As you may know by now, I think the true victims of suicide are the friends and family of the deceased. If anything, the patient has relieved his own suffering. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, suicide is a solution. It may not be the best solution, not one you would have chosen, but it did solve a problem. The true crime committed by the perpetrator was the mental anguish inflicted upon all who loved him. It is with this in mind that I ask you: Is it morally acceptable for you to commit suicide despite knowing there are people who love you and will forever suffer from your act? (Hint: this is a leading question, not a trick question.)
If not, then what are the moral implications of a person’s committing suicide after shedding all friends and loved ones? It seems to me that if no one is there to be harmed by your death (the national economy not withstanding), then you have every right to dispatch yourself whenever you choose. (In my country, you are generally allowed to be stupid so long as you don’t harm others. E.g., voting for a Republican isn’t a crime.) You may be damned for killing yourself, but at least you will not be damned for emotionally injuring those who might have loved you. The police reports, the burial, the insurance matters, the passing of the estate — none of this makes the suicide meaningful in any significant way. Surely, the ones who must clean up the mess will be affected, but no more so than watching a Quentin Tarantino movie. I guess my answer to the unwitnessed tree-fall question would be “no, it doesn’t make a sound, even if the air around it still had to go through the motions.”
Having said that, wouldn’t it be morally irresponsible to make new friendships or even maintain old ones if you know yourself to be acutely or chronically suicidal? Wouldn’t you be damned for accepting a piece of someone’s heart knowing there was a very high likelihood of breaking it as you fall? If I know that I will be gone soon, I would have to be a sadist to want to take a new lover or forge a new friendship.
But, that’s not right. Clearly we must go on living while we are alive, if only because we may not die any time soon. Indeed, it may be our relationships that save us from our own hand. I know that my kids have sustained me in my darkest moments. I am alive today only because I imagined their immeasurable sadness before stepping off the ledge. Perhaps a new lover will awaken a passion that lifts me from the bog, out of the darkness and into life. Maybe it will be a new friend that occupies my mind instead of those incessant thoughts of suicide.
Some philosophers have written that, even if you do not believe in God, even if we truly are an accident of the cosmos, we still have meaning because of our relationships with others. Whether or not you see meaning in yourself, you mean a great deal to those who love you and even to those who don’t. We all know someone, or fall in love, or father a child, pay rent, block a driveway, take the last seat; in that way, we all have meaning. Without meaning, believe me, it is very easy to give up. With meaning? Well, you’d have to be sick to kill yourself.
So, my final question: if relationships might save me, but also make a suicide all the worse, is it better to break all ties, thereby minimizing the damage your disease will cause; or is it better to maintain and seek out relationships in an attempt to keep (or start) living?
Is this a glass half-empty question? (Okay, I lied; there will be a few more questions.) Is this only a matter of outlook:
- I am a pessimist; I really believe I’m not going to make it; I am therefore morally obliged to push everyone away.
- I am an optimist (I’ve read about people like this); I really believe I am going to make it; It is therefore okay to call my brother back.
I don’t want to be a burden to anyone, so please, fuck off and leave me the hell alone. But, please don’t give up on me; I know I’ll be better one day and the love you show me really makes a difference.
8 responses so far ↓
Liz // 12 August 2007 at 10:01 pm
People will always need people. Every relationship is risky, in my book. A lifetime with an alcoholic , or a high-rise glass window cleaner, or a quiet librarian is one of uncertainty. One never knows for sure how things will turn out. If you’re honest with someone about what could be in store for her and she stays with you then she becomes responsible for her choice. You don’t have to burden yourself with guilt over a possibility that you might not be around one day — she knows this.
You said: “Maybe it will be a new friend that occupies my mind instead of thoughts of suicide.” It’s hard to put your faith in people. They may not be strong enough. They may hurt your feelings, and, as is your case, there is a possibility of them not being around in the future, though maybe not because of suicide. It doesn’t matter whether one’s suicidal or not, I don’t think it’s good to rely on someone for one’s happiness. People are just too flawed for that.
But you spoke about meaning. You’re right that without it, it’s so easy for one to give up. What’s so profound about someone loving because you’re perfect, or staying with you because she’s a saint? If you’re loved by a flawed person then that’s meaningful.
I’m rambling again. Sorry. It’s a good post, Ashley. Really honest.
ideas2words // 12 August 2007 at 11:06 pm
You are right, of course. I don’t try to find happiness in people, but I do try to find meaning. I think that if I ever truly believe (emotionally, not just intellectually) that I was meant to be here or that I meant more to people than what I could give them, I will be able to find happiness or at least be around long enough to try. It is a testament to my lack of belief that I often consider whether growing up with an unstable father or with a huge chunk of money would be more benefitial to my kids. I know the answer, but I don’t feel it. Not today anyway.
