I’ve considered suicide but in a different context from straight depression. Maybe it’s my Japanese blood but shame/guilt is more potent to me than sadness/depression.
I (still) blame myself for an accident my friend (now SO) had while we went biking (not motorized). If she had died, so would I.
I think suicide is ok depending on the context. If some kid is depressed about his life, then help should be offered. If I’m dying and I’m going to be in a lot of pain, pull the gods damn plug! 
An important point has been raised periodically about the state of mind of a potentially suicidal person. It’s probably blindingly obvious, but it’s worth stating that the mentality is very probably a symptom of a very real clinical depression.
I look back now and realise that in my mid-twenties I was clinical depressed for a couple of years. But in that state you don’t realise what it is affecting you, other than you don’t feel right - assuming you still even feel you exist.
When you’re in that state it’s very hard to reach out, let alone communicate with what is affecting yourself.
Perhaps there is a sociological failure to realise and address such situations, but it would be very hard to address. What possibly could be done aside from yearly psychology tests?
I guess at the end you simply have to watch out.
Also complicated by the issue of different reasons - some people invoking death as a means to escape short-term pain, justaposed with those suffering a more long-term condition.
Just a ramble, really…
Hey - cheer up, y’all! ;D
As a “survivor of suicide” – a close family member committed suicide 8 years ago – let me add that you cannot imagine what it does to the survivors. The pain, grief, anguish, guilt and anger are horrible–and it never goes away. It is a scar that does not heal.
It may be a symptom of the disease that leads to suicide that anyone could be oblivious to how many lives they touch–lives that will be devastated by their loss. The victim has become so absorbed in their pain and suffering that they’ve lost all connection to anything else in their life.
Suicide is the ultimate selfish act.
I was suicidal about 4-6 weeks ago. (I’m much better now, thanks to meds.) There are a lot of things about that experience that were unexpected.
First, I didn’t want to kill myself. I really didn’t. I wanted very much to live and be happy. The problem was that I truly believed that I would never again feel anything but abject misery and despair. Furthermore, I was pretty well convinced I was about to become either a bag lady or a serious burden on my family.
Second, the suicidal thoughts came unbidden. I’d go out to the car in the morning, and I’d have visions of just shutting the garage door and turning on the car. Or I’d be sitting in my office, 30+ floors up, and I’d start feeling an urge to throw myself out the window.
A part of me knew these things were crazy, but common sense was a very small, distant voice at that point.
The only thing that kept me from doing it, when I got very, very close to the edge, was knowing that if I killed myself, it would leave a huge unhealed hole in my family forever (we’re very close). But even that thought, which should have been so obvious, would only occur to me occasionally.
I used to think people who committed suicide were very selfish. Perhaps some of them are. I know that when I was there, though, I truly wasn’t myself. My brain was not functioning properly. In fact, there are big chunks of time sort of “missing” for me from that period, where I don’t remember what I did, what I said, where I was. It was a clear case of diminished capacity–I didn’t have the ability to think clearly enough to distinguish right from wrong, a good decision from a bad one.
Scientific American has a very interesting article, either this month or last, about how the brains of suicidal people look very different from normal brains. Based on my experience, I think that this must explain at least some suicides. I feel like a switch tripped in my brain–that past some level of pain and misery, your brain puts you in self-destruct mode because you’re incapable of functioning in that state.
I look at how I was acting back then and shake my head. I now feel it’s pretty much impossible to be angry at someone who kills his/herself. I really don’t think they know what they’re doing.
Sorry to resort to quoting bumper stickers, but it’s kinda relevant for me.
I seriously considered suicide the night a girl I’d been seeing for a month and a half told me she didn’t want to see me anymore. This was my first intimate relationship in four or five years and, after getting dumped, I was convinced I was just plain un-lovable. With that realization, the pain and frustration of being dumped morphed into total despair. I was putting on my shoes to walk out to the freeway and step in front of a semi when I happened to field a call from a friend of mine. (I was in the basement of our church at the time.)
My friend, hearing the despair and my plan to deal with it, told me not to move. She got her dad (a Southern Baptist minister) to drive her across town and came and reminded me that I was loved and worthy of that love.
So how stupid was I? All ready to deprive myself of my life just because some girl had caused me to forget about all my close friends, my family, God…
So that’s kind of where I am. While I objectively understand that the phenomenon of clinical depression exists, and it can drive people to suicide, I just can’t relate.
My brush with suicide was due to stupidity and self-absorption and I can’t reconcile with the idea that all suicide is due to a clinical depression.
