10 years, that's how long ago my fiance committed suicide. Fun topic, right? I know, it's a tough one for most people to think about, let alone talk about. It needs to be talked about.
I'll tell you my story and the story of the one I lost, as told to me. I'll tell you how I lost love and how I found it again. I'll tell you why I am so angry at those who leave us by suicide. I'll tell you, everything.
Lars Michael Mink grew up in the Pacific Northwest. He was an only child. Lars' family had trouble from the start. His parents had a hard marriage in which his father was abusive. When his mother tried to leave, Lars was taken by his father. His mother wasn't offered any help by the authorities and was afraid for her child. She decided to stay with her abuser to save her son. Lars' mother spent years planning her escape. She was rarely left alone in the house, knowing she would run at the first chance she got. He manipulated and terrified her. After years of "proving" herself loyal and loving, she was finally given her moment. He felt he could trust her. She was left alone in their home with Lars. They left that day and never went back.
Lars had boxes of videos and pictures of his childhood. None of them were from his days with his father. Most of them were from dance classes and recitals. :) He had, (and now I have,) videos of himself as a 3 or 4 year old, standing in front of the video camera. He would dance and sing and goof around. He loved being the center of attention and would have been great on the stage. His mother was in the videos as well, painting or talking to him. They seemed close and she seemed like every loving mother should: attentive, smiling, happy.
Lars once told me he was grateful for his mom but felt like she was angry with him for making things fall apart. I asked what he meant and he said, "She sometimes acts like I ruined everything." His mother was always a sore subject. They lived together when we met but she was moving across country and he was feeling abandoned. He was going to have to move out of their apartment and he didn't have enough saved up to get his own place. He worked at Subway for minimum wage and didn't have the skills to cook a grilled cheese sandwich for himself. He was hopeless and helpless and endearing.
We met a friend's birthday party in Seattle. I was in college and felt like letting off steam. My friend, Jessica invited me to come with her to an "Err Head party." With a name like that, how could I resist? :) We got all dressed up, 90's slutty goth style and made our way over there. Ahh, the easy days of my 20s. LOL. I went to the party with the intention of picking up a guy they called Oatmeal, (he's an internet sensation now with his comics, :) ) but it didn't work that way. I had a few drinks, followed Jessica around, felt out of place, and ran into... him. I was so enamored, I couldn't speak to him. (I laugh now, thinking about it!) I asked Jessica to talk to him for me, break the ice. He came over, shy at first, and we got to talking. Of course, with a few Err Head mixers in my system, we didn't talk long. One comment lead to another, which led to kissing, which led to... more.
Later that night, I made my way upstairs to find Jessica. I was ready to head home, (it was around 5 am.) My gorgeous friend wasn't ready or in a good state for driving so Lars offered to take me. I was thrilled! We talked the whole way to my apartment and I new I wanted to know more about him. I gave him my number, hoping he would call in the few weeks. He called later that day.
Our first date was at the Woodland Park Zoo in Seattle. We must have spent 6 hours walking around. I took pictures of the animals but I'm not sure I ever really saw them. We clicked. I hadn't felt this way since the tragic romance of my teens, (story for another day). He was 19, funny, handsome, and didn't put me down. What more could I possibly ask for?! I felt connected to him. I felt like he needed me and at that point in my life I was looking to be needed. He took to me to meet his "roommate," who turned out to be his mom. I thought it was all so adorable. He told me she was moving and he was hoping to find a place with some guy he knew. I was planning to move home at the end of the school year but, me being me, I completely changed my plans, pissed off my dad, and asked Lars to move in with me. One month later we moved his things and mine into an apartment on the ground floor of my building. I was as happy as I could be. I had my apartment, my boyfriend, my cat, and I was about to start a new college career. (I had decided to change my major from Independent vocal studies to culinary arts.)
Our first summer together was amazing. He worked, I slept. He came home, and I became addicted to Final Fantasy VII. We would spend weekends literally doing nothing else. Just hours and hours of video games, soda, and, most important, a 5 gallon jar of animal crackers. They used to sell them at Cosco and we had to have it! To this day, I can't eat animal crackers with out thinking of those days and seeing his serious gamer face. LOL. We took a road trip to Colorado so I could introduce him to my friends and family. My mom, of course, loved him. My dad, well, he was still upset I didn't move home and blamed Lars for it. My friends, most of them, liked him. I fell in love that summer.
August came and I started culinary school. Lars kept working at Subway and applied for classes at my college. When he was told he would have to go to their north Seattle campus because of his record, I thought he was my classic needy bad boy. When he asked me to be a character witness for him in court a few months later, I became concerned. He told me he slept with a 12 year old girl when he was 15 and her parents had pressed charges. He said that was why he couldn't go to classes on my campus. He was a registered sex offender. He was going to court to have it all taken off his record and he wanted the judge to know he was past all that and in a good, stable relationship. I was upset but tried to keep in mind we all make mistakes and this one didn't sound to horrible. I mean, I had done things, in my youth, I wasn't to proud of, so why judge him for this? I agreed to be his witness. I few months went by and his hearing date got closer.
