The Spinning Top
I think I was about 18 the first time I thought about ending my life. I had just received my driver’s license, and I was clutching to the steering wheel of my car. In my memory I am angry and sad and possibly crying. It’s the feeling that I have at times to this day that something is clenching my chest, and I can do nothing but stare ahead with blurry eyes.
I have never been in therapy, but I think a lot about the Why.
As a child, I never felt like I was on top of the priority list, number one if you will, and looking back I’m certain that I wasn’t. My mother used to say “You know how he is” (swallow it), “Apologize” (make it so it’s calm again); he used to say “I can leave if you want me to” (stop having an opinion), “be quiet when adults are talking” (go away); I hear their voices ring in my ears to this day, one suppressed in my childhood room, the other outspoken, often at the door.
I repeated seventh grade, because I didn’t want to be where I was, I wanted to be elsewhere, just elsewhere. I skipped school as soon as I was a little older. A good third of the time I was absent. My mother didn’t know until I told her years after I had graduated from high school. Nobody had bothered to tell her, she hadn’t bothered to ask.
I am an unbalanced top.
I’m scared. I’m scared that nobody will pick me up, when I tilt and fall. Whenever I fall, I gather all my strength to pick myself up and make myself spin again. I was scared she didn’t care. I know now, today, that she cares about me, but I am still not and never was on top of her list.
Your words are nothing to me. I am an unbalanced top, and picking myself up to spin is getting harder by the day.
It was our honeymoon the second time I thought about ending my life. I was thinking about throwing myself in front of a car. I don’t know what it is about cars. Maybe it’s because they have steering wheels.
He could say all he wants, but I don’t feel like he loves me, cares about me. I think he does, but it’s not enough. I can’t feel it. Maybe because I don’t feel a thing. And I pick myself up and I spin, because I’m scared that if I don’t, nobody will, and I will be laying there, pathetically.
My father stabbed himself in the chest, when I was two, successfully ending his life. My mother’s father always threatened to hang himself, but never did. He died of alcoholism and tobacco. When the doctor slapped the second morphine patch on his back and he finally gave in to the water in his lungs, he had been clutching to life as if he were the noose.
I didn’t cry. Everybody else around me cried, the men, the women. I told myself that I wouldn’t cry, so they could, I would be their shoulder. But that’s not why I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. He had been coercing us into showing him that we care, because he was scared, scared that nobody would pick him up if he falls, and I made his worst nightmare come true. He had been threatening and abusing us into feelings and displays of affection that didn’t seem as urgent to us as they seemed to him. He was desperate and nothing and nobody could have given him what he needed.
I am the same, I think, though I am not. I have his despair, his needs, but refuse to use his means. I make myself numb and strong until I am the one who doesn’t care, because I’m scared, and whenever I fall, I realize that my means, too, are unsuccessful. I seem to be unable not to fall, I seem to be unable to just lay there and have trust, to wait, and picking myself up gets harder by the day.
I can see people who do a similar thing. They spin and spin and smile, when they actually want to cry. I have not a clue if they think about these things or if it has become second nature to them. If I asked them, I would blow the cover, I’d look when I’m not supposed to be looking, and trap them in their still moment.
And here I am an unbalanced top, trapping herself. I refuse to spin and pretend, I am good with standing still, with at least trying to find a balance, to find movement and words that are more my own than what you’d expect.
I am an unbalanced top. Are you looking at me?
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A powerful post. I hope you are able to find that balance you are searching for.
Thank you, Janet.
Be good to yourself — see if someone can help you. Don’t let this sad history predict your future. You deserve more than perhaps you’ve gotten before. You know that annoying quote: “today is the first day of the rest of your life”? Well, duh! It’s your life and that you can take steps to make it better. Being dizzy is no way to live.
And be careful crossing.
Elyse, thank you.
I’m trying to reach out to certain people carefully. I know my surroundings well, and I know well who not to talk to and how to talk to whom.