Bill // 13 August 2007 at 8:01 pm
When you kill yourself, you are not relieved of any pain. You are simply dead. Dead people, I’m guessing feel nothing at all. Are you truly looking for meaning or escape from your pain? No one else can possibly know the pain you are experiencing. Not even other suicidal people nor psychological experts. Every man must experience his own unique pain. This includes dealing with shame, guilt, and regrets. How we face our problems define who we are. Actions we take define us and sometimes redeem us. This is the meaning we carve out of our lives. I’m not a psychologist, nor a suicidal person, but I am trying to understand what you are going through. This is the course of action I’m intentionally making. Right or wrong. People have faced problems millions of years before therapists and professionals came along. It is not their job to tell you how to solve your problems nor dictate to you how to live your life. I know this much- you took a long drive to Texas and back, took a trip to Switzerland on a whim, and ran away to New York. You have also decided not to return to work. It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to figure out that you are literally and metaphorically running from or avoiding something. What are you running from? What are you avoiding? If it is shame or guilt, you still have a choice to face it and overcome it. It may not be easy, but you can still redeem yourself. If it is despair or anxiety brought on by some physiological condition, explore your options. You lectured me once about the physiological and/or structural differences between the brains of normal and depressed people. Have you had an MRI or undergone a rigorous battery of physical tests? What has your doctor told you about your brain chemistry? What do the doctors actually know about your condition? Are they educating you about yourself in particular rather than about mental pathologies in general? I believe you will not find the answers you’re seeking by rehashing and repeating things you have said before on this web site. I think the repetition just feeds the fire of your emotions and ultimately clouds your judgment. I don’t have to be an expert to ask relevant questions. I also don’t have to be an expert to love my suicidal brother, even if he tells me to fuck off. And since I’m not an expert, I have the luxury of giving you advise. If you have any unresolved issues you need to deal with it, not hide from it. If you’re suffering physiologically and therefore can not make sound judgments for yourself, have yourself tested thoroughly until you get some answers and given options. Make your doctors work for you. I am not assuming that either course of action will be easy, but doing nothing will naturally yield nothing.
ideas2words // 14 August 2007 at 1:04 am
Yes … well … I guess I have to disagree with you Bill. The problem here is not one of character as you suppose. I have worked damn hard to get to where I am now. And I am working damn hard to survive this illness. That I haven’t gotten back to work yet does not, ipso facto, prove that I have chosen not to go back. Sometimes we make choices that are opposed by other forces, so we don’t end up achieving our aim. Have you accomplished everything you ever decided to do?
The mere fact of the illness’s hold over me says only that I have not beaten it yet; the mere fact of my sitting here typing this response says that it has not beaten me yet. So, either I’m weak minded — a possibility I suppose, despite all evidence to the contrary — or this is one damn difficult fight. I just so happen to know it is the latter because I am the one who must stand up and face off with it every day. Yes, on some days it is off its game and I stride easily around my life as if I was completely healthy. The following day, though, it’s right back up dragging me out of my life again.
“… but doing nothing will naturally yield nothing.” Damn, Bill. You know, I never thought about doing something about my illness. I’ll get right on that. What the fuck was that? Tough love?
Are you just angry at me or do you really believe that crap — and that’s what it is, the completely useless stuff that comes out after all the useful bits have been taken away.
What is clear to me by your message, besides your complete disdain for me, is that you have almost no understanding of mood disorders and suicidality. Nor do you understand the incredibly limited technology available today for diagnosing and treating the disease. Yes, I may be able to get a definitive answer as to what’s wrong with me. Of course, I would have to have my head opened up so doctors could cut my brain into sub-milimeter slices for examination under a microscope. I suppose that’s an option, but sadly, not one my insurance will cover.
Let me see if I can relate to you how depression feels, so that you may begin to improve your obviously low image of me. Imagine you have been tightly wrapped up from head to toe in gauze so that you simply cannot move, let alone get out of bed and go to work. You still have a will, but it is being opposed so forcefully that it has lost control over your body. My “choice” to not go to work, was not my choice at all. Those who know me, those who watch me on a daily basis, know that my choice has been to go back to work, but I have not been able to get there. It’s just as if I had broken legs. Unlike broken legs, though, the cause of the dysfunction is not so immediately clear. Nevertheless, there is a cause and it is not one of sloth or cowardice.
Frightening stuff, huh? But wait, there’s more! Now imagine you know there is a world out there passing you by, that there are bills not getting paid, projects not being completed, kids not being comforted. Even this pain of knowing how many pieces of your life are slipping away is still not enough to move your legs to the floor. You stare in silent agony at your imobile body, day after day, 20 hours a day (because you can only sleep for four hours). Are we there yet? No, we still have more misery to heap on.
