This past week the world was rocked by the untimely death of the well-known and loved comedian, Robin Williams, a tragic suicide. In light of his death, my Facebook, news feeds, blogs and Twittersphere have been inundated with comments and articles on suicide. There seem to be only two views. On one hand, some believe suicide is the most selfish act a person can commit, done without regard for and leaving behind loved ones, friends and family to mourn. On the other, a myriad of personal stories of the struggles of depression and how at some point, suicide seems to be the only option a desperate act to end the despair. These articles and viewpoints make some solid arguments but also miss the entirety of the selfishness of suicide.
Suicide is not always about depression. Sometimes, it really is nothing more than an extremely selfish act designed not to end their own suffering but to inflict it on others. The soon to be divorcee who is going to teach their spouse a lesson. Embracing some sick belief that killing themselves in front of their soon-to-be-ex will inflict some massive degree of pain on their life; ensuring they never live happily ever but, only with the everlasting torture of that final image of suicide. Or, the parent, temporarily angry at life, the spouse, the job, etc and in a fit of rage, decides to take their life on their child’s birthday, forever scarring what should be a day of celebration. Unfortunately, these are real examples, people who did not suffer from depression or mental illness but only their own selfish motives.
Some don’t argue the selfishness of their own suicide. Dr. Jack Kevorkian assisted several individuals in what was often referred to as “assisted euthanasia”, ensuring a peaceful transition from this life to the next. There is certainly large amount of criticism and skepticism around his practices and widespread debate on whether his assistance was right or wrong, a selfless or a criminal act. We are not here to debate those things. I use him as an example only because of his recognition and his underlying concept, the right to die. Proponents believe we should have the ability to enable our own selfishness in these instances; a simple concept that holds, just as we have the right to live, we also should have the right to decide when enough is enough and leave this life, by our own design. Primarily, this concept is meant for those who suffer from debilitating, terminal illnesses that have severely hindered their quality of life. For these people, death, moving on to the next life, whatever they may believe that is, is a much better option than the pain and suffering they are enduring in their last days. One could also argue that it is the survivors who are selfish, not allowing them this relief, for our own fear of losing someone we love, not wanting to let go. Regardless of agreement of disagreement, some degree of understanding can certainly be garnered when these situations are experienced personally.
Depression is real. Yes, the world is full of people who blame this disease for their own laziness and use it as an excuse to make the same poor decisions over and over again, causing the same undesirable results. They are selfish people and have found a crutch to support their self-inflicted despair. They refuse to change their path, to help themselves, to break the cycle. We can not help those who refuse to help themselves. Most unfortunately, these abuses along with a mass misunderstanding of mental disease have allowed those of us who do not suffer to undermine the seriousness of those who are inflicted.
Those who suffer from depression do not want to, they do not want an excuse, they do not want to suffer any more. Ask a true sufferer or a survivor of this mental disease and they will tell you, they would do whatever it takes to be rid of it. Whatever. It. Takes. Depression takes on an ugly form, zapping away both emotional and physical energy. The outlook on life is bleak, you cease to care, you’ve never felt more alone. Depression feeds on despair, it alters your entire outlook of the world. For most of us, the sun is shining, the sky is a beautiful blue, the clouds are dancing to our favorite song. With depression, you only see dull, gray skies covered in menacing clouds that look like they are ready to dump all of life’s whoa on you, every damn day. You’re edgy, you’re uneasy, you’re easily annoyed. Even those you love, you friends, your family your co-workers become that nails-on-a-chalkboard sound you just can’t stand. You motivation evaporates, you isolate yourself. Justification becomes a sneaky little devil, whispering lies to your broken mind. “I deserve to feel this way, I’m only miserable because I really am a horrible person. I am an ugly person.” Death becomes a way out, a way to escape the pain and suffering of life. Death is the answer to whatever it takes….
And we, you and I who don’t suffer, we can do more.
A short story, a giant revelation:
A few months ago I had the opportunity to visit Denver, Colorado for a work conference. That afternoon, as the cabbie took me downtown to my hotel, I noticed several dozen people standing next to several large storage containers, precariously angled and positioned in an odd arrangement.
"What’s going on here?", I asked.
"That’s some of the art they have downtown, we have stuff everywhere. Denver is an art centre."
"No, I said, all those people, what’s going on this afternoon?"
"Oh," he replied, "they are all homeless."
Holy shit! I literally had never seen anything like it. There were literally dozens and dozens of people in this little square and tucked away in the corners of downtown Denver’s cloud-high office buildings. I had seen homeless people, one here, another there, but never like this before.