(This is one of only a very few images/ videos I have left of Lars.
I accidentally came across this a few weeks ago.)
Sometime in November of 2004 he came to me in tears. He said he hadn't been completely truthful with me. I was supposed to meet with his attorney the next day and he needed for me to know everything before I did. He handed my a large stack of papers and walked out the door. While he walked around the neighborhood, feeling ashamed and freaking out, I sat on our couch and read. I spent almost 2 hours reading and re-reading and crying and wondering what the hell I should I do. (I won't divulge what was in the papers he gave me, that was and is his secret and not for me to tell.) By the time he came back I had chosen to scream at him, throw the papers in his face, blame him for his greatest faults, and ultimately, forgive him. I loved him to much to let him go but this was such a breach of trust, I couldn't possibly testify for him. He understood. He cried. I cried. I went for a long walk. When I came back, He had made his, "I'm sorry I screwed up again," dinner for me. Steak and baked potatoes. I think it was the only thing he new how to make before we got together and it was the only thing he ever made when I was mad at him.
I felt so betrayed and hurt, I resolved to finding a new apartment for us. I couldn't bare to live in the place where my relationship had been so drastically changed. By the end of January we had moved into a larger place, a block away. It was a true one bedroom, not a studio, like our last place. There was a huge living room with ancient hardwood floors, a tiny, "cozy" kitchen, and a good sized bathroom that grew pink mold every time it rained. There were huge picture windows with a view of downtown Seattle, including the Space Needle. I was able to have a small container garden in the courtyard and, most importantly, we grew happier again. Lars got a new job at Men's Warehouse. He had to dress the part and I remembered how handsome he was. We made new friends with our neighbors, got a dog, and fought about his new found habit of smoking cigarettes. I was doing pretty well in school. I loved the challenge of learning a whole new language. (I had studied Opera for so long, I knew how to read Italian and some Latin. Most of the culinary world is in French.) I was more or less still happy.
For his 21st birthday, I took Lars and Jessica to a Burlesque show our neighbor was in. We had so much fun, Jessica and I signed up to be kittens* for the show. (*Kittens are the girls who pick up the dancers clothes when they are done with their act.) It was the best night, and began the worst night of our relationship. Lars began to drink. Yes, we met at a party with alcohol but this was different. He was now able to not only go to a club, but buy booze anytime he wanted at the store. He would come home drunk after work with a brown paper bag in his hands. He would go hide in the bathroom, for hours. I would find his bottles hidden all over the apartment. He would take our puppy for a walk and be gone for so long I wasn't sure if he was coming back. He always did but smelled like liquor and cigarettes. My friends at school said I should teach him not to lie about smoking. I soaked a pack of "hidden" cigarettes with fish oil and left it in his car. It stunk so bad he had to take the bus to work. I became vindictive. I became bitter.
One winter night in 2006, he came home so drunk he could hardly walk. I had had enough. I told him he wasn't welcome anymore while he was drinking. I told him to go to our friend's house to sober up. He thought I was breaking up with him. We fought for what seemed like most of the night, 'till I finally gave up and told him to sleep on the couch. I woke up 2 hours later to the sounds of him gagging. He had taken every pill in our medicine cabinet and was aspirating on vomit. I managed to roll him on his side so he could breathe and called 911. He was unconscious for the first night after they pumped his stomach. I called his work to let them know what happened. His boss drove to the hospital to sign him up for health insurance. I had to hold his hand to help him write. He was delirious and couldn't always remember who I was, where he was, or what had happened. His tongue had swollen, making it difficult for him to talk. I spent every day with him. Every hour I was allowed to be there, I was at his side. I cried a lot. I railed at the nurses to take off his suicide watch handcuffs and to put his IV in better so it would stop infiltrating. I fed him when he could eat. I washed his face, and held his hand when they took out the catheter. I apologized so many times I thought I was actually the one who had caused all this.
After they released him, he had to spend a week in the mental health unit. I wanted him to stay longer, to make sure he really got better. He convinced his therapist and his mother to let him out. I was only the girlfriend. I didn't get a say. He came home and I babied him. I made sure he always had what he needed but I barely touched him. I had nightmares of finding him, covered in vomit, dying. I couldn't sleep, I hated eating, I was a zombie in school. I got to a point where even looking at him or talking to him was to much. I asked him to move out, we needed a break. He told me he got a hotel room. He started called me from payphones with wild stories of finding dead bodies in the park. I didn't know how to handle it all.
