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That’s right: an addiction. Suicide pops into my head now at the least hint of anxiety. It’s like a craving—strike that—it is a craving, every bit as much as an alcoholic’s craving for his drink of choice, every bit as much as a sex addict’s craving for “old time’s sake.” When an addict indulges, it is indulgence in fantasy, indulgence in the escape, indulgence in avoiding reality. To be sure, we may consciously want something else—to get high, to get laid/loved, to get rich, to “end the pain”—but soon enough, our brains are awash in their own concoction of feel-good drugs. So, whether it’s a so-called chemical addiction or process addiction you struggle with, it is, more than anything else, an addiction to certain neuro-transmitters that renders us powerless.

The obvious next question is this: if you are addicted to suicidal feelings, how do you get sober?  Well, my friends, I wish I knew. In fact, I wish I knew RIGHT NOW because I’m in pretty f*%@n’ bad shape… .

Well, I’ve been trying depression for a while, but that doesn’t seem to be shaking off the suicidal ideation. Seems rather obvious to you, I guess. I tried everything else, so I thought maybe depression would be just the thing. People always say, “Stop being so depressed. Stop thinking about suicide.” The two come together so often that we begin to think one requires the other.* So, harkening back to those nail-biting Sherlock Holmes mysteries read in the halcyon days of youth** (not my youth, of course, but one whose youth was spent reading Sherlock Holmes in days that must have been peaceful or enjoyable or in some other way worth harkening back), I couldn’t help but remember the advice of the sage sleuth: “We must fall back upon the old axiom that when all other contingencies fail, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” As I have already tried everything else, I thought, “what the hell, no one has tried depression yet; let’s give it a whirl.” Well, I am just barely here today to report that indeed depression is not a good antidote to suicidality.

With that in mind, I thought I’d give mirth another go. If not entirely therapeutic, it should at least be more enjoyable than spending all day in bed staring at the wall and might even win back a few friends in the process. So, consider yourself warned, the rest of this entry will be mirthful, impishly giddy, and down right silly. It may even be funny here and there—but don’t hold your breath.

To kick things off, I thought I’d dust off a limerick I wrote a while back. I don’t think it got the ovation it merited, so I am republishing it here for all to read (and applaud):

   There once was a boy full of bile,
   though he’d greet you with laughs and a smile.
       He decided one day
       he should jump in the bay,
   but his meds kept him dry for a while.

And now, a few one liners à la être suicidaire:

   A man walks into a bar. He says, “OW!”
   A suicidal man walks into a bar. He says, “OW! See! Even the bar hates me … what’s the use?!”

   Normal guy: Take my wife … please!!!
   Suicidal guy: Take my wife … she has suffered enough; she deserves better than me.

   Normal guy: I took a train once, but they made me put it back.
   Suicidal guy: I jumped in front of a train once, but someone pulled me back.

   Jack and Jill went up the hill, each with a buck and a quarter. Jill came down with $2.50; she needed the money!
   Jack and Suicidal Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill—knowing she could never live without Jack—came tumbling after.

   Normal guy: My wife hates me. The other day, I fell asleep with a cigarette in my mouth. She lit it.
   Suicidal guy: My wife hates me.

Okay, enough of that. I feel better already. Of course, it’s 5:30 in the morning, so it could be that I’m just delirious. Hey, I’ll take what I can get. Good night everybody. I hope to be as happy tomorrow, but I make no promises.

NOTES:
* - Didn’t want to interrupt the line of levity, but didn’t want to let the thought go either. Just as often as people assume a suicidal person must also be depressed, I have assumed that a depressed person (me) must also be suicidal. Talk about a dysfunctional automatic thought! “Well, I’ve been depressed all weekend, I guess it’s about time I start thinking about suicide…” Sounds stupid when you say it like that, but the thought process (sorry folks, I just can’t resist) has a mind of its own.

** - Harkening back? Halcyon days? Yeah, I know. Just thinking about Sherlock Holmes makes me conjure up words I could have only heard in my youth, moments before the speaker was severely beaten up for using such uppity words. “You think you smart, huh? Well, how smart are you now with my foot stuck in yo’ ass?! Punk ass bitch think he all smarter than me and shit…” Snap out of it, Ashley! Click those heels and get back to Kansas (with yo’ white ass)!

A Change Gonna Come

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.

A Change Is Gonna Come Lyrics

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.”