Oh, and the irony of ironies is that about a week after my aborted suicide attempt I met the woman who would wind up showing me, on a daily basis, a greater love than I have ever known… :D[sup]—Thanks, God![/sup]
My father fas been suffering from prostate and colon cancer for years. He had a series of debilitating strokes, leaving him nearly incommunicative, and has developed emphysema from years of tobacco use. His life is collection of misery. He has attempted suicide twice. And he’s no pollyanna, a tough old bird from the 40’s and 50’s mold…he simply doesn’t wish to suffer more. To him the medical advancements that keep what life he has in him, is a profound curse. He’s expressed the horror of his life to me many times, and if it wasn’t for the fear of persucution I would help him commit this final act. I love my father.
Ava, CJ, God Bless You.
This is so personal… and never a decision that is truly made on the “spur of the moment,” by anyone who is “otherwise physically healthy.” I am bipolar, and have been suicidal several times and made two serious attempts over the last 15 years. I have always been keenly aware of what it would do to my family, but far more aware of my own pain, which is really the only thing I could feel at those times.
I lost a brother I’ll call Jack to suicide 8 years ago; he was 31 and his death destroyed our family in numerous ways–parents split up, one much younger sibling in deep emotional trouble to this day. Since I was the only one in the family in therapy at the time of Jack’s death, actually the only one in the family who believes in psychiatry, I knew the end was coming for my brother, saw all the signs, but could not get anyone else to help me get him the help he needed. My therapist and my two closest friends were aware of my concern for Jack, but they were in no position to do anything.
The first thing I said to the cops outside Jack’s house, who confirmed what I already knew, that Jack was dead inside, was “Thank God he’s at peace now.” Ironically, because my own mental problems were so much more visible than my brother’s, many people were surprised that he went first and not me.
Also, because I had a reputation for being the “crazy one” in the family, no one believed that I knew what I was talking about when I said our brother needed help. I may have a mental illness, but there is nothing wrong with my intelligence, or my ability to produce rational thoughts.
My own experiences in recent months have eerily echoed those of CJ. My life has been so unhappy, always. Despite the best therapy and medications available, I feel I will never truly conquer the demon that has prevented me from ever having independence, a real career, marriage, children of my own or the ability to complete any of the myriad interesting projects I start in my manic phases but which my depressions will not allow me to complete.
I cannot understand how it could possibly be anyone else’s business if someone dreadfully ill chooses to end their pain permanently. It’s the most personal decision anyone could ever make.
At times I truly love life, adventure, beauty, nature, and all the rest. But most of the time I feel that Life is the Prince’s Ball and everyone in the Kingdom received their tickets but me.
Have you thought of looking into Buddhism, then? No, seriously.
I lost a very good friend to suicide several years ago - he was a lovely person, a successful musician with everything to look forward to. Yet there was something else going on that caused him to take his own life - something he chose not to share with any of his close friends.
Although I’ve never been suicidal myself, I can appreciate that there are circumstances where a person would consider it as a way out - I’m quite sure that given the choice of a quick and relatively painless end or the prospect of a long and painful death from illness, I know which one I’d choose and I’d hope that my family and friends would understand that choice.
I realise that there are many and various reasons why people choose suicide and I feel tremendous pity for those who cannot envisage any other way out of their troubles than by seeking their own death. However, I also admire them for the courage and bravery they show in making that decision and doing what they feel they have to do. It’s hard on those left behind as they have to deal with not only the death of a loved one but also the associated guilt of “What could I have done? Could I have seen it? Could I have helped? What signs did I miss?”
I suppose if I had to say what my attitude to suicide is, I’d say it’s one of acceptance. Some people feel driven to suicide by illness or by despair. I thank the Mother than I’m not amongst those but at the same time I take comfort from the thought that if I were ever to find myself in such a position, I would not feel unable to add the potential for suicide to my list of available options.
I don’t think I accept that one necessarily has a “right” to kill oneself.
However, I don’t think of that person as “selfish.” It’s more like “self-centered”, but not in a stuck up way.
Does that make sense?
Well, I can’t say I’ve been seriously suicidal, but the thought has crossed my mind. I haven’t been diagnosed with depression or anything, mainly because I never told anything to the psychologists my parents sent me to when I was younger. I pretended to be a happy, well-adjusted kid, because I knew they would tell my parents everything I had told them, and I never told my parents anything anyway. Even when I regularly visited the counseling center in college, I didn’t tell my counselor everything that bugged me, just that I was having trouble making friends and budgeting my time.
