Notes on Suicide

Okay, here’s the thing: About a year and a half ago, I slit my wrists from my thumb to halfway to my elbow. It wasn’t easy, first I drank myself to the point where I got the sack to buy a box cutter and a bottle of Tylenol PM from the Wal-Mart. Some of you may know that. For the rest of you, I guess maybe you were busy looking at pictures of cats on Facebook or something. Or maybe you had your own problems to deal with. Either way, I was kind of angry with you about it.

You know why? You know what I didn’t see? I didn’t see anyone posting suicide prevention hotline info. I didn’t see anyone ‘reaching out’, I didn’t see anyone ‘caring about other people.’ What I saw were unanswered phone calls. What I got was defriended on social media.

You know why I saw that? Because that’s the reality I engineered for myself. My suicide attempt was premeditated. It was a mix of feelings from self-loathing to delusions of grandeur. I didn’t like the world the way it was and I didn’t feel like I had to play by its rules. I hated my situation, I was angry at the hand that I had been dealt. I wanted to see what death was like. I wanted to know the point. So, away I went. This was not something that was anybody’s fault. It couldn’t have happened any other way, because I would not have allowed it.

I finished the books I was reading, drank away all of my money, quit my job, pissed off all of my friends and loved ones to the point where they wouldn’t speak to me anymore. I did this to prove to myself that the world wasn’t worth my time. “The ex doesn’t see my value, better take a box cutter to the old jugular.” (oh yeah, I also have scars on my neck and in the bends of my elbows.) In the end, I guess that it came down to simple laziness. I didn’t want to put an effort into anything. I wanted all the good shit with none of the work. So I looked for an easy action with a big payoff.

I'm not a cutter. I never wanted to do anything like this before. This was a one time deal. I got one shot at checking out early. I just figured that I was at a good stopping point, and I didn’t really want to deal with shit anymore. And I tried hard. I did not leave a note. This was not about them. It was about me. I wanted out. It was not a ‘cry for help’. The only thing that stopped my success was my own ineptitude (just another of my many failures!).

When I was finished, I was laying in a puddle of my own blood and vomit. My apartment was wrecked, there were blood stains all over the floor because I hadn’t eaten in two weeks and I couldn’t stand up without having a seizure due to blood loss/alcohol withdrawal/malnutrition. I had been crawling around. No one came to help me. I had driven them all away. So, sometimes I want to respond to ‘help prevention’ posts. Sometimes I want to say that there is nothing you can do to prevent suicide. There are only things you can do to exacerbate its possibility. If someone chooses to look at the world a certain way, you can only be part of the problem. Only a full attack of kindness and compassion will do, and nobody in this ‘me first’ society has the capacity to do that. I know that this seems negative, and believe me, I'm aware of the futility of trying to make commentary on the hypocrisy of social media by... posting on social media. But what is the alternative, do nothing? I can't do that either. I just know that anyone who tried to help me just got a bigger dose of crap, I just acted shittier until they went away. If someone is going to take their own life, it’s going to happen whether you try to call them or not. They just won’t pick up the phone. It's a hard road for all involved, and I know that there is no easy answer.

I just know that, for me, there was nothing that anyone could have done. I just had to figure it out for myself, and I'm lucky to still be here. Ultimately, I suppose, the only real solution is a devaluation of all the things that cause us misery and an elevation in the idea that happiness does not come from any external means. The placing of value on money or property or personal relationships is futile because all of these things are temporary and fallible. No amount of approval or money or success or praise can make a person feel worthy, we have to find it for ourselves and, unfortunately, sometimes people don't make it to that conclusion. I know I was desperately close to being one of the casualties of this problem, and I still don't know exactly how to communicate a solution to anyone else beyond 'If you keep trying, you'll figure it out. The only way you really lose is to give up.'

The bug guy at my apartment building saved my life. The bug guy, a guy I never met and who I will never see again, came into my apartment, saw me there, called the cops. That’s my story. That’s how I was saved. I didn’t save myself, and no one intervened on my behalf. None of the people that I wanted to hurt with my own death gave a shit. None of those relationships were reconciled by my bullshit. The people that I wanted approval from were the first to bail. Funny how life works, kind of seems like a big joke. I have not heard one word from some of these people, and the rest have faded into the past as well. When I reached that stopping place, I killed off my entire life, my entire way of thinking, everything that was dissatisfying, which was just about everything.

How did I survive? It was nothing short of something bigger. The bug guy, and everything afterward, was a fucking miracle. When they got me to the hospital, the boys who stitched me up marveled that I was going to retain the use of all of my fingers. One pointed to my open wound and exclaimed, “If you had cut that tendon, you’d have lost the use of your hand.”

It was another loss for the way that I looked at the world. I said, ‘here’s what I think of your ‘plan’’, and the universe proved to me that its plan was bigger than the flaws in the way that I was looking at it. It was bigger than my hate of the people around me, it was bigger than my disapproval of the nature of existence and my lack of faith in humanity. Of course, when I was ready to look, I saw kindness and compassion and beauty all around me. From the people who watched over me in the hospital, to my sponsor in the 12 step groups that would follow, to a random few who actually did show kindness without expectation, you know who you are and I can never thank you enough.

I know the pain of people who end themselves. If you are successful, I still kind of envy you. I miss Robin Williams, Sylvia Plath, Chris Cornell. I kind of wish that I was with them. I still struggle with the idea that it would be a lot better if I just wasn’t here anymore. I see that their own misery and the manner in which they succumb to it now makes a contribution to the discussion that is worthwhile. Their deaths bring attention to the value of human life, and how fragile the ego (even the celebrity ego) can be when recognizing that value.

