Ever meet someone and think, this is all I need? Ever get that perfect job and think, I'll finally have happiness now? Ever sit back and look around, even think out loud, my life is perfect now? And then, something, one thing, the right thing, changes.
When I was young, I was never the one to say, life is easy, life is a breeze, don't take things too seriously. I have always been the one to point you toward the dark, the depraved, the consequence, the frightening reality that this could indeed, just be the way life is. Some was nature, some was nurture. I grew up in poverty, Midwestern poverty, where just enough money remained in the area to put on display what exactly you didn't have. My first exposure to drugs, ones I tried myself, happened when I was eleven; before my first kiss. My first drink, two years before that. Of course, sexual activity came soon after, then grades declined, violence became evident, friends parted ways. It was teenage years during the 80s and 90s. It just was.
But depression as a teenager, I mean, how clique. I was never suicidal. Sure, I begged for sleep to take me over and never let me go. Who hasn't had a day or two that took you to that point? But depression as an adult, that's an entirely different drama. It's a choice; life continues, or it doesn't. When you endure depression, real depression, that move to make sure life continues doesn't happen without a little bit of melodrama. As you go through the motions, the waking, showering, going to work, working, driving, making dinner, watching television, getting ready for bed, planning for tomorrow, you are fought every step of the way.
I've often heard people say suicide is the chicken way out. There's some bittersweet thankfulness in this sentiment. It means they have no concept of how it feels to be pushed to the point of staring that choice in the eye, not knowing, this time, if the answer is A or B today. It's not a choice I would wish on anyone. Suicide isn't about "getting out of" anything. It isn't about hiding from life, or deciding you have to run away from it all. Suicide, for those of you whom are lucky enough to be so unaware of the depth, the ache, the fraught over the choice of it all, is about one thing: you are being buried alive every moment by a mass of dirt being thrown atop of you from this life as long as it continues, and nothing you can do, or have ever done, will stop it from taking you under. Nothing at all. You're always five and a half feet down, looking up at someone with a shovel. When you're staring that choice in the eye, wondering if it's A or B, the only reflection you can see is your grave marker on the backside of the shovel, and the choice is if it is today, or another.
And so today, you choose to go on, one more time. On the day I lost the man I loved, I began going through the very stereotypical phases of grief. I look at his picture every single day. I wonder if he wants me there with him. Sometimes it possesses me from nowhere and I break; driving down the road, sitting at work, showering. I never see it coming. And I take my moment to mourn him, and I move on. But that death left its charred, black mark on my spirit and its presence never fully disappears from my mind's eye. I feel it every second. I hurt all the time. I seek the comfort of his tomb. The monsters here, are all human.
When you are suicidal, you only want to stop the hurt. There is no other variable. You don't consider the work you may have left to do in this world; you don't consider the pain you will be causing others; you don't consider that anything could ever change your life. But it can. I made my choice. I will not be this continual ache in the chest of another human being. I regret nothing of loving that man. But I cannot conceive of the notion that I cause someone else so much pain. Love, true love, is worth everything in the world. But death of a loved one will stop your life in a moment's notice. Some days I walk around like a zombie, and nothing I do is terribly significant. Other days I'm mildly functional, but every day I hurt for him, and every day, I have to move on. I "Cont;nue". Suicide isn't for the weak at all. It's for those who are strong enough to end their pain in spite of losing everything they love in the process. Suicide, I understand you, but I will not give you what you want. Not today. I will not be this torture device pounding in the cavity of another lost spirit. Today, you lose.
If you are not aware of the signs or symptoms of a suicidal person, take a moment and save a life. Look up "Project Semicolon;" or the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention at www.afsp.org. Be there for someone; help them make their choice for today.
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