Anyway, back to the topic of suicide. Right before I graduated from high school, I got appendicitis, had surgery, and later got a nasty infection. That summer, I didn’t have a job, I had to sit around the house all day, trying to heal, and I was scared to go to college in the fall. It took me years to build up the few good friendships I had, and I didn’t want to leave them behind. I’m pretty much socially retarded, so making new friends is incredibly tough for me. I had to have a visiting nurse come and tend to my wound, which was painful and disgusting, and I’m terrified of medical procedures (thanks to several bad childhood experiences with doctors). I pretty much despaired, thinking my life was over, and I had recurring thoughts of just taking a dagger and stabbing myself. These thoughts disturbed me greatly, and I tried to push them out of my mind, but they wouldn’t go away. I kept telling myself, “You’re pretty much screwed. You have to say goodbye to all your friends, go off to a college you don’t even want to go to, and you’ll meet all sorts of people, but you won’t be able to talk to them because you’re too shy. Plus, even if you do, they won’t like you because you’re such a dork. And look at you, you’re pathetic! Lying around all day with a big bandage on your side. Do you really want to keep putting up with the treatment? You’re just a burden to your family, they’re wasting their time on you and wasting their money on your education.” Ugh, I’m getting teary-eyed just remembering that. But I managed to hang on. I kept telling myself, “Your friends and family love you. What would they do if you weren’t here? Many of your friends are emotionally unstable, and if you killed yourself, what would it do to them? You care about them more than you care about yourself, and they probably feel the same way. Don’t put that burden on them. And you’ll get better and make new friends at college. You can pull through.” Somehow I convinced myself that living is the better option, and I’m glad I listened to myself. I never told anyone how I felt, not even my closest friends, until a year later. I didn’t want them to worry, and if I felt I was a serious threat to myself, I would have told someone.
Well, that’s that, and it’s lunchtime.
Thanks for the welcome, cj! I hope that you continue to feel better. It sounds like you have a very good therapist. That is so important.
How can you say that nobody would miss you? What about your therapist and your friends? I live many states away from my immediate family and do not have a lot of contact with them. It is a way for me to feel better. Sounds like it’s the same for you.
I would like to continue this thread, too, but I’m not sure how to do that. I guess if someone posts on it sometimes, it will help. People here would miss you too, by the way.
Guinastasia
I don’t think I accept that one necessarily has a “right” to kill oneself.
However, I don’t think of that person as “selfish.” It’s more like “self-centered”, but not in a stuck up way.
Does that make sense?
Sort of… The demands that he should suffer on that comes from a non-afficted member of an otherwise loving family, and just for the sake of their personal anguish over losing a father, mother, etc. a few days or months early, and regardless of the excruciating pain the sufferer faces non-stop, seems to me to be a bit selfish in the reverse…Especially when considering a slowly progressing and horrible affliction, such as advanced colon cancer, liver faliure, Lou Gerrig’s etc.
But yea…both scenarios are in the least forgiveable acts of selfishness, and are derived purely from love and not from a stuck up way.
I was diagnosed with Bi-Polar depression around ten years ago when I was 19. After the diagnosis I realized that I had been that way since I was 14, so I’ve been pretty unstable for over half my life now.
Over the intervening years I’ve gone to many therapists, counselors, doctors, friends and talked talked talked talked talked. I’ve taken many drugs, both pharmaceutical and illegal to try to combat the fluctuating moods. I have come no closer to achieving relief despite all of that.
About a year and half ago, my wife left me and took the kids. She told me that she had more empathy and sympathy for insects than she did me, and left. She was probably tired of being the only link to sanity I had, and when she did leave I became even worse. I really saw no reason at all to continue. I had a rather sizable life insurance policy I could leave for the kids, but since it wouldn’t pay out for suicides, I tried to make things look like an accident. I just mixed bleach and ammonia while “cleaning” the bathroom and waiting for the fumes to aggrivate my asthma. I would simply not have to use my inhaler or call for help, and that would be that. I felt at the time there was no way I could be a father to my children if/when I could see them and the money would be much more useful to them then I ever could be. Obviously the mixture didn’t finish me off. It simply hurt too much. I managed to blindly crawl out of the bathroom and lay gasping as my asthma flared. I grabbed my inhaler and I puffed. I could not take the pain any more. That was the sole reason I didn’t stay in the bathroom. That hurt far worse than anything I was feeling emotionally. I still have scarring on my lungs a result.
Yes, suicide is selfish, self-centered and narcissistic. I wasn’t thinking about anyone else but me. But in my mind set, I really couldn’t. There was nothing but me and the emotional pain. I was bound in a nutshell.
