It is probably unsurprising for anyone who has followed this blog in the past year, that this weekend I again tried to kill myself. Having been bullied at the work to the extent that my eyesight was damaged, having lost my house, ending up living with my parents at the age of 45 and in a job that is so low paid I am battling even to find a room to rent that I can afford anywhere near the job, you can imagine why I feel down. Living with my parents is hard. I am grateful that I am not homeless, but the things that randomly make them angry is a great difficulty. When I was being savaged for having parked in the dark a few centimetres over from where I was apparently supposed to be and told that keeping the neighbours happy was more important than me getting to work and that anyway I was nothing more than a 'child' and incapable of finding my way through London suburbs, it seemed like I had reached the end. I have been considering suicide since my teenage years and have failed twice before.
As a teenager, there was solace in identifying the right tree to use and where I would source the rope. Unfortunately following the 1987 hurricane, those woods are now blocked and marshy. I was able to find a substitute tree, with two nails already in it to which to lash the rope, which I carry around in my car. I managed to create a reasonable noose and get it over a branch. I imagine that anyone watching would have found it comic. Unfortunately the tree was on a steep river bank and I could not get the bucket I was going to kick away to stay upright. I tried to do it from the ground, but either I got the rope too long so there was no drop or too short so that I could not get my head up to it. I tried swinging away down the bank and while the rope cut into my neck, the drop was not sharp enough and I simply swung back. A passerby simply walked on rather embarrassed. Men attempting suicide is clearly such a common sight these days in the UK that it did not rouse his interest. My mother ridiculed me with 'oh, you've done that before'. This made me angry and I wanted to rush out and try again, simply to prove to her, that I can at least get something right.
It is incredible just how much criticism people feel is necessary to give you on a daily basis. My parents have become so emotionally withered that they simply see me as a failure and a burden and keep finding new ways of telling me how useless I am. They even blame me for their faults. It was they who actively encouraged me to buy a house when I was about to pull out, yet now they tell me that it was the gravest error that I made. They forget that without them I never would have taken that step. I know parents freeze you in time at age 15, and I guess many of us have to cope with that. They edit history to put themselves in the best light, they forget any of their mistakes but harp on about others years later. Five years ago my father gave my girlfriend a lift. She does not travel often in cars and was terrified by how fast he drove. She asked him to slow down and this is still brought up against her again and again. I am reminded about how much effort went in to organising the lift and that she should be grateful that she was driven around so dangerously. Her mistake in expressing her dismay is still held against her and probably will be forever more.
Suicide needs sustained courage. This is why people often get drunk or take drugs before trying to kill themselves. Having spent twenty minutes, trying to get a rope to the correct height, I was exhausted and that courage faded from me. I fell to the ground and simply sobbed for some time. The one thought that worried me was that my father would simply destroy my will which is among my belongings rather than lodged with a solicitor. This would have eliminated one consolation, that at least my things would go to my girlfriend and her son. I had always believed that suicide is easy. However, there are technical issues that I have overlooked. Last time I tried to hang myself, the hook from which I strung the rope snapped, dropping me to the floor. I tried a drugs overdose, but was persuaded out of that by the woman I was living with. It is clear I need to search for the right sort of tree. I guess this is why 'gallows' trees were so important, there are in fact very few that you can find that work perfectly, especially if you are doing it yourself. As I still have a car, it seems the best approach to try next is asphyxiation. The trouble with that is that it is slow and I worry that I will lack the courage to see it through. Whilst I despise guns, it would be far easier if there was access to them in the UK as at least then I could be certain that I would not end up in the ridiculous situation of struggling to kill myself.
As I have noted before, the problem of failing to kill yourself is that the problems still have to be dealt with when you get back. I have been advised that I am a waste of space. People want me out of their way and out of their lives. The trouble is, social constraints stop them helping that to become a reality. I am left humiliated and hopeless.