We arrived at the hotel, I rushed to my room, freshened up, changed my clothes and headed down to meet the rest of our team who had been there since the conference had started a few hours earlier. When the end of the day finally came, it was already 10pm and I was famished. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I had planned to eat lunch when we changed planes but with an unexpected delay, I had less than 10 minutes to make my connecting flight. With the time change, it had been a good 13 hours since my last meal. I ran back up to my room, changed back into my casual attire and headed out onto Denver’s downtown shopping center, 16th Street, to satisfy the grumbling in my belly. I hopped across the street only to find the bar’s kitchen had already shut down but the Hard Rock Cafe just a couple blocks down the road was suggested. I turned around, walked out of the door and headed up the street.
I hadn’t made it two blocks when one of the dozens of homeless approached me:
"Hey man," he pleaded, "can you just talk to me? I’ve been out here for three hours asking. I just want someone to talk to me."
"Ah man, I can’t right now," I replied, "but I’ll be back."
And I walked on, my eyes focused on the bright neon lights of the Hard Rock Cafe just a couple of blocks up the road.
I made it to the cafe and within a few short minutes was seated on the glassed-in rock room on the second floor; surrounded by guitars, gold records, concert posters and other memorabilia from many of the legends of rock, sipping on the cold, sweet taste of flavored tea and eyeing the biggest damn meal I could find on the menu. As I sat waiting for my meal to arrive I did my best to keep my mind occupied, reading emails, texting a buddy, checking my Facebook.
My wait was short and I had food at last! What a relief! Here in front of me sat a pile of hot wings, a side order of onion rings, potato boats and bruschetta. I grabbed that first wing and ripped it apart like a rabid dog…..and immediately lost my appetite. WHAT A SELFISH FUCKING PRICK!
Since the moment I walked away, all I could hear in my mind was that man’s pleas. “Hey man can you just talk to me? I’ve been out here for three hours asking. I just want someone to talk to me.”
Here I was, sitting at a nice restaurant, eating a high priced meal on the company’s dime, wearing my third set of fresh clothes for the day and resting in the comfort that I was going to get a good night’s rest in a plush bed after a nice, relaxing shower. I was a hundred times more fortunate than that man. There was no telling the last time he ate, had a hot shower, a fresh pair of clothes or a bed under an actual roof to sleep in and be sheltered from the elements. He hadn’t asked for money, he hadn’t asked for food or alcohol or cigarettes. This man had asked, simply, for someone he could talk to, a friend, if only temporarily. I wouldn’t give him a measly few minutes of my time for my own selfish reasons.
I packed up what was left of my meal, paid my bill and headed back out onto 16th street to find him. The meal was his, a token of my sorrow, as was all the time he wanted to talk that evening. I spent the next 45 minutes walking up and down those few blocks looking for that man, even venturing into the alleyways and side streets. I never found him.
I think about that man every day, the loneliness in his eyes, the desperate pleading in his voice. I don’t know if he was just lonely or suicidal. I’ll never know. I know he pleaded with me and even though I could plainly see his despair, I turned him away anyway. What I should have done is stopped and talked to him for a few minutes. What I should have done is invited him to share a meal with me. What I should I have done is put my own selfishness aside. Maybe I can’t fix his homelessness but I can still listen, I can still care about his mental well-being, I can still be a friend.
I wonder whatever happened to him? Did he ever find someone to talk to him? What if he didn’t?
This man asked for someone to talk to, plainly and bluntly. Yet, I still failed to hear him.
According to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, between 50% and 75% of people who attempt suicide tell someone of their intent. They aren’t as direct as this man. They don’t scream “I’m going to kill myself”. The signs are often much more subtle. Ultimately, they have the same needs as this man did; to just talk to someone, to know someone cares, to know someone will listen and will support them and will help them get the help they need. Are you so wrapped up in your own selfishness that you are missing the opportunity to listen?
We will never understand every reason why. We may never prevent every suicide committed out of loneliness, depression and despair but, we sure can try. We can become better educated and understand the signs of a troubled soul. We can reach out to those who may need nothing more than to know someone cares. We can stop and listen when reached out to and we can put one hell of dent in that Son of a Bitch called suicide. We only need to realize that sometimes, we are the selfishness of suicide.
Suicide, regardless the cause, is a disastrous, nocuous demon. When it rears its ugly head it is painful, both for the person who suffers from those thoughts and the ones left behind. We are here not to judge but rather, charged with love. It is our duty, as neighbors, friends and family, as brothers and sisters, to be compassionate; to those already gone, to those suffering today, to those left behind.
For more on the signs of suicide, check out the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention’s website here:
https://www.afsp.org/understanding-suicide/risk-factors-and-warning-signs
Or, visit or call your local Suicide Prevention Center.
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