Dearest Father,

I cannot confer any blame upon you for the day when your punishmenr, you administration of justice, nearly killed me dead in the water.

I was roughhousing with my brother. Naked. IN the canal behind my home, no witnesses. Seeing as how I was doing something wrong, you, justly, decided to punish me by submerging my head under water for an unknown time, until everything began to fade to black. I remember your divine paternal strength holding my flailing corpse begging for breath beneath the salt waters of the canal yourself, scantily clad in a pair of gym shorts, aquired several decades ago at Cornell,no one watching from either bank. I remember my increasing struggle to break free of your grasp. Your sentence. To my punshment: death by drowning. Never to resurface and live a free man, bound by the will of my actions to join the great below, where I belong.

Yet, out of some primordial desire to live, I did what any man should never do: I swung a right hook at your scrotum when my life seemed to fade to black, when death was knocking upon my doorstep, inching ever so closer at half the speed of C as The pit began to envelop me. Out of some subconscious desire to live--a desire I deeply regret for having been implanted in my brain the moment I came out of the womb--I laid a right hook into your scrotum. The muffled screams and obscenities spewing from your mouth allowed me to move--if ever so briefly, out of your grasp, only to be even more deeply submerged unto the pit.

Darkness grew evven more dim. Out of some primordial desire To Be, I then maneuvered my hand unto your scrotum, grasped it with every inch of being I had left, the darkness, the fog, becoming ever so more thick as, with my dying strength, I maneuvered my hand to obtain a clear grasp on your scrotum, pressing down upon it with the strength all I could afford to offer upon my Death Bed, grasping it with all my strength, dangling it, squeezing with it with all the strength with whatever I could, as one would ring a bell, pressing with every ounce of strength I could possibly muster, ringing it from side to side, entrenched in the grasp of whatever little strength I could muster in order to resist the inevitable. BY now, my vision metamorphosed from that of a child's full breadth of site to that of The Dying Man. From Atop the water, I heard the deafening screams spewing from your mouth and bent-back head as, finally, you liberated me from your grasp.

In this final opportunity for escape, I swam away, far away, faster than he could hope to catch up with me at, until i reached the opposite end of The Canal, propping myself above the surface of The Pit, catching The Breath and running. Running as fast as I could toward the nearest house I could find, begging for a telephone to call my mother to pick me up. I wonder what it must have looked life for The Masters of those foreign homes to have seen me in such a state: drenched in water, naked, still catching my breath, barely able to breathe as the trauma overwhelmed my entire stream of consciousness, rendering me a marionette with only the function give me a phone entrenched into what I could hope to have spoken to whatever unfortunate bastard opened the door for me. Thankfully, they granted me permission to call my mother, begging her to pick me up and deliver me to an inkling of safety. As I rocked back and forth in the car, still dressed in the foul stench of brine, shaking back and forth like a metronome, she forced me to clad myself in whatever bathing suits were in her van as she escorted me to a nearby sheriff's station, where I said nothing, out of love for my father. After this, I passed out upon the back seat of her van, and did not come to for half a baker's dozen's hours, forever more haunted by the memory of what happened. It was in this one sole act that my father became nothing more than a demon: an object of disgust whom I have only recently had the Chutzpah to forgive. He Still feels no shame for what he did: seeing that it was only just for him to do what he did, for I had done something wrong which I had no clue what it was, other than some childish game of breath play with my brother.

Even today whenever these memories plague my conscience, I shriek away from them, shave off all my hair, and burst into hebrew prayers, hoping, through some magical act of courage, that I may be able to slit my jugular such that I may end this endless torment of the past. Only to shriek away from doing so out of some form of inner weakness.

No. I see a shrink. I see a therapist (read: my journal), only to come to further misunderstandings and urges to join my former self in The Great below. I have no clue as to why I haven't done so already, other than that my inner weakness tells me not to.

In this fleeting moment of rememberance, I am only further drawn to the noose, such that My Father's desire may finally be satisfied. I wish you all well. I hope you all find the meaning in life which has forever alluded me since.

In Pace Requiescat,
Your Loving Son,
Godsmacker.

It is not a weakness to not kill yourself - on the contrary.
The fact that you have survived for so long shows what a strong person you are. I think the seed of that strength got planted the day you struggled for your life in the canal. Your story was beautifully written by the way. Riveting. Have you considered exploring that talent further? If you want to kill yourself, please don't do it today - you have many days left to decide if you really want to do it. In the meantime you could explore your writing talent for instance.

Hope to read more from you soon, godsmacker

I've been spending the day gently rubbing a knife upon my scrotum, contemplating the inevitable, only to shriek from it out of some primordial subconscioous sense of justice and torture to forever live in the shadow of such pain.

Is there something you can do right now to bring some change about? Perhaps taking a walk, or a bath, or having something nice to eat? I mean, why not do something cool before the "inevitable" ?

Don't worry. I am eating chicken wings whilst downing a bottle of whiskey.

