When my wife ended her life (on the fifth try), I wanted to find some way to honor her lifelong struggle. In the hope that I might find some way to ease others suffering, and purpose for myself. After her departure my son also did the same, to end his pain. I realized my own issues were no longer avoidable, despite how well dissociation has served me throughout my life.

It would seem life has been an endless trauma response. Which obscured my neurodivergence from every therapist I ever saw. Not that they were inclined to delve any deeper into my psyche than required to make an easy, billable diagnosis. One once asserting I had "major depression", since they would be depressed if they had experienced my life. Despite autistic traits that have been clearly evident in both my and my wife's lives, since childhood.

In the lengthy process of self assessment, I recognized how much my wife and I shared. She and my son were failed by everyone they ever reached out to for help. And by me. My failure was that I never addressed my trauma, or educated myself about being autistic. Which resulted in both mine and my wife's emotional unavailability, among other deficits.

So I'm alive, but bewildered and bereft. I survived my attempt at 18 that left me disabled, and shunned by my family. For a near fatal overdose they viewed as "recreational"... for behaving shamefully. I couldn't burden my daughter's with more grief than they are already struggling with. Suicide leaves carnage in it's wake. I can usually write lyrically about life, trauma and sorrow... but this was hard.