When I hear about other attempts, and I do working health care, I just feel sad for them. I empathize with them, but I don’t know if I feel that I want to help them and let them know life is worth living. I still haven’t gotten my help after so many years, and I still feel on most days that life is pretty rotten. I feel bad for those around them and what they must be going through. I can tell them that it wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t. Since there isn’t anything I can do for the dead, I can help the living. I guess I haven’t tried again since I now realize that there is only this life, no reason to make other’s miserable. But I don’t know how long that will last either. I guess my overall attitude is ambivalence. I completely understand what can drive a person to that state, and I’ll try to help them out of that mind set if I can, but I won’t blame them, I won’t blame others or myself. I can be sad that they were hurting that much. But I can’t be over sad about the death itself. They’re done hurting.
Oh, my. That was a long bit of blather. I’ll now return you to your regularly scheduled posting.
Bishamon
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------Yer from a stouter mold than me…I wouldn’t have survived half a that…But I just can’t bring myself to condemn a person’s deperate attempt to finalize their misery…I have been treated for depression/ mental illness (pick a diagnosis I’ve had them all) since my early teens. I know that when I am in the downward phase of manic depression, the thoughts of how any self destructive action I take will affect others in my life is not an bout of narcissism…I am the only person on earth at that time. I can’t visualize my death having any effect on any other. Its absolute isolation, and it wouldnt matter if I was at Ice Station Zebra, or Mid Town Manhattan…I become that delusional…But there is hope…I dont know yer age, but I have found that life begins at forty…The older I get the less I give a damn, and thats been the best antidepressant I’ve come across yet…I’m still very much affected, but its softened from self induced indifference. Wish ya all the best Bishamon
And I agree that suicide under the circumstances of mental stresses is a different colored horse than those of a painful lingering death…I feel it would be the loved ones duty to intercede when the sufferer would be incapable
Thanks again for your responses. I was in a bit of a car accident on Wednesday, so I took a break from GD until I got my nerves settled down.
desroscactus, the reason I believed no one would miss me was due to a set of rather unfortunate circumstances growing up which, among other things, included being repeatedly told, “Nobody likes you/wants you around,” without much in the way of counter messages. Life changes, and I can learn, although I’m vaguely amused that the concept that I am likable was harder for me to grasp than some of the intricacies of Japanese grammar or programming. I’m happy to say that concept has finally penetrated.
One other thing I’d like to throw into the mix is that when I was suicidal, I actually thought I’d be doing my friends and family a favor by ridding them of the burden that I thought I was. Now, when I’m not depressed, I can see that for the complete fallacy that it is which is one of the reasons I firmly believe that severe depression is insanity because one is not in touch with reality.
I also distinguish between the suicide of a healthy person and one suffering from an illness which has a high likelihood of being fatal and doing so in the form of a slow, lingering death. The idea of euthanasia appalls me, yet, if I were diagnosed with, say Alzheimer’s Disease, I know I would be very tempted to kill myself. I don’t know if this is a valid distinction or not. It’s not comfortable territory for me, but then again, GD’s a good place to explore uncomfortable phenomena.
Ava, I don’t have an e-mail address for you, so if you’d like to e-mail me instead, that’s fine with me. My e-mail address is in my profile.
CJ
First: I hope you are doing alright and that you didn’t get hurt!
Second: I completely understand with the sentiments above. My grandmother had Alzheimer’s Disease before she died and it got pretty bad. I could not put my children (when I have them) through the emotional pain that I would cause them if I get Alzheimer’s Disease. My memory is totally skewed of my grandmother, I still remember good times, but the last five or so years were absolutely dreadful. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a constant, but there are some things that shook me to the core.
[QUOTE]
*Originally posted by Bishamon *
** I really saw no reason at all to continue. I had a rather sizable life insurance policy I could leave for the kids, but since it wouldn’t pay out for suicides, I tried to make things look like an accident. I felt at the time there was no way I could be a father to my children if/when I could see them and the money would be much more useful to them then I ever could be.
[QUOTE]
After my brother’s suicide, it was his children that had the most problems. I am not talking here about finances, but about emotions. They just do not understand how this could have happened, if there was anything they could have done, if it was their fault, what was wrong with them, etc. Talking to them is truly heartbreaking. I hope you know that your kids need you around much more than they need financial help.
I really saw no reason at all to continue. I had a rather sizable life insurance policy I could leave for the kids, but since it wouldn’t pay out for suicides, I tried to make things look like an accident. I felt at the time there was no way I could be a father to my children if/when I could see them and the money would be much more useful to them then I ever could be.
[QUOTE]
After my brother’s suicide, it was his children that had the most problems. I am not talking here about finances, but about emotions. They just do not understand how this could have happened, if there was anything they could have done, if it was their fault, what was wrong with them, etc. Talking to them is truly heartbreaking. I hope you know that your kids need you around much more than they need financial help.