Ideas2Words Words2Minds Minds2Action

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.

I am a strong believer in evolution and, as such, I have always wondered why some of the deadlier mental illnesses have survived the weeding out process. I read one article that proposed a possible answer that also incorporates the link between creativity and madness (documented in very good studies, by the way).

I wish I could find the original article (it is probably one of Redfield-Jamison’s) because I’m going to give a 2nd grader version of the original thoughts. Oh well, better to get the idea out than to wait until I get organized! Just think of this as the trailer for an article you’ll want to find yourself. So, here goes:

Since mentally ill people are generally less concerned with staying “in the box,”* at least when they are most ill, they are more likely to see solutions to problems that others think are unsolvable. I’m thinking here of mania and hallucinations — I have no idea what benefits depression brings; maybe better designs for mattresses. What seems possible, even obvious, to a sick person is way out of bounds for normal people.

Regular Joe: “No, silly, we can’t get across this gorge. It’s impossible. Let’s just go around.”

Sick Joe: “Yeah, but what if there were two massive columns holding up enormously thick ropes that held other ropes, which held up long planks of wood … You’re right; that is stupid. I’m stupid. I have nothing to live for…” Sick Joe’s idea, later credited to Regular Joe.

Therefore, even though a very high percentage of these people end up killing themselves, their usefulness to society could have already been substantial. Maybe that’s also why chicks dig even the ugliest artists — to keep their creative qualities in the gene pool.

I find it interesting that sick people generally kill themselves after reaching sexual maturity, giving them just enough time to make some sort of contribution to society. A moment’s thought will yield the obvious biological explanation for this. I just think it is interesting how elegant evolution solves the problem of species optimization.

*In America, managers are always telling people to “think outside the box.” When we do, though, they quickly admonish you for not being realistic. “It’s all that book knowledge you depend on. You would have learned more if you spent that time working in the real world.” Days later, “Yes, sir. That was MY idea. My trusty employees checked out the numbers to make sure MY idea was workable…”

Well, I’m going to check myself in today.  The last couple of days have been pretty rough and I don’t know if I can make it through another lonely night.  I will talk to my doctor about doing only the partial program instead of the full day.  If you don’t hear from me for a while, you’ll know it was the latter.  And, if you don’t ever hear from me again, you’ll know I took the third option.

It’s funny, I started this blog with the handle “Suicidal No More” — optimism springs eternal, or was it just sardonic word play?  Either way, I can no longer continue the masquerade.  I’m still sick.  I guess I’ll always be sick.   That points to a question always in the back of my mind: who would want to live like this for the rest of their life?  I sure as hell don’t.  Is that the disease talking? Or simply the voice of reason?  I know what my doctor would say; what would you say — you who have been in the bog?

Thank you all for reading my silly little blog.  It really has meant a lot to me.

-Ashley

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.”