CHAPTER TWO

From: Where is Our Hope for Peace? A resource for Latter-day Saints Coping with Suicide, By Jaynann M. Payne and Dr. Rick. (2001)

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WHY SUICIDE?

        Why would anyone willingly hasten or cause his or her own death? Perhaps the worst torture for a survivor is thinking, "Why did he do it? What was she feeling? What could he have been thinking? What could we have done to prevent it?" These questions reflect a desire to understand the feelings and motivations of the person who has died, a sometimes desperate, but normal need to make sense of a senseless act. It is normal to struggle with trying to understand until you no longer need to know why or until you are satisfied with partial answers.
        Suicide does not happen because of a single event or series of events--not rage at a parent, not a divorce, not any single event. Many persons have had tragic and challenging experiences and they have not taken their own lives. Suicides typically have multiple causes. Other forces drive those who commit suicide after a particular event. In the end, it is something internal that causes the suicide, and not something done by the survivors. The suicide victim may say some harsh things prior to death or blame others in a suicide note. Survivors, no doubt, have done or said things that they regret. That happens in all relationships. But our words and acts do not make a suicide victim. We cannot "make" another person commit suicide. For us, there is a solution we can live with to every problem if we try hard enough, but to one who commits suicide, the only solution seems to be death.
        Most suicide attempts are reactions to intense feelings of loneliness, worthlessness, helplessness, and depression. Mental health professionals generally agree that people who took their own lives felt trapped by what they felt was a hopeless situation. They felt isolated and cut off from life and friendships. Even if no physical illness was present, suicide victims felt intense pain, anguish, and hopelessness. They probably weren't choosing death as much as choosing to end their unbearable pain.
        No one completely understands the complex puzzle of suicide. There are many factors that can lead to the fatal act. The two personal accounts that follow illustrate some of the major factors accompanying suicide, particularly depression and substance abuse, elements common even to Latter-day Saints who die of suicide.
        Depression is the most pervasive contributing factor to a person taking his or her own life. Deep depression entails a sense of engulfing despair, including the belief that no one could ever understand the suicidal person's suffering. This belief leads to isolation, hopelessness, and a sense of futility about communicating with anyone. Those who commit suicide are desperately unhappy. They may not reveal the problems about which they feel so unhappy--alcoholism, rejection in an important relationship, a business failure, or a spiritual conflict. They may have a mental or physical disorder. They feel incapable of connecting to anyone and they have no hope for the future. The black cloud of depression distorts the rational mind so that only the painful present seems real and death seems to them to be the only escape. To those who love the victim, death is a permanent solution to what should be a temporary problem, but to the suicidal person, it seems to be the only solution. Kathy's story illustrates the overwhelming feelings that can occur because of depression.
        Some suicidal persons hope someone will stop them and will give clear messages of their intent. Others hope to be saved and helped, but do not know how to ask in a way that will be heard, understood and acted upon. Still others are complete in their resolve and will fool everyone. Guerry, whose story follows that of Kathy, is an example of someone who successfully hid his intent. His story also illustrates the role that drugs and alcohol can play.

