"He gave himself entirely": My dad committed suicide
The death of a loved one is perhaps one of the most big tragedies that one may encounter. We talked with Olga (the name was changed at the request of the heroine), whose father tried to commit suicide several times over the course of ten years - about what it is like to live in a state of constant fear for loved ones and why everyone needs support in such situations.
alexander savina
Better than good
I am the only and beloved child in the family. Despite the fact that I was engaged in everything - my mother, grandmothers, grandfathers, - I shared my secrets only with my dad. Dad even said that he never wanted other children, because he was afraid never to love them like me.
Dad had a big business. Let's just say things have been going better than just fine. I was constantly resting somewhere, thanks to my dad I saw a huge number of countries. I never needed anything, I was never forbidden anything: they either calmly explained why they couldn’t, or they allowed me to try. At the same time, I was always terribly independent, I started working at twenty and very quickly grew.
In general, Dad was an ordinary Moscow Region boy. Himself "shot" and began to develop, he made himself and his business. He was a closed man, but he had a big heart. If someone needed something, he helped to solve all the questions. If you could not give money, shared, for example, products from our garden. In general, I did everything I could. When I was five, dad adopted a girl I call a big sister. She was an orphan, and my parents took responsibility for her, although my mother was then twenty-six, and she was sixteen. I can not imagine how they decided on it. Once we had to go to rest, and dad just adopted her so that she could go abroad. He gave himself wholly. It seems to me, sometimes even too much.
No man - no problem
The first time my dad tried to settle his life ten years ago, when I was eighteen. Five years later, he confessed to a psychiatrist that he had set up a car accident. We did not know about it, although I suspected that something was wrong. He started having problems with the business, there were debts with which he could not cope, and then my father decided: no man - no problem. After his death, we would receive insurance money that would cover the debts and allow us and my mother to live on. He was treated for a long time, practically collected a skull in pieces. All those to whom he owed money reacted with understanding and gave a reprieve. It really helped - Dad got to his feet and after a while we returned to the usual mode.
A few years later, four years ago, when I was at work, my mother called me and said that my dad was in the hospital. It turned out he was trying to commit suicide. For me it was a shock, and shocking so far - I did not know a person more. Only in my memory he had three big falls in business (mom says there were more of them and they were worse) - and every time he rose. For me, there was no person wiser and wiser - he had all the answers.
That time he made five attempts in a row. For two days he tried to commit suicide in various ways, but none of them worked. I do not know why, but then he told me about every detail - true, so calmly, as if he was retelling a movie. After the last attempt, Dad got behind the wheel and went to a surgeon friend to stitch up a damaged arm - and confessed everything to him. The doctor treated the wounds and took him to the most ordinary psychiatric hospital.
For me, there was no man wiser and wiser - he had all the answers
In Russia, psychiatric treatment is possible only with the consent of the patient, but if you are trying to harm yourself or others, you can be forced into the clinic forcibly. I didn’t meet the conditions and the relationship worse than in that hospital: patients who tried to commit suicide were not engaged there - they just stuffed them with soothing. About the opportunity to discuss the problem of speech did not go. Not even enough syringes and essentials, so I had to take them 150 kilometers away. As a result, we connected our acquaintances and transferred our dad to another hospital.
I myself began to take a sedative: I started to panic attacks and with each following news about the debt it became all the worse. As the financial situation only worsened, I sold the car; in the past we have already sold real estate. The parents came together with me and my husband, so that the four of us shared a two-room apartment - for many this is a common situation, but living together was not always easy for us.
Of course, it was noticeable from my dad that he was depressed - for example, he became indifferent to food. But since we have already been through business losses more than once, we took what was happening as temporary difficulties: Dad always said that if it’s bad now, then everything will be fine afterwards. Besides, dad and I are very closed people, despite the fact that we have a lot of friends. Of course, we talked a lot, but it was not customary for us to pester with questions if a person says that “everything is fine”. Dad recovered for a long time, and the pills were catastrophically suppressed. He refused treatment, believing that he did not need it, and went headlong to work - I think she saved him every time.
Our problem
A year and a half ago, my father disappeared. My mother and I did not understand what to do, we thought that he could be beaten for debt. I was afraid that he had a diabetic attack on the way, I wanted to look for him on the highway; Mom went to the police. It turned out that he was again trying to commit suicide, but again he failed - he woke up and realized that he could not die. We met at a country house by six in the morning, went to bed, and when we woke up, he was already working. For me, it was even a big shock: he tried to commit suicide and immediately started working on it again.
Mom read a lot, talked with doctors, tried to motivate and support dad, depending on what was needed. I'm afraid to imagine what she had to go through. Fear for dad lived with us all these years: I saw how my superhero, the man who solved any questions, begins to give up. After that incident, I partially closed my father's large debts of several million and began to look for any ways to make money. I practically exhausted myself because of the constant pressure: I had to do both my work and his work. I didn’t talk about this to my mom or my husband - it was my business with my dad. But I could not do otherwise.
After many clinics and doctors, we realized that Dad had bipolar disorder. He didn’t have even moods, only depressions and mania - that “I will cope with everything”, then suppressed “everything is bad”. In October, he called me and said that he had a condition like that August day when he tried to die. I rushed to him outside the Moscow Ring Road from the center, in the middle of traffic jams, for eighteen minutes - so much I was afraid for him. He said: "I was really scared, it was a hard day. Thoughts are there, but don't worry, everything is fine." He could not even imagine what I had experienced - this unimaginable fear of losing him.
