The brother of my lady’s friend committed suicide this week.
A life of forty years ended with one drastic decision. Our thoughts, profound sympathy and prayers go out to this family so horrifically damaged.
There will be questions no one can answer. There will be survivor’s guilt. There will be self doubt and recrimination. And, eventually, there will be acceptance, healing and forgiveness.
This is a subject very close to home for me. I have dealt with mental illness since I was thirteen or so. For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to not wake up in the morning. I’ve attempted to end my life more than once. Not “cry for help” attempts, genuine attempts. The manner of attempts and ultimate rescue are irrelevant in this forum. I’ve also participated in “self harm”. My arms are a roadmap of scars from burns and cuts. An irrational means to try to end emotional pain with physical pain.
There’s more, but suffice to say I have an understanding of the desperation a person feels when the final, ultimate decision is made. There’s a hopelessness that things can never get better, a belief that nothing anyone says will make a difference and, in my case, a resignation that suicide is the only way out.
It’s such a dark and lonely time. For me, it was sorrow, complacence and just plain exhaustion. There is always a knowledge that help is available, but the belief it won’t work.
I felt so damn lonely and helpless.
And undeserving.
I write these things in the hope the family members may read this and understand, from someone who has been to the brink and back, there was nothing they could have done. Mentally ill people are a determined lot. No amount of visits, no proximity to a person’s home, no number of telephone calls could have prevented the person from meeting his tragic end.
People institutionalized and under constant watch manage to end their lives.
There was nothing the family could have done.
There is help available for those of us suffering from mental health illnesses. Outreach services, help lines, medication and even hospitalization.
When I was told I was going to be in hospital for an undetermined length of time it was an imposing idea. So many of the common stereotypes came to mind. In a matter of seconds, I conjured thoughts of straight jackets, men in white coats, padded rooms and the like. Nothing was further from the truth. My experience was quite positive and beneficial.
There are doctors and medications available. I’m on a course of medications I may well have to take the rest of my life. If I don’t take them, well let’s just say life gets bad in a hurry.
The purpose for this blog was not to discuss my treatment or suggest uniform solutions. It was a desire to assure the survivors there was nothing they could have done different. There was no stopping this tortured soul from performing his final, desperate act.
Nothing.
The poor soul knew there was help available. He may have been afraid to ask.
bradcurtis68 