Human Hurdles: My dad wanted to die and told me so while trying to make his exit.
a biweekly invitation to dig into where you’ve been, where you are and where you’re going next.
**CONTENT WARNING: This article contains graphic content about suicide and self harm.**
Hello Rogue Humans, and welcome to Human Hurdles, where over the next two weeks you’ll be reflecting on a specific thing or two at work and beyond with the help of some prompts and reflection from yours truly.
Given it’s Mental Health Awareness Week I wanted to make this accessible to everyone this week even though it’s a part of my core paid offering.
This was an incredibly difficult piece for me to write. In it I detail a very intense moment I experienced with my dad around mental that is graphic and has intonations of violence, so please be sure you’re in an okay space to read it before you venture on.
The purpose of me sharing this story is because it’s how I first really began thinking about who I needed in my circle in moments of crisis.
I love that a Mental Health Awareness Week exists, AND I want to be able to do actionable stuff to help us put things into practice that help support us and others in our ecosystem when disaster strikes - or hopefully, when we start seeing signs that it’s about to happen.
One random late night in October of 2006 I heard my phone alert me to a text message.
I had accidentally fallen asleep in a big cozy chair in my living room surrounded by my two dogs. I was sleepy, so I ignored it.
Then there was another message.
And another one.
I sat straight up in my chair.
I knew it had something to do with my dad.
My dad hadn’t been doing well for months. He had been hospitalized after having a psychotic break and admitted to thoughts of self-harm. He and my mother were divorced and he was very, very angry. After over a month in the hospital and a few weeks in a halfway house he was finally out of community housing and living with a roommate in a nearby town.
He had called me a few nights before and sounded strange. I had friends over for a BBQ and told him I couldn’t really talk.
“That’s fine,” he said. “I don’t have much to say. Decided to take a drive to where they filmed Grumpy Old Men.”
“Kay…” I was skeptical. He sounded spacey and a little weird. “Are you sure you’re doing okay, dad?”
“Oh yeah,” he mumbled carelessly. “I’m fine. Just taking a drive.”
I grabbed my phone and saw the texts. They were from my dad’s best friend.
“I think something’s going on with your dad.”
“He called me. It’s bad. I think he’s hurt himself badly and he won’t tell me where he is.”
I immediately started calling my dad.
It rings, but no answer. I call again and again, but no answer.
After what felt like a thousand attempts I hear what sounds like someone answering the phone.
“Tara.” My dad sounds weak and gurgly.
“I’m done. I need to be done here on this planet. Goodbye.”
I ran upstairs screaming to my partner at the time about the text messages. I was frantic and sweating and shaking.
“Where is he?” she squinted sleepily at me. “Are you sure he’s being serious?”
Sadly, at the time this was a valid question. He had a history of not being completely honest about the gravity of a situation as a cry for attention.
Still, something in my heart told me there was a reason to be worried.
And there was.
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