Your Turn

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.”

Damned if you do, Dead if you don’t

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.

Keeping Up Appearances

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.

Oh, the Things We Have Heard, or Things NOT to say to suicidal people

NOTE: Not all of these were told to me.  These were told to some suicidal person though as I have collected these from hospitals I have visited.

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What do you have to be depressed about?

I know how you feel.

Why can’t you [be stronger and] pull yourself out of this?

Why can’t your doctor get your medications right?  (I.e., you don’t have issues, it’s just a matter of getting those pesky little chemicals right.)

It was just a cry for help.

How dare you try to abandon your two kids like that!

You ought to be ashamed of yourself.

You exhaust me.

If you needed attention, there are better ways of getting it. You don’t have to do this.

If I had known you would turn out this way, I never would have had you.  (No, I’m not making this up.  The speaker has actually won the “Dumbest Thing a Mother Could Say” award.  (OK, I made up that last bit, but I’m sure if there were such an award, this lady would have won it.))

Would you mind if I don’t come to see you in the hospital? I will definitely come to see you next time. (I know that’s not what they meant, but still … think, then speak. Not the other way around.)

I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, but I couldn’t find a cheap flight earlier than today.

I thought you said you’d never do this again.

So, how about them Bears? (I.e., acting like it never happened.)

You weren’t depressed as a child. You just can’t remember how happy you were. (Interpretation: If you had been depressed, we would have noticed. We weren’t too caught up in our own pursuit of hedonic escapism to notice you. You’re the one who’s sick, not us; so you must be mistaken about how YOU FELT as a child; we could not have been mistaken about how YOU FELT. You are fucked in the head because of your biological father’s genes, not because of my parenting, you fucking ungrateful little … )

(Editor’s note: And these were just from the parents!!!)

The Dark Place

It has almost become cliché to discribe depression as feeling “surrounded by darkness.” I say “almost” because in this case, there really is no better description. But what does it mean exactly to be surrounded in darkness? What does it feel like? Is it the feeling of uneasiness you have when you must cross a familiar room in total darkness; or the terror you feel when walking down a dark alley; or the anxiety you sense when you are walking back to camp through the woods at night? For me it is a little of all of these, but at its worst it is much more.

I have used this description in some of my other writings before this blog, so I hope my friends and family will forgive me. I simply can’t think of a better metaphor for describing my dark place.

When I am feeling my lowest, when I am in the darkest places of my psyche, I am absolutely terrified to move, take any action, make any decision. I am engulfed in an impossibly thick fog, so thick that I can’t even see where I am standing. The only reason I know I am on firm ground is because I am not falling yet. I know that I cannot stay where I am, that I must move forward; but I cannot decide in which direction I should step. There doesn’t appear to be a path — good or bad — in any direction. But eventually I have to move, so I only move when and only as far as I must. The fear of stepping onto a deadly path or, indeed, if there will be anything to catch my step, is nearly paralyzing. In my depressed state, the bog in which I am currently lost is endless in all directions, scattered with misfortune, and all too likely to lead to The End.

If you have a sickness in your stomach imagining this nightmare, then welcome to the Dark Place of my life. Of course, that is only a small taste. The feeling of utter hopelessness is the next ingredient you must add. And, after that, you must add loneliness, lethargy, exhaustion from insomnia, … If only one ingredient made you sick, then perhaps it would be best to just read the recipe rather than tasting the full meal.

One parting thought for TDHP: do not believe for a moment that we want to be depressed or suicidal, that this is a choice we have made to avoid the vagaries of life.