You should talk to someone professionally, and I say that as someone who has researched suicide fairly extensively (I’m a medical researcher). There may be help — therapy, meds, that can help you stop spinning. You owe it to yourself.
I’ve also been depressed and being down in that well, and, well, it sucks (http://blackboxwarnings.wordpress.com/2012/11/19/the-well/). Nobody deserves to be there.
And certainly not someone who writes as beautifully as you.
Thank you, really.
I have high phases that make a joke of my reoccurring downs, maybe that’s why I’ve never sought professional help. That my father was schizophrenic and had professional help might be another reason.
What works for one person doesn’t necessarily work for another. You are not your father.
Untreated depression is a huge risk factor. Family history is another. Please don’t become a statistic. Talk with someone who can help.
And you might want to keep this handy: http://www.suicide.org/suicide-hotlines.html
((hugs)) your father was not schozophrenic, he was a human being who suffered with schizophrenia. i too suffer as you, as did my father and also my daughter. there is hope, there is help but dam it is such a long dark lonely road. i am here if you want to talk. hugs n luv for mental health. together we can stop the stigma. when we stop the stigma, the rest will fall into place…….<3
A very honest post. I understand the analogy of a spinning top. I too have been suicidal. I had reasons, then depression set in and I had more reasons. My psychiatrist told me that suicide is a long-term solution to short-term problems but some days they problems don’t seem short-term. I’ve learned to just live one hour, one day at a time. I don’t look too far ahead. It seems to make things better. At least there’s hope that that the next day will be better. Eventually the top stops spinning.
Thank you.
I know what you mean. For me it’s a bit like holding my breath until the abyss disappears. I think I instinctively know that it’s like you said a “long-term solution to a short-term (though reoccurring) problem”. I’ve never acted upon this reoccurring feeling.
Your honesty is incredibly courageous and heartbreaking.
Thank you for being so brave and inspiring.
Be well.
Thanks for taking the time, Mr. Hook, the soon-to-be famous writer.
I sure hope your fortune telling abilities are up to snuff, my friend!
Hey, I gave you the TAE bump…nothing can go wrong from here (I would normally insert a winking smiley…but I feel compelled not to do so).
Fair enough. I appreciate the help.
You may be unbalanced, you may have a dark history, but you have something else: the strength to share, the strength to talk about it, the strength to pick yourself up again when you topple over. You are strong. And whenever you start to doubt that, look back at this post because it proves it.
Wow, thanks Ashley.
here is my facebook page. i have so far made over 5 thousand bracelets and anyone wanting some (they are free of charge) please let me know. i have mailed them all around the world hugs n luv http://www.facebook.com/#!/groups/114355606073/
Love the honesty of such a ‘scary’ topic. Keep talking, keep writing, keep spinning. Falling over is just falling over. I spent a long time in life not wanting to be on this planet anymore. It is very painful. Keep goin girl!!!!
Thank you. Maybe the key is to spin it our way? Great screen name btw
ha!! Good point!! And thanks!!
A very moving post TAE. I can so relate to a lot of the things that you are going through and I wish you what I have been desperately seeking myself: peace of mind. xo
Thank you, Wendy. Peace of mind seems to be a continuously moving goal post.
Thank you for sharing such a courageous post. Growing up, it’s not easy to put the pieces together. It seems like you have a better understanding of yourself and your family. I hope you can find peace within yourself and feel heard.
Thank you for reading and for commenting, TBF. Indeed, it is a bit of “pieces to peace” if you will.
Wow, thank you for sharing this. Wishing you peace and strength.
Thank you, sortaginger.
There are a lot of spinning tops dancing around you. Sometimes we crash into each other and knock one another down, and other times we see the wobble, and reach out our hands.
You’re in good hands here. You aren’t alone here. Lots of us have the wobbles, and many of us fall down.
Sometimes the only way back on our feet is knowing that.
Keep fighting.
