I am watching TV, my norm, when something in my head forced a question. Do people survive painful events by choice or by chance?
I do not think I know the answer. Even in my own case. I have been through so many painful, excruciating, abusive, and frightening events in my life. I survived each and every one.
Though, I readily admit to having considered [far too often and far too seriously] suicide. If I were driving the scenario would have to be when my children were not with me in the car. I would never hurt them. The point of suicide is not even to hurt myself. I always saw suicide as an end to my pain and agony. Not an increase in pain. Not even for a moment. I have had plenty of very real physical and psychic pain.
It was simple, really. I would just swerve off the road. Not onto a clean soft shoulder. That would be failure. Again. Failure is my personal bully. Or maybe BFF. Now, that’s creepy. Consider your best friend. What kind of crazy life leads you to think your Best Friend is some crazy ass chick whose name is Failure!?!
Sort of explains, at least a little bit, how I got to live on Failure’s cul-du-sac. Now, I did not just have a BFF named Failure I got to live next door to her. Over the years I got to know all of her family. Failure’s ENTIRE family lived around this little cul-du-sac. Her Uncle Abuse and Aunt C0-Dependent were on the other side of my house. Across the street Aunt Saddy and her sons Bully and Assault. (Though, it sounds better in French, Ahss-hoe. With a silent ‘L’). It was a not all just Failure’s crazy relatives. Mine visited OFTEN!
My Grandpa we all called Big Chief Big Nose. My six-foot something Grandpa had the quintessential Ashkenazi Eastern European Jewish honker. The profile of Grandpa’s nose was the Bactrian camel’s double hump! He was a great Grandpa! Terrible Father. He was never Daddy Warbucks to my Mom and her siblings. He was Big Daddy Mean-as-Hell. He was married to my Grandma. All four-foot eleven Grandma and slight as a sapling. (How did she and Grandpa have FOUR kids without him breaking her back to make them!?! This might explain her broken back from a car or bus accident. I guess Grandpa was bigger than a car and about the right size for a bus.)
Grandma was always there for us grandkids. Though, she was not tall enough to stand between her husband and a little girl who became my Mom. Which ensured her own four kids were there for her to repeat plenty of her parents insanity upon us.
Lest I leave out my Father and his family. Dad came from a pair of equally odd parents and affected siblings…