One Flame Burning Out…And Another One Lit

By Kathy

        When I was asked to write this story, I found myself procrastinating for a long time. It was painful. Even years later it was hard for me to accept and understand that part of my life. Eventually, I felt the need to finish my story in the hope that I could help others understand, in a small way, what it is like to be willing to take one's own life.
        I came from an abusive background. I remember little but fear and trying to stay safe, both physically and emotionally. My grandmother was my only source of security. She had unconditional love for me and was the only spiritual person I knew, but I was only allowed to have her for a short time. My father would not allow anything positive in my life. He cut off our relationship. My grandmother was very well read in the scriptures, a member of Utah Daughters of the Pioneers, a teacher and an actress in many Church plays. She gave me the only foundation in my faith that I had.
        My parents expected me to go to church, but they never considered going with me. I hardly ever missed church because it was a refuge. I always thought how nice it would be if I were part of a family that went to church - like the others in my ward. As it was, I strove to do what was right because I didn't want to disappoint my grandmother. If I needed to give a talk she would help me by mail. She would send me letters and Church magazines, but I didn't always get them. Those early years of my life were frightening. I was painfully shy. I knew that when I was 18 years old I could see my grandmother when I wanted to, but I guess the Lord had other plans. In my junior year, my grandmother was hit by a car and killed. The only person I knew who wanted the best for me was gone and a part of me died with her.
        I got married and within a year and a half I had my first child. I tried to stay close to the Church and finally talked my husband into going to the temple. I thought I would be more accepted by his family and others if we went to the temple. I didn't understand then the right reason to do those things.
        My husband and I lived in the same ward I was in while growing up. It seemed difficult for other ward members to accept me as an adult. I felt anger, depression, hurt, and rebellion. I was just trying to fit in. My husband wasn't much support for me. All he cared about was getting more of the pills that took the pain away for him. He continued to smoke but hid it from the ward. Later I learned that he had tried to "hit on" my best friend.
        My parents interfered with my life and my marriage, but because of the abuse I experienced as a child, I played the victim role with my parents even as an adult. Then one day I decided I had had enough. The marriage had been nothing but chaos. I was being supported financially more by my parents than my husband. I felt abandoned by the ward members. In fact, I believed my husband received more support than I did at the time. I divorced my husband. I didn't know what I was going to do, but I felt at the time that anything was better than what I had. By this time, I was so angry and confused about everything that I stopped attending church.
        Soon I met my second husband. He wasn't active at first, but he was a good man. He told me once, he thought God had arranged for us to meet. We were married for quite some time before we moved to Utah County and I started to go back to church. I continued to feel a spiritual void. I didn't believe God loved me. I was afraid and I felt so awkward because I had never learned to trust, but I wanted desperately to be a good example to my children.
        During this time, I was teaching Church classes and serving in presidencies. I'm sure I looked very good on the outside, but it didn't last. We moved and my husband and I became inactive in the church again. At one point, we had to live with my husband's family. They treated us badly and the children were very unhappy. It was there that my life started to break down around me. I felt like I had lost control. One of my children was caught shoplifting. My husband and I fought all the time. As the days turned into months I could tell I was dropping into a deep depression, a black, black hole. This darkness is so hard to describe. My thoughts went something like this, "Who wants me? No one. Not my children. Not even my Father in Heaven." I believed my children would be better without me because I couldn't "fix anything." I was convinced I was no good to anyone, least of all myself. I felt that there was no one who would understand what I was "screaming" about inside.
        As I look back on those dark days, they are as clear to me as if they were yesterday. One particular day stands out in my memories. I can still see the cold unhappy room. It had drab furnishings and one large window. The walls were painted light brown. I was upstairs sitting on the edge of the bed with a gun in my hands. I believed that dying was the only way I could solve my problems. I had the distinct feeling of separating from my body like there were two people. One person was holding the gun, the other person was sitting beside me. I felt black depression. The pain was so strong. The emptiness, the aching, the numb feelings were so powerful that I wanted to die. Remembering how much pain I had then, hurts terribly.
        I know that people want to say things to those who are considering suicide like, "Get over it", "Nothing can be that bad", "Just tell yourself something positive", "Pray and go to church", or "Don't be stupid." I'm a licensed counselor now and if I'm not careful, I begin to think it is that easy and say some of the same things. But for me at that time, the idea of wanting to escape and kill myself seemed far more powerful than anything anyone could say. Suicide seemed like the solution, not the problem. I don't know how long I sat there on the bed. At one point the gun was loaded and I had it pointed at my head. All I had to do was move one finger and it would have been over. I don't know how much time passed, but I put the gun back in the drawer. Then I called my doctor and tried to explain what had taken place. Within the hour, the doctor had a social work therapist call me and I started the healing process.
        Professional counseling, medication, and learning of God's love for me helped me begin to come out of the black hole. About one year later my husband became very ill and died. The children missed him very much. I went to a community college and eventually completed my bachelor's and master's degrees. I still had a spiritual void. I didn't feel like killing myself anymore, but something was still missing. I decided to go back to church for myself this time. The flame was rekindled as I began to realize more and more that God did have a plan for me and that He did love me. Romans 8: 35, 38-39 says:

Now I know regardless of where I am or the condition I'm in, God loves me. I thank my Heavenly Father that my life has never been as devastating as it was that day sitting on the bed with a gun. I continue to work on my personal issues. I gain strength from going to the temple and my testimony has grown so much. I bear my testimony that if we continue to keep an open mind, keep communication open with our Heavenly Father, He will be willing to guide us to the right answers. If we listen. If we knock. Doctrine and Covenants 66:9 says: "Be patient in affliction. Ask, and you shall receive; knock, and it shall be opened unto you." Today I am a therapist. I love my job. There are so many times I ask my Heavenly Father for guidance in my job because I know the people I work with daily are His children. Many times the spirit has guided my thoughts or my words. Periodically, I see someone like I used to be, depressed, in darkness and wanting to die. I understand. I've often wondered why others pull the trigger and I didn't. I don't know. I know God loves me. My life is precious. In the next life, perhaps I can understand all of the "whys and the hows" of what happened to me that horrible time. For now, I live my life so that I will be prepared for death when it comes on life's terms - and not mine.

POEM

Who never mourned hath never known
What treasures grief reveals,
The sympathies that humanize,
The tenderness that heals.
The power to look beyond the veil,
And learn the heavenly lore,
Will teach the key to life's mysteries,
So dark to us before.