We were fixated on the fact that this is our problem and we will deal with it ourselves.
In February, I helped my dad to go to an expensive private clinic - it cost not so much tremendous finances as incredible moral strength. There are working people who have survived addictions and attempts at suicide and are now sharing their experience with others. Dad called me from there, and I was very surprised: his voice sounded just like three or four years ago - before everything happened. He was vigorous, strong, was ready to act. I believed that everything would work out.
I myself continued to suffer from strong panic attacks. Once I just could not get out of the car - I realized that I could not do this anymore. A friend took me and forcibly led me to a psychiatrist. She fed me pills for hours, monitored my condition and was there all this time. After an incorrect change of treatment, the problems started on a new one: I was afraid to talk on the phone, I did not leave the house for two weeks, I was scared of people, I did not understand how to pay debts. As a result, I myself went to the hospital.
It is difficult to imagine what the pope was like, but when comprehending the story, I cannot imagine how I myself took it. At some point I changed places with my mom and dad: it was me who became their “parent”, and they became my “children”. When we went to a psychiatrist, my dad and I were told that we had a co-dependent relationship. Due to the fact that he believed my strength, dad began to shift most of his responsibility to me. It turned out that he depended on me, because he constantly asked for help, and I was dependent on him, because I could not say no. We were obsessed with the fact that this is our problem and we will deal with it ourselves.
To achieve his
I was released from the hospital on March 8. We went to the theater with family friends - this was the last time I saw dad alive. He was depressed, the whole performance held my hand. A week later, when I was discharged from the hospital, he asked to put money on satellite television. On the eve of the incident, he gave orders to the workers and the mother and wrote out the phones of everyone who would be needed later. Just looking back, we realized that he was planning to leave.
On Sunday, I was visiting grandmothers. He called me very drunk - we talked, I offered to meet and discuss what can be done to alleviate his condition. I hoped that he would go to the doctors, and they would put him on his feet. But psychology is not the same thing as treating a sore throat. I bought my dad's life by all means: I paid off debts, solved problems, helped me to go to the best clinics, was near - and still I blame myself that this was not enough.
On Monday, I went to work - because of the holidays and the hospital, I was not a month and a half and there was a complete blockage. During a big meeting, my mother called me: she said she did not know where Dad was. I began to suspect that something was wrong: he had to go to the city by train - I was afraid that he had jumped under it in order to achieve his goal after eight attempts. The housekeeper and her husband found him dead on the street outside the house. When my mother called me, I calmly asked: "He died, right?" Mom replied: "Yes."
I did not go to look at my dad - I didn’t want to memorize him like that. Three days before the funeral, I practically didn’t cry, I took everything as a given: a man behind him had ten years of attempts, ten years he went to this - and, apparently, this was going to happen. I was infuriated to constantly lie, answering questions about what had happened. We said that Dad had a heart attack, that he had diabetes that affected the body. But I didn’t want to tell the truth to everyone either - I didn’t want to be discussed. Of course, the next of kin and friends know - but it was very hard to talk about it.
I bought my dad's life by all means: I paid off debts, solved problems, helped me to go to the best clinics
When this happens to a member of your family, you become afraid of losing someone else. I worry about my mother, I worry about my husband - you understand that these people will not do the same thing, but you never know what might happen to them. I went into business, took even more projects - not for money, but not to think. I have enough and three hours alone to catch heavy thoughts. I went to a psychologist a few months after my father's death, when I realized that I was not coping with my feelings - but in reality the topic of my dad only began to break through in my studies. I discuss problems at work, relationships with my husband, but I rarely talk about dad - again I keep everything to myself.
There are people who are trying to commit suicide and they succeed in it the first time - and you stay with this life. For many years I lived in a state of stable panic and misunderstanding. All around say that they have not seen such strong people as me - but even if you are a strong person, there must also be someone next to whom you can rely on. I was afraid to ask for support from my mother, I could not hang on her also my pain. I practically didn’t talk about it with my husband. The family consistently pretended that these were only our problems. Thanks to the friends with whom I was able to share everything that was inside, they were my fulcrum.
The question of why my father left me does not let go until now, although I am already an adult. Of course, I understand that it was incredibly difficult - the mind gives an answer, but I am childishly offended. I am not ready to make his decision as conscious, because I feel like an abandoned child. It's easier for me to blame diabetes, external factors, triggers, bipolar disorder - I'm hiding for excuses. Mom says that I should respect his choice, but with respect, I cannot relate to this. I can only think with understanding and love that he could no longer. I did not survive this situation, did not let go of it, and I will not let it go soon. I did not understand for myself how consciously he acted when he made this decision.
Another of my problems is that he did not leave me a farewell note. In one of the past attempts, he put a book in my car in which there was a letter with tasks - what and how to do, under what contracts and how to behave, how much he owes to whom. The last time we came into the house, there were his slippers, the phone, all his belongings - and I waited for a note, but no. I, as a person who loves plans and instructions, was very hard - he did not tell me what to do. Yes, I am twenty-eight years old, since the age of seventeen I have lived separately from my parents, I have been married for five years, I can do a lot of things, I can and I do. Nevertheless, I often asked him for advice. I search every corner, because I think that he still left a note somewhere - although I understand that when a person commits suicide, he leaves it in a prominent place. But I still keep looking.
Images: max_776 - stock.adobe.com (1, 2)