SUICIDE IS(N’T) PAINLESS

Dear Reader,

Recently, an acquaintance of mine posted a blog entry discussing the suicide of a friend. This made me very sad; not only in the way it affected my acquaintance, but in general, as suicide is such a sad thing, at least in many cases.

In most cases, taking one’s life, or making the determination that one’s life should or must be ended in a particular circumstance, is a right of the individual that I defend wholeheartedly. Certainly, if I were ever in the condition where I was completely disabled, unable to care for myself and my own bodily functions, completely dependent on others for life-sustaining support and intervention, I would rather be dead. If this serves as my Living Will, so be it; I have been delinquent in preparing the proper paperwork to make sure I don’t end up like Terry Schiavo.

But, on the other hand, taking one’s life while one is still able to continue to live it is something I question. This is not from a self-righteous vista, or a religious point of view; this is from having been on that brink several times during my life so far, and being able to pull back, and re-assess.

There are times when things in life seem so hopeless, so heavy, so intransigent, just simply so impossible, that it is not possible to see how one can get through it. There is no one to help; there is no one to tell the problems to who can understand; there is nothing to be done to make things better. There is no way to continue; nothing will get better; there is no hope. Even shrinks and meds don’t help; living is just unbearable.

I have been at this point several times in my life. Fortunately (or not) I have been able to pull back from the edge. Frequently, my own lack of courage has been the reason I am still with us. Fear of failure (“I haven’t been able to do anything else right; how will I manage to do this right.....” ); fear of failure, again (“What if I miss and end up a quadriplegic....”); unavailability of a gun or other serious implement of death; not enough drugs on hand, and plain old cowardice.

Then afterwards of course, there is that feeling of utter failure: “I don’t even have the courage or ability to kill myself.”

None of this is facetious. If I had been able to, I would have. Certainly, if I’d had a gun on hand, I would not be typing this now. But, I have also been fortunate that I have somehow been able to short-circuit these desires in one way or another.

When I started to think about suicide, at about age 14 or so, I simply had no idea what I could possibly do. All I knew was that my life, as it was panning out, was so unhappy I didn’t think I had anything to look forward to. When my suicidal ideations (shrink-speak) were pointed out to my parents, they were simply unable to comprehend how I could feel that way. Not a lot I could convey to let them know what was going on; they just got me my own shrink and hoped that would do the trick. No, that’s really not fair: they got me my own shrink, and let me know what a failure I was because I was “crazy.” But that one, and the subsequent “Band-Aid” shrinks at least kept me alive.

Most of the suicidal thoughts in college were kept at bay with alcohol and marijuana. There were a few efforts to simply drink myself away, none successful, obviously. After that, mostly just alcohol, although there were episodes where self-injury substituted for actual suicide attempts.

As I have gotten older, there have been more reasons to not die. Mostly, at this point, it is because I know the harm my suicide would do to my family and friends. My family members are distant at best, and inattentive at worst, but I somehow know that they care for me, or at least my dad does. He’s the one I’m most concerned about; I hope he continues to live for a good long time, and I don’t want to do anything to impinge on his continued long life. I am fortunate to know, after all these years (50, to be exact) that he really does care for me, and I want to keep living if for no other reason than to keep in touch with my dad. As things are progressing, he will probably outlive us all, naturally!

I am fortunate that I have been able to assemble a circle of friends in various areas, and although none of them is a “best” friend, many of them qualify as someone I can contact if I am feeling really terrible. I am grateful for that.

With all of this, I am not diminishing my acquaintance’s friend’s death, by any means. I understand those overwhelming feelings that engulf you, and sweep you to that abyss. I hope what this can do is to make someone else think for a moment; just think about your family, no matter how distant, dumb or unloving they seem; think about your friends, old, new, distant, close; there may be one of them you can call or email, and WAIT for that response; think even about the pros you know: your shrink or counselor, AA sponsor or rehab buddy; anyone you may have been through some kind of treatment with, even someone you were in group with. Or maybe someone from work, or some other thing you do; there has to be someone you have been in contact with. These days, people have to work REALLY HARD to be isolated; there must be someone you can call/email/even write a letter, and just WAIT for that answer. Just wait. Read the following, by a brilliant writer, and JUST WAIT, please.


RESUME

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

----Dorothy Parker



Thanks for reading,
Catbird