Tag: Guilt

(Trigger Warning: Suicide)

I wanted to die at 9

I was 9 when I had had enough

9

At the age of 9 years old I was desperate to get out, get out of the life I was in

9 was the age I contemplated ending it all, suicide.

At the age of 9, when my blonde hair was barely tinting itself brown.

9 is the age of fun, playing out, bmx, bikes, games, toys, lego and the rest – and it was

But it was also the age when I wanted out.

I had something else to carry, that haunted me.

Not 13, not mid teens, not early 20’s.

Before being bullied at high school…

But at 9.

Who does that? Who wants to die at 9?

I wanted to end it all, or end the part I was living in it

I wanted to sleep and never wake up – or even wake up as someone else – someone famous, someone who wasn’t in my life – anyone, but just not me.

Im not sure I would have gone through with it, but as the intercity 125’s roared past the bottom of my garden, I wondered if that might have been the place to go – but I couldnt

Or what about from the upstairs window, would I die if I jumped out and landed through the shed roof?

Im not sure I could do it – why? for the very reason that I wanted to do it. I’d be responsible.

I would be responsible. I was already responsible. I was already too responsible, aged 9.

I was just hoping I didnt exist anymore.

At 9

At fucking 9

Who else thinks this at 9?

Other people do – other people in so called ‘broken homes’ and ‘non christian ones’ – but not 9 year olds in a ‘stable family’.

I was 9, and I wanted to not exist any more.

Because of the weight of responsibility – I had and knew I had

Because of the criticisms of being messy, being silly, being not good enough

Because i felt utterly alone. At 9 there was no one to cry for help to – teachers wouldn’t have understood (mum was a dinner lady), church wouldn’t ( parents we’re involved) , and relatives were disappearing from the scene, one family row after another. So who would believe me, even if I could articulate it?

Alone, cut off and carrying shame, guilt and responsibility

Aged 9

I was 9, but hated the responsibility of the drama queen, she who must be obeyed

I was 9, and unable to ask – for fear of being demanding, spoilt or disruptive

I was 9, and expected to know things, and so patronised if I did ask?

I was 9, and bereave of guidance, nurture, or any physical close intimacy

I was 9, and blamed

I was 9 and internalised every thought and action I had done – to cause them grievance – I carried shame that stuck in the back like the metal frame of the awful rucksack they once bought me.

I was 9, and facing the daunting life ahead of me, alone, responsible, frightened, – life was not worth living. Nothing to look forward to.

I was 9 and had had enough

I was 9 and not a child anymore and told not to be

I was 9 and little professor was trying to work out how to survive, and how to respond to feelings of hurt, anger, shame, pain and fear that were continually emerging.

I was 9 and took it all on myself.

At 9.

I would be in my room, waiting for a miracle to happen, waiting for the escape. Hoping beyond hoping.

At 9 something was wrong. I was wrong.

At 9 realising that these were my parents and were going to be for the rest of my life, this was going to be my life for another how many years, not something I could conceive of wanting to.

At 9.

What would have happened if I had done it? What would the story have been – What kind of narrative would have spun? ‘He was a happy child and no one expected this’ ‘He just couldn’t deal with not being spoiled’…

In side my head at 9 so many voices. The one that was telling me that I could end it all, the other trying to survive, the other trying to work out what to do, what a solution was.

What stopped me going through with it? I wasnt brave enough, I was too responsible already.

Even when I kicked and screamed and tried even to pray – there wasnt any answer. Not even the God of Sunday school was any good. God wasnt doing anything. Yet.

This is what I felt – these were the swirls of my thoughts at the ages of 9 and onwards.

Then I felt shame for having them. The thoughts.

A number of things did start to change for at around this time. One was that I started to realise that I accepted that if was going to make it in life – I was going to have to do it alone. The other was that I was beginning to see that some of those messages of ‘Im not ok’ from that parent – were slightly less valid – my teachers were saying good things, as were people like my Cub Scout leaders, and I started to dedicate myself to sports, and from nearer 10 or 11, to taking more care over myself – academically.

I tried to keep trying to understand things or fix things – but thats another story. I took on the responsibility for my awful family – yet whilst they were destroying me.

At 10 I became a Christian – because I wanted the sin and guilt ‘for what I had done wrong’ to disappear – be carried by someone else – because I was responsible. Further safe places emerged in my teenage life, places of rescue, further from the monster. I was crying out for love and nurture but projecting that I didn’t need help and I could deal with things.

I only ever gave this part of me away twice. Both a few years later. At 14 I wrote a poem in English class in which I wrote it in the first person and then I died at the end , I think my American English teacher was a little surprised and also told me that I wasn’t allowed to write a poem in which I died at the end. And then maybe a year or two later, I was given the opportunity to share my testimony at the church, in it I revealed that as a child I felt suicidal, but wasnt successful. I was partly saying this because there’s a thing about making a testimony sound more dramatic, but also actually because it was true. I waited for feedback, or support or a space for someone to listen to me afterwards, but none came. Maybe they were just relieved that I didnt go through with it, or that I was lying.

So I started to disbelieve my own story. Started to distance myself from it, shut it away, never to be seen again. Avoid and run. Survive meant blocking it out.

But now as I listen to that inner child within, I see that 17 year old, the 12 year old, and also that 9 year old, and wonder what he needed, what he didnt have, and completely see how lost, alone, fearful, frightened, despairing and responsible he was feeling. At 9 I seriously wanted to end it all.

So, when I think about ‘How I Survived psychopathic parenting’ – I actually nearly didn’t.

Why am I writing this today? For a number of reasons, mostly because the memory of this came to me over the last few days, as I delved into the different ages of my inner child, partly as I read Stewart and Joines book on TA, I realise how many messages I heard that accumulated to ‘Do not exist’ , `Don’t stay a child’ and ‘Dont be important’ – and it took me to the time when I didnt want to carry on any more. I just knew from that moment on, or already, I was in survival mode. Digging deep. The other reason is that I have never spoken about this before to anyone, does anyone want to hear about the damage emotional, psychological and spiritual abuse does to children, to the point where they want to end it? Well, that was me. Im glad I didnt, but I still had a whole lot more to endure that I didnt know at 9, and it would take a long while to unravel the damage.

Thank you for reading, sharing, and do seek help from specialists if my story at any point has affected you. You Are Valuable, You are worthy, and the world is a better place with you in it.