“Daddy, these are the things I wish you would have told me before you took your life…”

“Daddy, these are the things I wish you would have told me before you took your life…”

“Even when I am not alone, I am alone. I wonder why I am relevant. What makes me relevant? Is it the people that I surround myself with? When I look in the mirror, I see his face. I see his deep, dark eyes. I see his straight teeth, high cheekbones, and nose. I see the worry and discomfort of his troubled mind. The uneasiness of his smile pierces my heart. The constant disturbance in my mind and thoughts unleash so many waves of emotion and uncertainty. I do not know which voice, which echo to listen too. I am my Dad’s daughter in more ways than one. Will my fate end tragically as his did? Will I follow in his footsteps? Did he open a door for me? Do I want to die? Not today, but some days I do. When the pain is too much and the noise in my head is too loud, I just want to end it all. I look around at my life and pretend that I will not be missed. That is what my troubled brain strives to convince me. My kids hold my heart so tightly, and I would never want to hurt them in the way that I have been hurt and tormented, but the persuasion of the kiss of death is ever so close around my corner. I feel it watching me, haunting me, taunting me. Suicide is like a blanket; when your heart is hot and full of love, you don’t need it; but, when your heart is cold and full of disgust, pain and anger…you want to wrap it around you and hide within its depths.”

Excerpt from Pretty Painted Picture…Little Girl Lost; Cheryl Lynn

Daddy, I wish you would have told me the undeviating calamity that would plague my existence when you decided to take your life. I yearned for you to elucidate all the immoral, unscrupulous choices that I would make in my life due to your unexpected, unforgivable and catastrophic loss as a child of eight-years-old. I wish you would have warned me to NOT look for you in every male that I met. I needed you to tell me that I would never find what I was so desperately searching for all these years; unconditional love, people that wouldn’t abandon me. I wish you would have told me that I was special and entitled to love and happiness. I wish you would have told me that because I, myself, am broken that I would attract those that were also broken; you needed to advise me that I do not have the power to fix those that are broken…only the power to fix and repair myself. I wish you would have made clear that no matter how relentlessly I searched that no substance, chemical or addictive process would cease the never-ending pain, suffering, guilt and feelings of worthlessness that still plague me today after thirty-one years.
I wish you would have told me that no matter what successes I had/have in life I would never feel that they were/are adequate. There is never a day that I don’t feel sadness, loss and intense pain. I find myself putting on the same façade that my Dad did: the smile but the eyes glistening with tears, the laughter but the broken soul. I feel utterly alone most days. Just like the day you decided to leave and abandon me; like a deep, dark entity is pushing down on me.

“Put on a Happy Face”
“Can you see the tears behind this smile?
Can you see the real me?
What a façade I am talented enough to demonstrate.
You will never know the damage that impairs this soul.
A tiny smile, a slight tear, laughter, a burning in my being…it is all the same to me.
All my emotions are engulfed in one another.
I cannot tell one from the other.
Let me be me.
Let my tears pour down.
Can I show you?
Can you accept my sadness?
Will you understand it?
Do my eyes tell the story of how my heart and soul really feels?”

What I really need people to take away from this is that suicide is not like grieving a normal death. There is no closure. Every morning when you open your eyes, you relive the death all over again. It never gets better. It is almost like a part of your soul dies every day. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. In my experience, I never got to hold my Dad’s hand and say good-bye. I never got to hug him and tell him how much he meant to me. Most importantly, I never heard those much-needed words from him. I feel so broken at times; so lost. In some ways I feel like he manifested his twisted, tortured soul into mine; I am him…he is me.

Please take this true story and implement it into your life. Know that there is help available and suicide is never an option. Suicide doesn’t end the pain…it transfers it to someone else. I urge all of you to reach out to those that are suffering. Be supportive, be understanding…JUST BE THERE! Please know that you are loved. You do matter and help is always available.

“Your story isn’t over yet…”

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline Phone Number
1 800 273 8255

Cheryl Lynn Villao; author of Pretty Painted Picture…Little Girl Lost

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