Tag Archives for suicide

Sow Together’s Shocking Suicide Statement

Last night I came across a blog posting that I suppose the author meant to be helpful to people feeling suicidal, and the families and friends who support them. Shockingly, the writer started with this statement

“Suicide is the ultimate act in selfishness.”

How the !@#$ is that supportive? Farther down in the post she writes, “My intent is not to rip on people who have these thoughts but to explain their thought process and how loved one’s can help.” Ripping on people who have these thoughts is exactly what she did with the opening statement, and it shows that she doesn’t understand the thought process of anyone who might feel suicidal. The post contained quotes from WebMD about mental illness and some basic psychological self-assessment tools about suicide. This information barely touches the surface of what someone who attempts suicide might feel or think.

I can’t remember the last time something I read made me this angry and feel the need to respond. I kept thinking about the opening statement as I continued to read the post. How can someone make such a harsh, judgemental statement and expect anyone who feels or has ever felt suicidal to keep reading. How could the writer expect someone who feels buried by the weight of depression and hopelessness, to see that shocking statement and feel comfortable reading further? To read on to learn what the writer considers helpful ideas about how to communicate with friends and family, when it feels like nothing but death can end the pain. How can the writer expect, someone like myself, who attempted suicide multiple times because I’m a survivor of horrendous, unspeakable things, to connect with anything she shares after that opening line.

The sad thing is that this isn’t the first time I’ve heard or read a statement like this. I’ve had the misfortune of sitting at a dinner table with people who openly stated that anyone who attempted or was successful at committing suicide is a weak coward. I felt myself shrink as the conversation continued around me. These people weren’t aware that I had attempted suicide. After hearing their callous, unfeeling, self-righteous statements about someone else’s suffering, I would never tell them about the pain I experienced that led me to believe that death was the only thing that could end my pain.

The people who make these statements don’t understand how hard it is to find resources; whether it is good doctors or therapists, or the right combination of medications to help someone who feels this kind of pain to cope. They don’t understand how deeply, someone living with depression, can feel shame because he or she believes they should be mentally stronger and tougher, and “snap out of it” because that’s the message sent by the society we live in. The people who make these statements don’t understand how hard it is to live day in and day out feeling detached from the world. Feeling like nothing you do can close the divide of the separation you feel from everyone in your life.

People who make these statements don’t understand hopelessness. They don’t understand someone feeling that he or she has tried everything in their power to get well, even when what they suffer from – bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, PTSD, depression, anxiety, or other mental health and chronic physical illnesses – has no cure and might only be manageable, at best. They don’t understand someone who has tried to “get over” whatever it is that hurt them. The thing that continues to split a person open over and over again because it has become part of their DNA. The people who make these statements don’t understand what it’s like to live feeling physical and/or psychological pain, shame, and self-blame for something you couldn’t stop from happening to you and now can’t control. They don’t understand how exhausting it is to live in a continuous state of hypervigilance because a disease or someone took away your sense of safety and well-being.

The writer who wrote, “Suicide is the ultimate act in selfishness,” needs to educate herself about why people attempt suicide rather than spouting off basic one-fits-all psychological information that she read on websites about how to prevent it.

 

Leona Lewis – Fireflies

I Understand Wanting To Die

During my first appointment at the pain clinic, the pain specialist completed a very detailed intake questionnaire with me. Some of the questions on the questionnaire were designed to gauge a patient’s mood. One specific question asked if I had thoughts about taking my life. I said no, but jokingly added that I had enough pain medication on hand if I ever considered it. The pain specialist stopped writing and looked me straight in the eyes with deep concern. Her concern surprised me. I had to assure her that it was only a joke and that I would never make such a joke again, and more importantly never try to take my life.

I thought about that meeting this morning because in addition to this blog I recently started a gratitude journal, and this morning I wrote about being grateful that I was never successful at my past attempts to take my life. That’s right, I said attempts; meaning more than one. I tried to kill myself more than once in my youth because of unspeakable things I had lived through that I felt I couldn’t and shouldn’t have survived. Unknowingly, I was also suffering from undiagnosed depression – or more accurately PTSD – which caused me a tremendous amount of psychological and emotional pain and made me believe that death was my only cure. At the bottom of some very dark valleys, I decided it would be better if I never climbed out. So, I swallowed lots of pills but I didn’t die.

I wrote in my gratitude journal that I am grateful I didn’t die for many reasons. Because I didn’t die I had the opportunity to obtain higher education – in academic settings, in the workforce, and just by being part of the world. I have traveled to many places (there are many more I want to see), and in each of those places I met wonderful people. I have seen many beautiful sunrises and sunsets, and as cliché as that sounds there is nothing more incredible than watching the sun set the sky on fire with colours you never imagined before. I have swum in the salt water of oceans and seas. I have skied down mountains. I have learned foreign languages – sometimes just small bits so I could communicate with strangers – and I have shared delicious food with some of those strangers who later became friends. But I am most grateful I didn’t die because I have received many blessings, most of which have come to me from unexpected places at times when I was ready to give up.

Although I am grateful, I understand wanting to die because I understand feeling hopeless, defeated and unloved. Thankfully my illness has not reduced me to feeling any of those things. Maybe it’s because of the antidepressants I’m taking. Early on when it became clear that getting me better would be difficult and could take a long time, my doctors started me on a low dose of antidepressants. Antidepressants are commonly prescribed for chronic pain patients to manage mood. When I started taking them I was concerned that they would dull my mind, but considering the amount of pain medication I’m taking any dulling a mild antidepressant could do is negligible. I also believe those feelings are being kept at bay because I have to be my own advocate, which means I have to be alert to understand and research information about my condition, and participate in all decision-making about my health and daily life.

Nonetheless, since my illness arrived I have not wanted to die. Even though the unbearable pain sometimes makes me feel like I might die. Sometimes I feel like I might die as I lay alone in the dimmed lighting in my apartment in the middle of the night. I have felt like I might die when just trying to get out of bed sends lightning hot pain through my body. I feel like I might die when I stand, weakly, at my kitchen sink to wash my dishes; and I felt like I might die when I fell in the shower a few months ago because my strength gave out while I was standing in the shower washing my pain riddled body. And, I have felt afraid that I might die while riding in the back of a taxi on the way to the hospital emergency room to get help to reduce my pain when my pain medications failed to manage it.

Still, as much as I understand wanting to die and feeling that I might die, today I am grateful that I did not.

 

Josh Groban – You Are Loved (Don’t Give Up)