Selfish Selfish Suicide.
I think if I was ever going to end up suicidal again, mothers day would definitely be the day that pushed me over the edge.
‘Oh how selfish!’ I read on a Facebook status last week ‘You mean she has killed herself? In rush hour traffic? Her poor family! Another one to jump off that damn bridge. The poor people trying to get home who are all now stuck in traffic too! How selfish of her. What a selfish way to die!! So Cowardly.’
Sometimes I scroll past these conversations desperate to turn around and pummel their closed minded faces in to mulch (with my words obvs), such is my inability to be opinionless. But that takes strength. And I don’t always have enough, so I retreat and ignore.
At other times, when I do have the stability, when my seretonin levels are higher, I do jump in, verbal fists flying.
How could I ever possibly consider the fact suicide is not selfish?
Because it isn’t.
Do you honestly think that the Father stood at the very top and the very edge of a 60 foot bridge, the high winds cutting in to his face, the dark night biting at his nose and ears, the tail wind of the cars zooming past behind him at 60 miles an hour, the distant sound of the freezing cold water below him, the twinkle of lights from far below, from the warm houses, as people settle down to have their tea, the feeling as with numb fingers he starts to let go of the handrail, to face his fall… is selfish?
Or the Sister, sat on her unmade bed, the contents of a hidden stash of medication in a heap in front of her on the un-ironed bed sheet, heart hammering, glass of water at the ready, lips dry, hands shaking, counting and meticulously re counting, before grabbing hold of one capsule between her thumb and forefinger and gently but determinedly raising it to her lips… is making a snap and selfish choice?
Or the Son, the son who has researched on the internet, who has practised tying the noose knot four times but who still isn’t sure if it is tied just right to break his neck quickly, the son who climes up on to the bedside table and ducks his head in to it, taking a deep breath and …
Ceasing to exist.
The only option left.
You think those people are selfish?
You think their souls aren’t screaming out in anguish?
You think they aren’t scared?
You still think Mental Illness is a choice?
You don’t think they have tried a million fixes before this?
The feeling of plummeting in to nothing, the excruciating damage as your internal organs die, the harsh and unforgiving crack as you hear your own neck breaking, you think these are selfish choices made by ‘cowardly’ people?
How vile, dark and guilt ridden, how unbelievably sad and torturous must it be inside the head of the person considering something as terrifying as suicide, as their only escape?
You think the people who jumped off the 110th floor of the World Trade Centre’s weren’t frightened when they jumped?
Of course they were, you say.
But that’s different.
They had no choice.
Are you sure it is different?
They were forced to make a choice.
Burn to death or take a chance and jump, possibly to freedom.
What if the suicidal person wasn’t selfish, but duped by illness, in to believing they only had the same options?
Mothers day is the day I personally feel as if I am burning to death.
Irrational anger, sadness in buckets, shouting so loud coming from inside my head, I can barely hear myself think, guilt that bites chunks from my heart, chunks quickly replaced with self despising and cruel words of criticism, failure on a scale so big each time I blink, I cringe and wish for escape. Loneliness, isolation, a feeling of it never being over, or worth this much pain. Hopelessness, anger again, guilt at being pathetic, the shouting in my head, abandonment, grief, loss. Self hatred. Urge after urge to injure myself.
I suffer with Clinical Depression, I am lucky that it is only as dark as this, for 1 day a year.
I still have to sit and smile, eat and laugh, work and play toy cars, I still have to function, still feel embarrassed by asking for help when I should be so damn grateful.
I still have to be.
And then the day ends.
And I can crawl in to bed, exhausted and debilitated, under close observation, about to take a safe dose, of a tablet to help me sleep.
If I could get my hands on the whole bottle, I genuinely wouldn’t hesitate today, but the Irish One has learnt his lesson, and is stingy with his medication giving.
If I felt this way everyday, and didn’t feel I could ask for help, or was telling myself I should just be able to get a grip, was struggling silently, I can easily tell you, I would have been ‘selfish’ (again) by now too.
Suicide is not selfish.
Nor is it cowardly.
Unless of course, the most important thing to you is not getting stuck in traffic.
And you have completely missed the point of being human.
Then yeah, I could totally see why you would think that way.
But that’s just my opinion.
Happy Mothers day.