Three days before my final test in culinary school, I was woken up to police at my door. Lars had been drinking and they were sure he was taking drugs. He crashed his car in a concrete canal and was at the hospital. Did I want a ride there or would I be okay to drive? Drive?! How could I even breathe?! I called his mother, called his work, called my mom, sobbed, took a shower, and went to see him. He was covered in broken glass and bruises. There were tubes sticking out all over him. He was unconscious again. This time I couldn't bring myself to sit with him. I couldn't wipe his cracked lips and murmur how sorry I was. I came to see him in between classes everyday, but I wouldn't stay long. My parents came to stay with me to eat the menu I had prepared for my final and my dad helped me move home to Colorado 2 weeks after. I let Lars' mother take care of him this time. I knew if I stayed, if I let him back in, I would be the one to find his body. I couldn't do it. I couldn't watch this man I loved become this creature I couldn't understand. I ran home. I fled.
I talked to Lars on the phone almost every night after moving. I promised him, if he could just make it a year sober, if he could show me he wanted to get better, I would move him in with me again. But he had to be better first. I think I believed my promises would help. I want them too. I wanted to move on though. I want to forget all the horror and pain. I moved in with a friend and started seeing someone. Not anything serious, mostly just fun between the sheets. I told Lars about them, maybe hoping jealousy would kick him into gear. It didn't work. He attempted suicide 3 more times that year.
Lars called me for the last time on Thanksgiving Day in 2006. I was driving home with a friend and didn't want them to know I was talking to him. When he told me he loved me, I said thank you. Those were my last words to him. "Thank you." His mother called me on December 10th, 2006 at 2:00 pm to tell me I had, "finally done it. He's gone." She described the scene the hotel manager had found when Lars didn't pay the bill for 3 days. He had taken more narcotics and hallucinogenics and alcohol. He was found on the floor with a plastic bag over his head.
Lars Michael Mink did not have a funeral. There is not a gravestone to mark where he lays. He was cremated with the unfortunate homeless of Seattle. No one wrote an obituary for him. He simply vanished from the earth. I have not spoken to his mother since.
After his death, I lost control. I lost my job. I lost my mind. I went to a psychiatrist who gave me pills to numb the pain. He told me I couldn't have loved him into being better. I thought it sounded good but it didn't help.The pills numbed everything. I found I couldn't cry or smile or have any emotions. I didn't take them for long. I spent a year pretending to be okay. I had a boyfriend. He cheated on me with his ex. He gave me herpes. He conned me out of money and raised his hand to me. I left him, but not before he got me pregnant. I didn't know I was though so, the miscarriage came out of the blue. My depression was so deep, I felt like I was suffocating. I was mentally clawing at the walls in my mind, desperately trying to escape all the puddles of pain surrounding me. No one had a clue how bad it was. I became a master at faking happiness. But my nights were spent staring at the walls, conjuring up thoughts that my house would collapse on me, making the pain go away. My friends tried to help by taking me out but I just wasn't into it.
The beginning of my return to life happened on November 30th, 2007. My first day at my new job, I ran into an old foe from high school. James Collier. We talked for a few minutes and he gave me his number. He said he didn't remember numbers well so I'd have to call him. ( A lie! He's amazing with numbers! ) I called right then to make sure it was the right number. We ended up texting all night that night. We went on our first date the next day. I was still a little numb and couldn't decide what the heck to wear so my friend, Ariel, dressed me and did my make up. She practically pushed me out the door into his arms when he came to pick me up in his tow truck. We went to Chilli's for dinner, (this still kills him! LOL! I picked Chilli's because I wasn't sure he would pay for me dinner. Lars often didn't.) then we went bowling. I hadn't had that much fun in years. We started talking everyday and he came over every night.
Our daughter was born December 3rd, 2009 at 12:06 pm. We were married on June 21st, 2010 at 2:00 pm. Our son was born May 6th, 2012 at 6:05 am.
James and I have been through many ups and downs and we have had our fights but we have always stayed strong. He is my hero, my rock, and my emotional savior. We recently celebrated our 9 year anniversary of our first date and plan to celebrate many more.
While I may still think about Lars everyday, for the rest of my years, I know he not made for this world. He had so much struggle and pain, I understand why he felt needed to leave us. However, as much understanding as I have gained, I will forever be pissed off at him for actually going through with it. He may have gotten rid of his own pain but he left a black stain of pain with me. No matter how happy my happiest days are, they are always just a little bit tainted by the memory that he's not here. My head tells me he was hurting and couldn't see a way out. My heart grieves for him still and blames me for not being there when he needed me. I cannot count how many times I have hear my inner voice scream,
"THANK YOU? HE SAID HE LOVED YOU AND YOU REPLIED WITH THANK YOU?! YOU MORON, YOU KILLED HIM!"
I didn't kill him. His death was not my fault. I know that. I try to know that.
It has been 10 years, 3650 days since Lars' official death certificate was issued. I have thought about him everyday, at least once, for the last 3650 days. I will most likely think of him everyday for the next 3650 days.
If you have thought about suicide, remember, you may not always feel loved or worthy of love. You may not always feel like you belong here. There is always, always, always, at least one person who would be crushed if you left. You are loved. You are worthy. You do belong.
Suicide Hotlines: 1-800-SUICIDE (1-800-784-2433)
1-800-273-TALK (1-800-273-8255)
Hearing impaired: 1-800-799-4TTY (1-800-799-4889)