I still think about people that would be better off not to have to deal with me, and I still don’t want to deal with them either. The thing that I’ve realized since I was forced to continue living: I don’t have to think like that. I’ve learned how clouded and delusional I was, and how this is a natural state for me. It is a challenge that I am presented with on a daily basis, maybe it’s just a little more extreme than others. I’ve seen a lot of people talk about their struggles with depression, and I think that everyone does struggle, to varying degrees. Who hasn't wondered what it would be like to die? Those of us who can’t get over these thoughts actually give dying a try. We test the fates to see if we are worth continuing. Most of us just question ourselves and never get to the point where we try to take control and check out. If we do, it is the ultimate form of selfishness and cowardice. I still think that I could just end it all, maybe this time I’d get lucky and not wake up. It’s always an option. The only cure for this thinking is a daily bargain that I have with the universe. I realize that, with the nature of my behavior and wounds, I should not be here. I don’t deserve this life (yes I do). I have to give it up to the universe for that. So, I owe something big time. I guess I’m obliged to pay up. I just figure, ‘hey, just tell me what you want me to do, I’ll do it. But if you fuck me, you know I ain’t afraid to take matters into my own hands.’ Every day that I give up my plan to the plan of the universe, the universe shows me that it’s got my back. It’s that simple.

Again, these are things that everyone deals with, to a certain degree. Think about the things in your life that you try to control. Your friends, your coworkers, your house, your bank account, the dishes, the afterlife, whatever. It comes from a desire to have a handle on things. We all do it. That’s why the first step in the 12 steps is admitting powerlessness. That’s why the Gods of religion all want your trust and loyalty. Part of being connected to this world is realizing that we aren’t in control. For me, it’s a relief. Because I’m pretty shitty at being in charge. I am afraid and I just want to quit. It’s the same fear that makes us try to clutch to some form of order in our lives. Just apply that same fear to the idea of your life, and you have the kind of fear that it takes to try and kill yourself. I just wanted to be in control. So much so that I felt that I should be able to decide when and how I died.

I used to think that I would never understand what would push someone to that point, then I got there. It can happen to you too. You’re not that far away from it.

So the next time that some celebrity ends themselves, just be thankful that you’ve never been there. Reach out to a friend that seems low, because you never know how low they might be. And if you’re there, just know that life has a way of giving us what we want, but there are always conditions. Mine is the knowledge that if today doesn’t suit me, I could always try again, but I’d just have to deal with all of this crap in some way anyway. So, I’m grateful for the life that I am given now. I try my best and, because the universe has my back, just like it has yours, I’m doing fine. I see even my challenges and troubles as gifts to help me get by. Because of my specific experiences, I'm not afraid of death. In fact, I have a lot less fear about a lot of things, and that makes life a little easier. I know that all life is worth the effort, all existence has a purpose. If you don’t see that, I feel you. I’ve been there too. If you want to chat about it, give me a shout and I can tell you what I know. I can tell you the specifics of how I got from there to here. I’ll tell you, you’re not going to like it. It’s hard, but it’s better. And my story is not exceptional. It’s the same as a lot of people. It’s not as bad as some I’ve heard. I’ve tried my best to leave it behind and to put it out there, just in case you need it. But, like I said, if you want (or need) to hear more of it, give me a shout. If not, take care. Again, I don’t blame anyone for the way that I felt, the things that I did, and I don't blame you for how you feel either. I also don’t credit anyone with my recovery. I know that if someone is not ready to move forward, no one can make them.

We’re all headed to the same place and, as someone who’s had a glimpse of it, I’ll tell you that it’s great. All we have to do is trudge the road of life to get there. And we have to do it whether we like it or not. So we might as well have a good time, okay? The more clearly we see reality, the happier we are. Let me say that again: The less we fool ourselves, the more we understand that everything is okay. If you don’t feel that way, you’re fooling yourself. If I don’t feel that way, I’m fooling myself. There are things in our way, stuff obstructing our view. If we can’t see the joke of life, we are the punchline. Don’t be the punchline. Get the joke, my friend, it’s much better. And let me tell you, the joke of life is hilarious. Now, even when I look back at how miserable I was, it seems kind of hilarious. You might find that kind of morbid… but that’s funny too.

I know that it’s kind of cliche to say that you never know what might happen. I know that’s a terrible argument for someone who is thinking about killing themselves. I guess that I just have to say that I’m the proof that it is true. Some of my scars will never fully heal, but everything I lost has been returned to me. Everything that was dissatisfying now works just fine. If I had died a year and a half ago, I never would have known this year, the best year of my life. And I’m not saying that to downplay the happiness that I’ve experienced before, but this is just different. Through experience, I’ve overcome what got me to the horrible bottom in the first place. It didn’t happen overnight. You’ll note that I’ve only been sober a year, and I started from a pretty awful place. But in that time, I’ve traveled the country, shed my dependence on the external for my sense of happiness and wonder, found love again, found an outlet for my art. I’ve found my self-confidence and my self-respect again, which came largely from my renewed confidence and respect for others, for the universe. It's a hard line to walk, and I know that I could fall off at any moment. So, now I just try to keep my own head clear, and that daily task turns into a daily adventure. Every day of my life is the best day of my life, without exception.