Imagine now that there was no gauze, that you were not wrapped up, not immobilized by any physical constraint. Now — and this is the hardest part — imagine you still can’t move, you still feel the pain of a passing life quickly leaving you behind, but now you have only yourself to blame. Afterall, there is nothing keeping you from taking care of your responsibilities. It’s not even a severed nerve that explains your loss of body control. No, it is simply a loss of agency, a separation of mind from body.
Shall I go on? Because there’s one last bit. It really is the most important part, so at the risk of kicking a dead horse, let’s take a look.
Imagine that everyone you know and everyone you love also sees you lying there doing nothing. None of them can see any physical constraint and you inform them that indeed your legs and arms are perfectly healthy. What they do not see is the disease pressing down on you so heavily you can barely breathe. All they see is a man lying in bed, doing nothing, failing his responsibilities, ignoring his own kids, “choosing” as you say to throw away everything he once valued.
Of course, even without seeing, they could understand the cause. They could, but they don’t. When you meet a quadriplegic, you can’t see the severed nerves, but you still understand why he can’t walk. You accept the fact of his immobility. You do not hold him responsible if he does not save all the little kittens in the burning building. But, with depression, no one understands because the stigma has blinded them to the facts of the disease. All they see, then, is a weak, cowardly man “literally and metaphorically running from or avoiding something.” In other words, they see what they want to see; they see the situation and how they would react to it, unwittingly assuming that they have an accurate understanding of reality.
You, Bill, may have a choice about getting out of bed and going to work, but on very many occasions, I simply don’t have that luxury. No, that’s not quite right: I have the choice, I simply have no ability to effect that choice. It’s not the choice I’m making either. There have been many days when my choice was to kill myself, but my body prevented me from even that action. Ever hear about those people who kill themselves after coming out of depression? That happens because they finally regain the energy and agency necessary to carry out their plan. It’s not a paradox, it’s a fucking tragedy. And, unfortunately, it’s a tragedy we depressed folk must look forward to during our recovery.
Now, about my trips, clearly there is a wide spread belief that I was just off having the time of my life. If you had read the blog I kept of my trip to Geneva, you would have known that I spent most of those two weeks in bed, in my room, knowing that one of the most interesting cities and cultures in the world was on the other side of the wall and I was completely helpless to experience it. No one told you about that, I guess.
My trip to Texas (in the summer, I might add) was no vacation either, as you may recall. Or have you already forgotten that major panic attack that prevented me from sitting down to dinner with my, admittedly “quirky,” family. I thought you understood that I had absolutely no control over my body that day. I guess I was wrong; you obviously thought I simply wanted to avoid the antipasto.
I drove to Texas to see if I could live near my beloved family again. I did stop by to visit with my old buddy from college, who has one, maybe two years left to live, so yes, those two days with him were indeed a vacation. But my real destination was Houston, TX. I was testing the waters and I discovered the water was too deep and too turbulent for me to move back there.
Somewhere along the way back home, I thought maybe I could live near some close friends in the NYC area, seeing as how all my friends in the D.C. area chose to go to Alma and abandon me. I also thought maybe I could live in a place where no one knows me. That way I could rationalize my isolation and desperate loneliness on the language barrier and the sheer distance away from the people who really love me. My trip to Geneva was a feeble attempt to find a new home where I might start fresh, without the stigma everyone at home sees instead of me. I also thought, maybe if I surround myself with beauty, culture and crepes, I might rediscover happiness. I was wrong. My good ol’ friends misery and hopelessness managed to find me even in the place I had always wanted to visit. New York was much the same, but the pastries weren’t as good.
I wasn’t just milking my short-term disability benefits. How could you even think that about me, Bill? You of all people I would have expected to understand that my travels were part of a quest. I was not just wandering about looking for thrills. Has your opinion of me fallen so low? Am I nothing to you now but your pathetic, lazy brother? That’s real love there, bro.
Chris, how about you? Do you want to kick me now too? I’m down and mortally wounded. You’d better get it in now, because you just don’t know when my time will expire. Mom? Bob? Alma? Lem? Daniel? Steve? Janis? Lisa? Here I am. I’m out cold on the ground, my chest split open leaving my heart naked and vulnerable. Come on, kick me. Rip my fucking collapsed heart out. Do me the favor I’ve been too much of a coward to do for myself. Let me know how you really feel about my constant whining and hollow threats of suicide.
I don’t think I can take it, but that’s what you want anyway: closure, so you can get back to your lives. Maybe you can even sew on a badge of honor for having suffered through such a tragedy. After all, there should be some reward for all the b.s. you’ve had to put up with from me. I was just lucky to know you.
READ THE GUIDELINES FOLKS! If you are going to “help” me as Bill has done here, at least book up so you don’t end up saying something so patently ignorant and insulting that it is even worse than complete silence. I can’t believe you could think so little of me. Maybe I should have just stayed in Geneva, my head blissfully stuck in the sand as to what my family really thought of me.
