This is my first contribution to this thread. I've been keeping up with it because the topic hits very close to home for me. So I thought I'd share my story with you guys. I know it's going to sound crazy, and that's one reason why I have resisted posting it. But it's all very true.
My dad committed suicide when I was 15. Well actually, we are pretty sure it was suicide, but he also could have been killed. But all signs point to suicide.
He was not a "normal" dad. He was Italian and took that very seriously. He had a "gang" (my cousin and a couple of my dad's friends) that would rob banks. According to my cousin, they robbed "so many banks he couldn't count them all." We moved from Detroit to Phoenix when I was 10, and he used to travel back to the Cleveland/Detroit area on the weekends and rob banks. I have all kinds of stories about growing up in that environment that I'm probably going to put in a book some day.
Well one day in March of 1982, we get a knock on the door at 6 AM. The police are there and say my dad was found dead in a taxi cab in downtown Phoenix. I was a sophomore in high school. It was headlines in the newspapers for three days because a couple of his gang members were arrested a few days earlier. The cab driver was also killed, but there was one survivor - the other gang guy. He said my dad took out a gun, shot the cab driver, tried to shoot him, and then turned the gun on himself. The police report and the angle of the bullets all collaborate the story, but in the back of our minds we always felt like this other guy might have had something to do with it. However, I have recently reread all the police reports and I am pretty convinced that it was suicide. The weird thing is that he had just gotten back from Vegas and was found with several fake ID's on him.
The other part of the story is that he had a real-estate business that was going under. He was probably very strapped for cash and had five kids. He was a very strict dad and really did love us a lot. He didn't show love in the form of hugs and saying he loved us, but he really did. He taught us about life in a way that I don't think any other dad could have. He was uneducated (never even attended high school), yet opened two businesses and was elected as the president of the Arizona Board of Realtors. I have tried to follow in his footsteps regarding business (except for the failing part...), and I really think it is because of him that I have had the success I have.
When he died, it was very strange. We never got counseling as a family. And I never cried about his death. We weren't close in that way. And in a way, it was kind of a relief because he was into so much bad stuff that I knew he was going to bring me into it when I was older. So in one way it was a good thing he died when he did. But on the other hand, there is nothing I would like more than to have a dad in my life. I have always wanted to have an older guy who has been around the block in my life to have a drink with and talk about things. And I have always wanted my kids to have a grandpa, and they don't (my wife's dad died young).
So I am a bit torn about his death. I am thankful it happened, but mad that he chose that lifestyle and eventually ended up dying because of it. I have missed out on a lot becasue of it, and I have promised myself that I am going to do everything I can do to make sure I am around for my kids as they age because it's someting I really missed out on.
Well, that's the short version of my story. I'm not sure if it helps anyone, but it's actually the first time I've ever written anything about it. I'm going to go have a beer now.
Thanks for posting. These stories are great, and the amount of posts here help people know that they are not alone. It's also cathartic to let it out.
My mom died when I was nine. My dad was a nutjob who she kept in check. After she was gone it got bad. Dad used to lock my bother and I in a room for weeks on end, letting us out to use the bathroom and eat, and go to school. He did other weird punishments too, along with hitting us, but never in the face so people wouldn't notice. The emotional abuse was way worse than getting hit, though. Not even close. We never told anyone, because - we
knew we better not tell anyone. Long story short - at 14 I grabbed a flashlight, a t-shirt and a pair of jeans one night and headed out the window. Never came back. The plan was find a place where I could live and then get my brother out. When I finally found a spot, he was scared to leave. I know dad was putting the fear in him. I was 14 and didn't know what to do. Social services got involved at one point and even they couldn't get the truth out of my brother. Hell, even I hid some things because I was so scared of that man. I kept in touch with my brother as much as I could, even sneaking to the house when I got my driver's license when I knew dad wasn't there.
Fast forward years later, and my brother's ok - has a wife and a kid, owns his own house. He's an alcoholic, but were are working on that. I moved out to Denver to work. I was single at the time. I'd never felt suicidal. I'd never laid a hand on anyone in my life, unless it was a fight at a bar or something like that. I started having these ####ed up dreams, though. I'd have dreams of me taking a shotgun and mowing down faceless "beings". They never looked like people, really, except every once in a while a face of someone from the past would pop in as one of the people being shot (like this one guy that bullied my brother in school when I wasn't around). It was never graphic in the dreams - it was just more the feel of killing things that I hated - feelings that I hated. It was so strange. I'd wake up in a sweat thinking "What in the hell was that all about?!?"
It never affected me during the day, that I could tell. The dreams weren't every night - just a few nights a week, maybe? Then, it changed a little over time. Instead of me mowing down people, I'd have these intense dreams that would wake me up where I'd feel like all was lost and I should blow my brains out. It always happened when I was still in that half awake-half asleep state (those few minutes after you first wake up). It really worried me. I would wonder - am I depressed? I'd get out of bed and within 10 minutes the sense of dread would be gone. I never felt it during the day - just in that half dream state when you are just waking up or have just started to fall asleep.
It doesn't happen much anymore. I've never told anyone before this, but anonymity is a security blanket of sorts, I guess. I don't know why I wanted to type this now, other than all the other stories I've read in this thread made me comfortable in typing it.
Thank you guys for posting. It helped me. As I was typing this, it hit me that my brother is all I have left, and my weird dreams didn't start until I'd moved away from him and we stopped talking to each other on a daily basis. It felt so damn good to type this stuff out, and there's loads more I'd love to get off my chest. I'm thinking maybe I should find a professional just to dump all this on, and bounce ideas off of. I've come to terms with not having parents, but obviously there's still anger/sadness about something. Maybe my brother? I don't know.
Does insurance cover a shrink? I'm going to look into mine.
Anyway, thanks for posting, everyone. It was good to read about people that have been through far more than I have. It puts my issues into perspective. I need to tackle this and get it taken care of. It could be holding me back and I haven't even realized it.
Feel free to PM me if anyone needs help. I'm definitely not as experienced or knowledgeable as many already here, but sometimes you hear something and it just "clicks" with you and you want to reach out. If so, I'll do what I can. I'm going to try the shrink route and see what that does. If you are thinking about the same thing, let me know and I'll keep you up to date on what it did/is doing for me.
Keeping this stuff inside is not good. Let it out.
. I know I perk up even if I'm down when the NBA starts even though life right now is the ####s for me. Do you exercise? Even though I'm in chemo, I'm asked if I do 30 min every day. Uh. Right. I didn't do that before chemo, so now?? Yes, now. Get my bum out on a walk even for 10 minutes and I'll feel better upstairs too. And I do. Also eating better because I have to. All of this comes full circle to helping you feel better which helps your state of mind, to think and be clearer. But it does take a little time and effort. Don't give up. It does get better, it always does eventually. The light is there at the end of the tunnel, just need to put the steps into play to get there. And, you do have folks here who care and support you.
In seriousness, there are plenty of people in this forum who you can talk to. Just send a PM.