Thank you. “The wobbles” catches it nicely.
Brilliant post, even though the last two I’ve read were solemn subjects, I really admire the way you are able to express yourself and articulate things that I’ve never been able to find words were.
I think we’re all spinning round because some big guys thought it would be a fun game to see who would fall and who would keep going.
Chin up, Sarah (:
You make me want to show the “big guys” a good dance, Sarah. Thanks for sharing your thoughts.
You’re welcome, I think you do the wobbles pretty good justice (:
Thank you for sharing your story so honestly and openly. Denial is what keeps people trapped, and you are clearly not in denial about the way things are and the way things have gone. You see things as they are and that is a great thing. And I agree with theravenloon, don’t give the rest of the population too much credit, many of us put on a good show but you’ll find we’re a bit “wobbly” in our own way.
You take care, and thanks again for sharing, I know there will be a lot who can relate to your story.
Rohan.
Thank you, Rohan, I appreciate your words.
The spinning top is such a solid image for this.
You seem to be very strong and aware of the cycles. May you find your balance and the strength to hold on during the dark times.
Extremely well written. Perhaps others will gain courage from this
Thank you for the kind words, you with the great screen name.
I care about you.
Here’s the evidence: despite having my own spinning top kind of a day, when I got out of bed and finally checked my email, I deleted everything but this and a certain post about FOCO.
Beautiful, painful post, but I’m so grateful that you are here.
Much love <3
You know it.
It’s funny, though, how the words may make it seem like I open my eyes to put them in order, when it was actually the words that opened my eyes.
I think I know what you mean.
Kylie,
The more I read you, the more I like you. You’re definitely good people.
Eric
We try
TAE,
Now that we are friends, you are stuck with life.
This is how my logic works.
Le Clown
I feel precarious just reading this! Thank you
Precarious? Now you make me feel worried.
Don’t be worried – just picking up what you are putting down
All is well
I love how this reads like a poem… you are strong, wise, and your writing makes me think you see more clear then you are even aware. Self-awareness is such a gift, one not everyone possesses, and this piece proves you have it
Jenni, thank you, that’s quite the compliment.
When we don’t solve the problems or rescue those around us when we are younger, we grow to repeat those pattens. Sometimes it is not about everyone else. Sometimes it is just about us. Your words, your strength, and your honesty make me feel like you are so much more than you allow.
Lovely writing.
Thank you for everything you said there. It’s much appreciated.
I can totally empathise with this. I’ve never actually wanted to kill myself, but I have wanted to just disappear, because life has been too much. I suspect that’s one reason why I read as much as I do, because then I can disappear into books and someone else’s life for a time.
Maybe therapy would be a good idea for you, but it’s only “maybe”, because it’ll only work if you want it to work.
Make yourself your own priority in a positive way, and maybe you’ll find that the spinning stops and you become perfectly poised.
Yes, disappearing is good, too. Sometimes I just want things to stop, you know?
Thanks for stopping by, faithhopechocolate.
Yes, I totally get that. Could have done with things stopping myself over this weekend, actually. Saturday evening and most of Sunday were pretty grim. Xx
What a courageous post. I hope you manage to find the security, strength and will within yourself to make it easier. I would also recommend talking to a therapist; it’s incredible how sharing that story with people who are professionally prepared to help you can move you along that road.
Thank you. I’m not sure that is for me, although I know I shouldn’t say that without trying it. It may have been good to talk to one, when I was younger, now I’m sort of my own best observer. And, although it seems to get harder with age, I can pick myself up; it’s a bit like all other painful experiences: when you’ve done it, you know that you can do it.
Thanks for commenting!
That’s a fair point, and I certainly never thought it would be for me (even culturally speaking, where I come from it’s seen as a strange thing); and to be honest, it’s taken weeks for me to get even partially comfortable with talking to a stranger and actually being honest; I played her for a long time.
But if you have that strength within you, then it’s even better.