepest most painful secrets to an un-listening ear.
*Don’t know where to start? Check out one of organizations listed on the resources page.
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