suicide
Ankhs in the Ground
Saturday, November 15th, 2008 | Thoughts | 7 Comments
Premise: For Halloween I dressed up just a little gothy. However, I was missing one vital accessory for my outfit: my ankh necklace. I knew I had one somewhere, but the where was eluding me. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d worn it or the last place I’d seen it. I considered searching in the bedroom, though even that seemed pointless. Had I brought it to New York with me at all? My memory was failing me, as is often the case, so I didn’t give it much more thought until the mystery unraveled in a morbid thought process this morning.
Lying in bed in Texas, I was awoken by my dad bringing in Justin’s cell phone. The alarm was going off. It was 8:30 AM in NY, 7 :30 here. I considered getting up after only 4 hours of sleep to walk down the street and see my grandmother (Nanny), a ridiculously early riser. I’d spoken with my cousin Sheila the night before; she told me she and her husband (Justin) were going to have breakfast with Nanny at 7 AM. Yeah, right. Sheila is notorious for consistent inconsistency.
The thought occurred to me of playing a terrible practical joke on Sheila - pretending Nanny had died by getting there before her, conspiring with Nanny and hiding her, and basically lying through my teeth when Sheila arrived. Obviously, this thought process got me thinking of how sad everyone would be if Nanny were to die for real and how devastated my cousin David would be. How devastated I would be.
Mom, Me, Jared, and Val! - Halloween 1994
Thoughts leading on to other thoughts, I remembered the last time someone incredibly important to me died. It was Dec. 2005 and the neighbor I’d had and helped raise (he was 6 years younger than me) and played with practically my whole life committed suicide. His mother found his body hanging in his closet. I remembered going to his wake and half-hoping in that ridiculous manner that people do when they don’t want to believe reality that it was all an elaborate ruse and Jared would call it off at any moment. Val! and I swore we wouldn’t be angry if he’d planned the whole thing as some gigantic practical joke, or even just some way to prove to himself that lots of people cared about him (people came out en masse - it was incredible to see the number of lives this young guy had touched). I lost it as soon as I saw his lifeless body in the coffin. Even from the entrance of the chapel, it was apparent the spark that was Jared’s being was gone forever.
I remembered that I’d dressed Goth that night and for the funeral the next day in honor of Jared. It was something he used to tease me relentlessly about, even though he always conceded to letting Valerie and I dress him up and put makeup on him. It was at this moment that it struck me where my ankh was. As I approached Jared’s coffin the day of his funeral to say my final goodbye, I ripped my ankh from around my neck and laid it on his chest. Strange how we’re driven to do symbolic things, like adorning a corpse with a necklace before sending it into the ground forever, as a way of saying goodbye. Utterly pointless but entirely human.
Mystery solved. I wonder what it was about this thought process, this story, that drove me to get up at 7:30 AM after a mere 4 hours of sleep and type it up to share with my poor readers. I feel a little guilty about it, because spreading misery is not my goal, but it seemed important, even interesting, to me. I guess revelations and understanding are interesting to me. Anyway, I am going to lay down and try to go back to sleep.
Follow Up: I didn’t want to leave any of you guys hanging as I am sure you’re on the edge of your seat wondering, “Did Sheila show up at 7 AM this morning at Nanny’s house?!” Like a good author and fact-checker, I just got off the phone with Nanny. Sheila did not show up afterall. Justin left a message saying something about abdominal pain (she is pregnant - sounds like a good reason). I guess it’s good to be able to bank on the actions of someone you know pretty darn well. Nanny did, however, make Schmawn* in the anticipation of Sheila and Justin’s arrival. Don’t worry guys - my Justin and I will take care of it for you. Good morning all.
* Schmawn is pancake mix + oil stirred constantly over heat in a big pot til there are tiny cooked pancake crumbles. Served in a bowl covered with syrup. Oh deliciousness.
Life Has Meaning? Suicide, Cutting…
Wednesday, August 20th, 2008 | Negativity | 4 Comments
New Life in Forest Park
For a while in college, I worked part-time as a content editor and web producer for a company called HealthyPlace.com. A large part of my job responsibility was to keep the communities up-to-date. I spent 20 hours or so per week scouring different resources and adding stories and news to the front pages of each community, moderating the journal pages, selected journalers to feature, and at one point I even created a new website to help flesh out (no pun intended) our self-injury community. Looking back, I suppose it wasn’t overly conscientious to call the site “Blood Red” because it could have been a “trigger.” I never really understood that concept. To be honest, I never understood mental illness or why people would flock to websites and communities that centered around them and seemed to sort of promote them. I could open a whole can of worms and write tomes of random narrative here, but I will save that for another time.
I don’t like to approach writing in a structured way at all, but somehow, when an issue is too deep, too personal, or too negative, I find myself staring off blankly, avoiding the computer screen like I’d avoid an uncomfortable relationship oriented conversation. My mind essentially shuts down and I become tired. I don’t know what kind of coping mechanism this is, if it’s one at all. I’d probably achieve better results if I gave myself an outline when I find this happening to me - a tool to get my thoughts back on track.
Last night a friend of mine was rushed to the emergency room because they were talking about suicide, locked themselves in the bathroom with a butcher knife, and proceeded to slash up their arm. This person was treated, held overnight, and released this afternoon. I was understandably upset, saddened, and concerned when I heard this news but I was far from shocked by it. The person in question has been known to ‘cut’ in the past, but this definitely felt like a whole different level. Even if suicide was not actually an intent, anything to this extreme is beyond a cry for help - it is, dear friends (and sister who oh-so-loves Whitman), a Yawp. A big whopping Yawp for help.
It seems to me that suicide, or ‘attempted’ suicide, is the last resort of a person that feels not only depressed but also bored and unequivicolly stuck in their lives. Depression alone is not enough. I think the perception that you’ve gotten yourself completely stuck, immovable, wriggling on a pin (line 55) without a means to escape is the worst spot to be in and the most hopeless. After all, we as a human race have only hope, according to the Greek myth of Pandora and her legendary box, at any rate. It’s the only thing that keeps us going. Hope. Without that, there would be no art, no progress, no society, no you, no I. Nothing. If we had no hope we’d have nothing to keep us here, nothing to strive for. We’d probably all choose to opt out of life.
That’s what I think suicide is. It’s someone that’s come to the end of their tether, regardless of whether things could change for the better in an hour or a day or a week, they’ve come, at that moment, to the end of their tether where absolutely no hope remains. They find themselves stuck and wriggling, depressed, bored, and they say, “This is the end. It’s my end.” And if everything goes according to plan, it is.
Life in Your Hand
Personally, I always tell myself that if things are at their absolute worst and I find myself completely depressed and feeling stuck, I’d give life one last try in a place very far away from the society that I know that’s put me in such a predicament. I would fling myself headfirst into a different world, whether it was the countryside of France or the hills of New Zealand or the busy streets of China. Even if that meant dying in a faraway and altogether unfriendly place, at least I would have tried one last time. Essentially, I would run away. Maybe that’s too optimistic or too immature, but it gives me strength in the darkest and most lonely moments.
It’s truly Sad, the world some of us create for ourselves. I wish I could make it better. What else is out there?
Your insights are appreciated and any words of hope, encouragement, or positive ideas I can pass along are encouraged.
Life, Love, Suicide
Wednesday, May 28th, 2008 | Positivity | No Comments
Sorry to send you elsewhere. I considered writing something truly heartfelt here earlier, but I went to dinner and discussed it with Justin instead. You can get the jest of it here: Heart-to-Heart Conversations: Past Loves and Helping Others Cope with Suicide.
Archives
Friends
Search
Categories
What we're reading