-Author Unknown

By Guerry

        The story of my nearly successful suicide in October 1992 is hard to relate, but if it can help others understand this insane behavior, it's worth the effort. Some folks, when they hear my life story, might think I've had a difficult life. Maybe I have, I've learned a lot about God, living, and myself, from my challenges. It's taken me quite a few years to learn how to "want" to live. Let me begin my story by sharing a thought from Elder Richard G. Scott, who said although the Lord is able to cure illnesses or disabilities or even raise the dead, He generally allows us to experience adversity that we may grow and improve our character. We should ask ourselves questions such as: What does the Lord want me to learn from this hard and painful experience? Is there something I need to do or change? Is there someone I need to serve? Through earnest prayer and pondering, we may come to understand more about the Lord's timetable and His purposes for our lives. (The Ensign, "Obtaining Help From the Lord." November 1991, p. 84-85 © 1991 by Intellectual Reserve Inc.)
        Let me tell you about the challenges I have been asked to overcome. I was born and raised in what I thought was a good Christian home. However, my mother and father both used alcohol pretty heavily. I was taught quite clearly the sanctity of life. My Father was a veteran of both World Wars, and had to take the lives of enemy soldiers. When he spoke of this he taught me the seriousness of taking a life, the pain and soberness in his eyes made a lasting impression. As a young man, the thought of taking the life of another, much less my own life, was not even a consideration.
        As a Latter-day Saint, I promised God not to partake of alcohol and drugs and I had also promised my father not to do so. My father unexpectedly passed away when I was young. Less than six months after he died, I was drinking along with my friends. It was a very significant failure in my life. I knew better. Nevertheless, at the time I thought it was a traditional right of passage toward real manhood to drink and party. Growing up in an alcoholic home and having many heavy drinkers for progenitors, I believe I was predisposed genetically to addiction. I adopted the thinking and behavior that children of alcoholics typically come away with - people-pleasing, perfectionism, black and white thinking, and over-achieving. Consequently, I drank and used drugs heavily between the ages of 14 and about 19. I never knew what it was like to do things in moderation. If one was good, then three or four was even better.
        I was about 18 when I was converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. The missionaries brought a message of hope that rang true. Nevertheless, it took me several months after my baptism to quit alcohol and drug use. I subsequently fought in the Vietnam War in the Marine Corps, but I never drank or used drugs despite encouragement and many opportunities to do so.
        After my discharge, I went to BYU, married my wife, got my bachelor's degree in Social Work, and then worked as a pharmaceutical sales representative. My wife and I were active Church members, sincerely trying our best to do what was right and to build the Kingdom. As a 29-year-old bishop, I worked with people in my ward who had serious problems. I tried to help them overcome their problems by relying on the Savior and feeling good about themselves. Their self-esteem seemed to improve and they could feel God's love. But I learned later in my life that I couldn't help myself in the same way.
        I had five children under age six by the time I was released as bishop. My expectations for my family and myself were idealistic and rigid. As pressures and expectations increased, so did my tension and anxiety. Migraines became a problem and I worried excessively about my problems and the future. I eventually noticed the headache medication helped me with the emotional pain as well as the physical pain. By the time I was in my late 30's I began to have thoughts of taking my own life. I was experiencing a great deal of shame and emotional pain, much of which resulted from substance abuse and the behaviors arising out of it.
        This continued to escalate over the next ten years until I began drinking again. I became a full-blown addict/alcoholic, completely out of control. Finances, job, relationships, and spirituality suffered as a result. In my mind I was a worthless and despicable person, bringing more and more misery to my loved ones. The people that I claimed to care about were suffering because of my addiction.
        By age thirty-nine or forty, I began thinking of specific ways to take my life. Initially, these were just passing thoughts, but as time went on those thoughts began to linger and to be worked out in some detail. I viewed my dying to be a good thing for my family almost from the beginning, because I saw myself as so defective. In my depressed and confused state of mind I felt that a large life insurance benefit would more than offset my loss. It would be like a sacrifice, so my family could live better financially. Rarely did I consider what the widow and the fatherless would go through, even though I had been fatherless in my youth. I think I was just past feeling. Alcohol and pills became less and less effective in taking away my pain. The depression was so bad that I became more and more dysfunctional. Every aspect of my life was going down the tubes. I became so completely absorbed in my physical and emotional pain, my only thoughts were of escaping and finding relief.
        Finally, a series of events -- more failures and disappointments --drove me to the edge. I set up an accident scene and rehearsed what I would do- accidental death benefits are double that of natural death. The week before I was to follow through with the plan, my son was getting an award at church. For the first and only time I can recall, I considered the effect my death would have on my family. I knew I needed to be there at church when my son received his award so I temporarily postponed taking my life.
        Around this time, others seemed to sense my despair. My physician who had been treating me for depression became concerned enough to talk to me specifically about suicide. He had his nurse (whose father had committed suicide) talk to me. He tried with medication, kind words and counsel to make sure I wouldn't go that route. My physician went to great lengths to help me. He tried an intervention along with another physician-friend, my general surgeon who had recently removed part of my stomach due to ulcers. These loving approaches (both subtle and straightforward) that might otherwise have been very effective were too late. I was far more despondent than anyone knew. It seemed to be almost a peaceful feeling to know my life would soon be over. As a skilled manipulator, I smiled and put on a facade that would have convinced anyone that I was OK and would never do such a thing as suicide. Those few who were suspecting I was headed that direction were appeased by my denials.
        Problems at home worsened. Finally, my wife became so miserable she asked me to move out for a temporary separation. This was the final straw, the ultimate failure that brought my plans to fruition. There was no doubt in my mind what I was going to do. I don't believe anyone on earth could have stopped me. I'd failed everyone important to me-my family, my friends, my God. All I knew about the gospel, the plan of salvation, all the counsel I gave my ward members and even my own family was of no assistance to me. I went out of town on a business trip, loaded up on pills, and "accidentally" drove off a thousand-foot overlook in Logan Canyon on the late afternoon of October 16, 1992.
        I should have died immediately. I was thrown from the car as it tumbled down the mountain. But, it was deer season, and a hunter found my battered body on the side of the mountain only hours after the accident. I was flown to LDS Hospital where I remained in a coma for a few days. While in a coma the miracle continued. I came to know that God loved me. For some reason, I never knew it before, but I knew it now. I was of value to Him and sensed that I had far greater worth than my mortal mind could have ever conceived. I learned that my worth was irrespective of any mortal errors I was or could have been guilty of- much less the relatively minor errors I had so magnified in my own mind. Gradually I came out of the coma and went through head injury rehabilitation therapy. I began a substance abuse treatment program. In treatment, I learned more about my Father in Heaven and the love He has for me. As I sat in that drug rehab center, I realized there was no hope for me if I didn't let God into my life. I learned how to let go and let God and to live one day at a time.
        My spiritual rebirth continued when I began to incorporate these truths into my life. There was no way I could face all the problems that were now before me. I knew I would end up trying to kill myself again. And if there was a next time, I knew I wouldn't fail. But, I thought there was hope if I could just let go and let God and live one day at a time.
        It has been almost ten years now. I continue to allow God's and others' love into my life. There are still difficult days and I must take antidepressant medications. When people ask me what I learned by driving off that cliff, I personalize the scripture found in the Matthew 6:25-34 to read like this:

        I know now that my suicide attempt was a plea for help. I was not only suffering from depression but had an enormous amount of life stress. I couldn't go on any further. As a drug-free recovering addict, I am no longer in danger of harming myself and I enjoy life. Because of the head injury from driving off the cliff, I periodically have problems with memory and concentrating, especially when I'm under stress. After all these years because of where I've been, I know more about serenity and " . . . the peace of God which passeth all understanding." (Philippians 4:7) I can give my yoke to Him and if I work my program, my burdens are light. But I have to work at it every day. I can't be casual about my scripture reading, going to the temple, attending support group meetings, or saying my prayers. If I do, and I get discouraged, the thoughts of killing myself come back. It only lasts for a moment, but having been where I've been, it seems that it is always an option, an option I choose not to use.

My message to survivors
        If I were to speak to survivors of suicide, I would like you to understand when we attempt suicide we are in an enormous amount of pain and anguish. Many of us are suffering from serious emotional and substance abuse problems at the time. Please, don't be angry with us. Although it ended the way it did, we tried our best. Though we may have failed in your eyes, we really did try to make it work. Because of the depths of despair we were in, we were not thinking of how bad it would hurt you to have us gone. I honestly thought that it would be better for my loved ones without me. That is why I did it! Even if we said it was your fault, it really wasn't. When we say things like that it is just part of our sick thinking. Your loved one who died of suicide would like to tell you something like this:
        "Please don't be eaten up with emotional pain worrying about what you might have done to save my life or what you might have done that caused me to take my life. Go on. Let go of me. Let God take care of me. There is one righteous judge who will know my heart and my mind. He loves me. He'll make all the decisions about my accountability, not you or the neighbors or ward members. Let go and let God. Think of the reunion that will surely come because of the gospel plan. I'll be there waiting for you. Don't focus on the last few minutes of my death. Remember me for the years we had together: my smiles, my favorite food, my favorite hobby, and all the fun times we had. Things will work out. I'll be okay. You can make it. Just try. One day at a time. And if that is too hard try one hour at a time."