At the risk of jeopardizing my disability status, let me say once and for all, “I am not suicidal!” Perhaps it is a limitation of the English language that we can inadvertently become the adjectives used to describe our behavior and feelings. So let me be clear: I have attempted suicide. I have thought a lot about suicide. I still think about committing suicide far more often than I like to admit. But I am not suicidal.
I am just Ashley. Long before I began my struggles with suicidality, I was, and hopefully long after, I will be, just Ashley. And, Ashley, if you care to get to know (or remember) him, is a pretty cool guy … .
Many of you know that I have made an effort to share with my friends and family (F&F) the struggles with suicidality that have plagued me for so long. I can honestly say that my intentions for doing so were innocent. I was not trying to manipulate their emotions or behavior toward me, I was not simply throwing myself a pity party, nor was I seeking absolution for my past (and possible future) behaviors. It was in an effort to be as upfront and honest with them about the precariousness of my situation that I allowed them to enter the darker rooms of my mind.
As more and more rooms were being shuttered, I found it increasingly difficult to truly share myself with my F&F. You can only receive guests in the parlor for so long before they begin wondering what you are hiding in the rest of the house. Increasingly alienated from my F&F, I finally decided to throw open the doors to my inner world, to my weaknesses, to my shame; they could then decide for themselves whether I was still worth the trouble. If it meant losing some of my relationships, I thought it was the only way I could be honest with them, just as I expected them to be honest with me. What does it mean to be a friend to someone you don’t really know well? Is that friendship at all or just a dressed up acquaintance, truly no more important to you than perhaps a colleague from work? That’s all well and good—”honesty is the best policy” and all that—but it comes at a price: vulnerability, not just on my part, but on theirs as well.
By giving my F&F the grand tour of my tormented mind, I gave them the (partially Greek) gift of really, truly knowing me … and what I might one day do. In this way, I also presented them with a very difficult decision: “Do I allow myself to be completely vulnerable to a person who may one day tear away that piece of my heart to which he is attached? I mean, Ashley’s good for a laugh or two, and he has some interesting insights from time to time, but at the end of the day, is that enough to justify emotionally investing in him?” In this day and age of looking out for number one, I am afraid the answer is “no, it’s just not worth it; he’s just not worth it.” And, that isn’t a moral statement about selfishness, it is just the sad fact of life in America that we are all so close to the edge that it is rather foolish to knowingly accept a potentially huge emotional liability. It’s like carrying around a cherry bomb in your breast pocket; it probably won’t kill me if it goes off, but it will certainly hurt like hell. Best, then, to just take the volatile thing out of my pocket and keep it on the shelf.
So, what should I do: open myself up in the interest of full disclosure (like selling a car with a known defect)? or close parts of myself off in a paradoxical attempt to avoid loneliness? What would you do, if you are like me? What would you have me do, if you like me? It is easy to be dishonest, even easier to be honest; but it seems to be pretty damn lonely as well.
Sam Cooke’s old song “A Change Gonna Come” is about the hopefulness of a Black American despite the sorrowful life available to him. I find the words are applicable to any situation in which a person must find hope in a better future despite all evidence to the contrary.
WHEREAS, I would like to make this blog as close to a daily as possible; and
WHEREAS, Many of you have much experience with suicide, suicidal ideation, suicidality (both acute and chronic); and
WHEREAS, I am in a bit of a funk and am not inclined to get out of bed, let alone write something pithy and profound;
I propose that one or more of you SP (sick people) or FnF (Friends and family) or even one of TDHP (those damn healthy people) write today’s entry. Just enter it as a comment below. And, thanks in advance for helping me keep this project going through my little “crisis of the week.”
Someone asked me why I chose such a depressing blog layout. To be a good friend, I picked a brighter, more cheerful layout. Are you happy now? So am I. Everybody is happy. Happy, happy, happy … and above average.
