A Grey, Rainy Day...

I still think TO tried to kill himself.


This is what I thought to myself today driving around listening to the Dan Patrick Show (yes, I listen to sports radio--I am a total radiophile). He was replaying some of the bits from his press conference and that just popped into my head. It's funny that all of this happened this week; just this past weekend I caught ESPN's Sportcentury documentary about TO and if you get a chance you should too. It's fascinating. I always kinda dug the guy regardless of his antics, but I found myself seeing him as a kind of kindred spirit after watching Sportcentury.
TO was raised by his strict grandmother and not allowed to play with the neighborhood children. He was teased and ostrocized as a child and teenager for his dark complexion. He never knew who his father was until at age 11 he took an interest in the girl across the street. The girl's father took TO aside one day and told him to stay away from her. When he asked why, the man told him that she was his half-sister; TO's dad literally lived across the street and never once took an interest in merely telling his son who he was. He's suffered the loss of his grandmother and recently broke up with his fiance and was unable to see his son for his 7th birthday.


We've all had our issues, and some of his struck a chord with me. I've had (still have, to be honest) my own issues with my dad. As a kid I lived miles away from the other kids in my school, so I spent most of my time alone. I was also a chubby kid who got more than his fair share of teasing. On Tuesday, I could see where this could all add up to TO attempting suicide. Because I've thought of it too.


One day when I was 12 I had gotten off the phone after having another horrible conversation with my dad. After slamming the phone down and throwing the nearest object (a book, if I remember correctly) across the room against my wall, I grabbed my pocket knife and held it to my wrist. I had some things to think about. The only thing that stopped me that day was a feeling that I owed my mom better than that. Over the years, I've had moments where I've had to fight off the (for lack of a better word) temptation to impulsively kill myself. The one I remember clearly is sitting in a chair in my mom's apartment and looking out over the balcony imagining just running full-bore through the windscreen and jumping off the balcony, wondering how far I'd go and how long it'd take me to fall. I had to basically lock myself in the bedroom to get myself to calm down. I am not the only member of my family to have issues with this.


So suicide is something I take very seriously and with a heavy heart. All the talk of 'accidental overdoses' offended me. But it seems as if that's what happened. Thinking about this today while listening to the radio I realized something:


I didn't think TO tried to kill himself--I wanted TO to have tried to kill himself.


I wanted him to have cracked under all of the bullshit that goes along with childhood issues, cause I could sure as hell understand that. I wanted everyone everywhere to see what happens to a child when you treat him that way as a child; that no matter how successful they may become, they are scarred and it's because of what his parents did (and didn't) do. I wanted my father to see that and maybe think about some stuff. I looked at his 'attempted suicide' as if it were mine. I was hearing and seeing the news through the lens of my own life and my own reasons. I feel a little better now for having realized this, but it goes to show that sometimes you just don't know when it's creeping up on you.


Shame on me.