when Rage loses (Suicide)

when Rage loses (Suicide)

“When Rage loses, many will never survive to tell their story.”

“Rage and I will stand together with Little Girl and defy Shame before an indecent society!” 

Linda Kay Gifford

SELF TALK - when Rage loses


I think survivors of many kinds of violence and abuse can relate to “just trying to disappear”.

“Hide. Wait. Pray.

How my heartbeat betrays me,

deafening Silence.” (haiku; L.K.Gifford)


Turns out, I probably owe Rage my sanity and, quite possibly, my life. He guided me in and through and back out of almost every humiliating challenge with Little Girl in tow, thankfully; then left me alone to have a relatively normal life in a good and kind family.

   But twice, Rage failed me. Or maybe Little Girl fooled Rage. She didn’t hide or rock. There were none of her usual tears. She didn’t ride her mental anguish, throwing the reins to Rage when she knew her mind would short circuit and explode. These times, she gave Rage none of the usual cues to step in.

   It all came together calmly the first time I decided I was done. With complete submission and a rare sense of peace, I decided it would be over. 

  I could tell you why I did it; explain all the factors leading up to it. I could tell you my only close friend had just died in a car accident. I could tell you how, at 17, having just escaped my abuser’s reach I, literally, walked in on my first real boyfriend in bed with my assailant’s wife, my own sister.


  I could elaborate on the specifics of why I chose that night to give up; that I knew with juvenile certainty that no one would ever love me; that I just wanted out. 

   My story is no different than any other abuse victim who has decided to take their own life. It’s just as valid; it’s just as messed up; and it's altogether common. It reads something like this for us all:

“I am suffocating under the pressure of my life. I am certain that it can not get any better and, even if it did, I am not worthy of it’s bounty.”

“If the people who love me know what I have been a part of, they will no longer love me. They will never look at me as good and pure again. I am ruined.”

“I can find neither window, nor door in these brick walls. Solid pain; everywhere I turn. 

I am done.”


The first time, I remember taking the nine pills clearly, a mix of Darvon, Percoset, and Valium; all I could get my hands on and, hopefully, enough, but I doubted it. I took out my pocket knife and sat thinking, toying with it while the pills kicked in.

I thought about my mom. 

I loved her dearly. 

She would be devastated to know they’d repeatedly raped me.

And Dad… he’d never be able to accept the fact that I didn’t tell him. In my juvenile mind, I felt I would lose their love if they knew what “I’d” done; what I’d “allowed” to be done to me.

Better to be dead.

Why didn’t I tell them a long time ago? 

Why didn’t I say something before it was too late? 

I was in too deep. I blamed myself. Looking at other young teens now, I realize that there is nothing I could have done to make it my fault. I was a child. It is my opinion that any adult who encourages or participates in sexual acts with a child is a pervert worthy of death. But I’ll save that for another chapter...

   Suffice it to say, I saw no other option and, this time, Little Girl and Rage failed to intervene. The only way I saw to win, was to end the game.


That day, Shame beat Rage. When Rage loses, many will never survive to tell their story…

My pocketknife wasn’t very sharp. 

It took some work to get a cut big enough to bleed well. 

I remember doing it. 

I don’t remember feeling it. 

I remember wondering that I didn’t feel it. 

I was dizzy as I stood.

I walked across the courtyard, stepped onto the dark highway in front of my building, and laid down.

I don’t remember feeling scared. 

I remember feeling very sad.


I woke up on the floor between the kitchen table and sofa in the crappy efficiency I was renting. Some kids I had recently met were turning into my driveway. As the only seventeen year old with an apartment, I got more than my fair share of “friends” dropping in to use the place. Usually, I found this annoying. That night, as luck would have it, they saved my life. Had they not been turning in, they'd have surely granted my wish. 

   But as fate would have it, I lived; and, thankfully, FINALLY - long enough to know where shame really lies. Shame isn't a persona anyone carries to cope. It serves no useful purpose to its bearer. 


   It is my mission to become Rage in his best form; to bring him out of the shadows of empty, mad promises made to appease a frightened victim. Instead, I will now manifest him as my warrior!

   Rage and I will stand together with Little Girl and DEFY Shame before an indecent society!

We MUST make our lawmakers understand, acknowledge, and PUNISH sexual offenders for the devastating effects of their perverted actions. I propose the death penalty for sex offenders; just get them out of the gene pool. The only people who think mine is too extreme a position, have never experienced extreme sexual violation. 

I've been given a life sentence in humiliation and body memory…

~ Shame is a thick, noxious fog, created by others as a protection against some imagined humiliation. 

~ Shame settles in so closely around us that we actually TEACH each other to accept and bear it, rather than expose ugly truths.

~ Shame encourages one to NOT act; to sweep the filth under the rug and hope no one lifts the corner.


REBEL against Shame!

Shine light and heat on it!

Educate and Advocate!

 FORCE it to dissipate!

If society won't hold abusers accountable for their life devastating actions, Karma will not hold me responsible for what I may do next.



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