I have been contemplating this ever since it happened a decade ago. I am soon to reach my verdict.

A Dieu

Don't you dare do anything so selfish as to take away my utter pleasure of reading your writings!

Seriously dude, I am sending you prayers right now.

Peace

I hope you are still with us Godsmacker!

I truly do appreciate what you bring to the Nexus, and I am so sorry you know these kinds of feelings that you describe in this thread. Everyone deserves to feel the unconditional love of those that raised them - it can be the ultimate internal conflict.

I too grew up with mentally ill parents. My father would sometimes punctuate a severe beating with rape as a punishment. My mother wasn't much better than this. All under the guise of a happy, almost ideal, churchgoing family. My older siblings can't even bare to allow themselves to remember it. Lots of suicidal feelings and attempts between them; I wasn't immune to this either.

Now, years later, as a parent I know there simply cannot be anything a child could do to deserve such treatment. Even if you were trying to murder your brother that day in the canal, it was your father's job to protect and love you both, unconditionally. There is nothing you could have done to deserve being murdered by your father. If I had been witness to such an event from my front porch, forgive me for saying, but your daddy would have caught a bullet in the brainbox.

It sucks beyond measure, but you have to hold him accountable for his behavior. You deserve to be happy! Whatever triggered your father to try to drown you was his responsibility to control. Don't hurt yourself, man! This world is far from done with you! It is your father's mental illness, not yours. You let him keep that mental illness and bury it with his generation when he passes. Live on! You can find a happy life yet!

This is the toughest thread I've ever read on here. I feel powerless to help in any way, I don't know what to say, nor do I want to lay a bunch of platitudes at GS' feet.

I want to say that if you fall prey to the lies in your head that you will not fix anything and I for one will not forgive it. You do not have a reasonable reason to commit suicide or self harm according to your post. Period.

You are not a coward, fight this.

Read and understand this, this is TRUTH :


GS, it says you are here yesterday, i hope to see that days change to today (and on and on).

There have been moments that i seriously considered killing myself. The pain of life had become unbearable for me. The thought of ending it was considerably less painfull, than the idea that it would just go on like that.

The reason why i didn't kill myself, was because there where other options left.

If there are no other options available anymore, to end the pain, then i cannot Judge you for doing what you think you have to. But as long as there's a way out of this, other than killing yourself, even if it would be a just a scaringly narrow little path along a gaping cliff, you'd be a stupid fool for not taking that path.

And i'll tell you why:

If committing suicide in your case, realy would be the best thing to do, then that option will simply, still be available if you choose that narrow little path. However, if you'd choose to end your life, while actually, that narrow little path is realy the best way out for you, you cannot go back.

Godsmacker, I hope you are well, or at least still with us and soon to be well.

Be well.

Godsmacker, I hope you’re doing ok. Feel free to PM if you want someone to listen.

Whelp, I'm Still Alive...

TL;DR I gobbled-up a mole of acetylsalicylic acid, wishing for a protracted, drawn-out execution for the crime of being... As I began to feel my guts melt, I waddled-outside beneath the full moon, staring straight through into that sole light in the dead of night, a stray shooting star licked it's face. From within the depths of my inner Eros, I felt myself mumbling I wish to live...

As the salicylate poisoning began to set-in, that savage beastly Eros began to overwhelm my will power to see this sentence through to the end, as I dialed 911, telling them what had happened in between bloody bouts of vomiting.

Before I could politely decline the ambulance ride, I found myself hooked up to an IV bicarb drip at The Hospital with 1 mg of IV lorazepam soaring through my veins, shrouding my inner disgrace before the face of my failure to waddle through death's door once more...

I was discharged from that hell-hole yesterday, and figured that I may as well finish off this tale with saying that I have since come to terms with the conditions of my parole in The World of The Living, and that for now I am content with this mortal coil I am still stuck in.

Zei Gezunt,
-Godsmacker

PS I'd recommend all who have experienced, or would like to know more about, such haunting pasts to read through Kafka's Letter To His Father; it's a fantastic piece of literature which inspired the style through which my original entry/narration was told in.

Oh boy
Glad it failed though, not because i want you to suffer but because it gives you another chance to heal. There is no guarantee that healing will come but as your experience proves, a lot can happen, even last minute!

But now that i can just get better what will you do to allow this good to manifest in your life?

The best questions in life can only be answered through experiencing the answer...

I'm glad you found the will to live. You're not alone, godsmacker.

I don't know anybody who's not a little messed up in some way. Except for those people in the coca-cola commercials who're Always laughing and smiling ofcourse. It's a miracle how people can drink gallons of coke everyday and still have such perfect teeth. But people that close to perfection must be boring as shit.

GS, I know how it feels to wake up after a suicide attempt. You have a long way to go, but you can keep moving forward, you must.. Kinda sucks to have no choice, but that's how it is. For your sake, look into therapy. Peace for your soul.

BTW, Kafka has never helped anyone OUT of a depression.