With family like this, I don’t need a diseased brain.
Ray // 14 August 2007 at 1:54 am
Human beings are linked entities: some links are strong, some are weak. All this because humans are open systems [1] and every action performed will systemically impact other systems. Thereby when a person dies, a part of another person dies too. That’s an explanation of your hypothesis from the system theory. (Nothing out of this world)
I have good news for you: it’s not morally irresponsible to establish new links because it’s not up to you making them. Right now you and i are setting up a thin link through this post. Love is the same, when a special person appears all your senses collapsed and all the irrationality shows up. You don’t choose who you will love. It’s just a matter of luck. Play the russian roulette and you’ll figure it out.
You’re a lucky bastard who have the luxury of rejecting people who appreciate you and for that reason you don’t deserve true love, but life is unfair and the world has designed a space for people who love your behaviour. (People who only complain, rant and don’t want to go forward). You’re a kind of peaceful troll [2]. I am the evil one.
If you finally decide to extinguish your miserable existence, record it. Some people enjoy those videos [3]
[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Basic_Open_System_Model.gif
[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Internet_troll
[3] >>> REMOVED DUE TO INAPPROPRIATE NATURE OF LINK <<<
ideas2words // 14 August 2007 at 9:09 am
There has obviously been a huge misinterpretation of this post. I accept the blame. Though I thought the point was clear, I failed to fully appreciate the emotional impact my situation has on others and how this could lead to cognitive filtering and confusion. I was hoping the title, by alluding to an old cliché, would hint at the duality of the message.
My intent with the original post was to offer hope to those F&F that feel rejected by the person they love and want to help. I wanted to share my thinking, not as a universal truth regarding suicidal people, but merely as an example of the “logic” behind a mentally ill patient’s contradictory and self-destructive behavior.
Bill, clearly you were hurt by my words. They were not designed to hurt you or anyone else. Ray, clearly I have touched on something that deeply affects you, if not entirely consciously. I left your comment up so that others may learn from my mistake that what one says can have enormous impacts well beyond those intended.
My rant last night was obviously fueled by anger and fear. I considered for a moment whether to even submit it. Ultimately, I submitted it because I think it is important for people, healthy or sick, to understand that thier words have consequences — sometimes much more serious than we could have supposed. I also wanted to illustrate the extent to which the mentally ill can personalize a comment, twisting it from its original intent into an attack on the things about which we are most insecure. One of the struggles I deal with on a daily basis is trying to tease apart the behavior driven by the illness from the behavior driven by my character. If I was not already filled with self-hatred about this, I doubt that Bill’s words would have had such an impact on me.
There is one more lesson from this unfortunate episode: the potentially cathartic use of the written word. When I sat down to respond to Bill’s comment, I was fully intending to quickly throw down some words then go out and shoot myself. As I wrote, though, I allowed the anger inside me to flow into the page, thereby releasing its stranglehold over me. It also gave my higher-functioning brain the time it needed to reign in the highly irrational response proposed by my amygdala. I can honestly say that last night, writing out my anger instead of acting on it, literally saved my life (clever double entendre, no?).
So, to be sure I am perfectly clear, I will repeat: the intent of the main post was to explain to the F&F of the suicidal that, while we may be pushing you away, it may be because we love you too much not to. The very act may indeed be a reflection of how much they care for you, even if they aren’t aware of it.
ideas2words // 14 August 2007 at 9:49 am
One last thing: the intent of this whole blog is to discuss those issues surrounding suicidality that are closest to our hearts. Please read the introduction (http://ideas2words.wordpress.com/beyond-suicide-thoughts-and-observations/) and welcome (http://ideas2words.wordpress.com/welcome-to-beyond-suicide/) pages before explaining to me how I am a Troll for talking about suicide on a blog (my own, I might add) about suicide. Notice, I am not writing anything in this blog that I didn’t warn you about through the title, which screams “This is a heavy blog, so enter at your own risk, leave with your own reward;” the introduction, which indicates my full intent to talk about evocative mental illness issues; and the welcome page, which explains the guidelines I am using to judge appropriate entries.
Three mistakes were made last night, as I see it from a moderator’s point of view: all three entries were highly judgmental (see Rule 1), much advice was offered both implicit and explicit (see Rule 2), and not a lot of judgment was demonstrated (see Rule 6). I hate to pull the sick card here, but last night’s exchange could have been disastrous. Given the level of emotions provoked, we might just as well have been reading the follow up to this episode in the papers (inside section of course; suicide has become so commonplace that you have to be anorexic, blonde and slutty to make the front page).
If you all follow the guidelines, I will redouble my effort to do so as well. (Of course, I’m sick, so if I go astray … yes, the sick card! Gotta love it.)
Bill // 14 August 2007 at 8:14 pm
I