I think we've all heard this quote and, to a point, agree. On the other hand, if you've never experienced the sheer black walls of the abyss known as severe depression, you can't understand how just ending the pain, even if it means ending your life, can be enough at that moment in time.
Luckily, many more people attempt suicide than succeed. Of course, if people know about the attempts, those survivors, many times, are shamed, laughed at, called names. So they, no WE, hide behind our secrets not allowing others behind the curtains that lead to the abyss.
I have attempted suicide at different times of my life, looking back, some were for attention(cola and aspirin when I was 14 and upset with my parents comes to mind), but others I had the full intention to finish the job, to stop the unending, debilitating, suffocating pain that surrounded me, no matter what I did.
I've also been luckier than many who suffer from depression because, although chronic, I have more good days than bad, unlike others who live with the suffocating weight on a daily basis. Yes, I've tried therapists, psychiatrists, even anti-depressants, without much help, anyway not for long periods of time. I come from a lineage that has been plagued with depression, anxiety, addiction--dating back to at least my grandparents' times. Red hair, green eyes-one from each side of my parents...and addiction on both sides, depression maybe only one. Yes, it's heredity, but like other diseases, the whole family will not suffer alike. And all learn from an early age that we don't talk about it in the open, only in hushed tones in the kitchen with sourful looks towards "the crazy one".
In my family, those looks were usually fostered towards my mother. She had always been considered "high-strung"--she grew up in the 30's and 40's...anxiety wasn't something people knew about in those days. In fact, the doctor had my grandmother giving my mother a glass of wine before she went to sleep in her teens! That was how anxiety was treated. In the 60's she developed panic attacks, depression and later agoraphobia(fear of leaving the house). They gave her Librium, then Valium...and told her it was ok to have a cocktail in the evening to calm her nerves...they forgot to mention that it should only be ONE cocktail.
To be fair, my mother could be the life of the party; she loved to dance, sing, play piano. Her claim to fame was she auditioned and was accepted to the Chicago Opera, but she declined because "good girls and young women did not act like a trollop". It was the late 40's, early 50's and if you were on the stage, you obviously didn't have much of an upbringing. My mother, in the early 60's actually made more money than my father, she being an executive secretary(to a VP at a prestigious bank), he being a payroll/accounting clerk. But after the kids were born, her working role had to be closer to home. Then the panic attacks started(while she was taking Dexedrine to lose the baby fat because you must be slim and trim if you wanted to work in better places) and she had a blood vessel break in her nose when I was 9(I remember there was blood everywhere--still scary to this day when I think about it) and her world became smaller and smaller and smaller--until it was only her home. All drapes closed because she'd panic if she looked outside. And I began to grow up in the dark. With more monsters attacking on a daily basis.
My childhood completely changed. I won't bore you with the details(and I've shared as much as I can without drinking already), but by the time I was 10, I was getting my brother up for school, then both of my siblings. I would do the "shopping" for the week at the neighborhood grocery store(to pick up items my dad forgot on the real shopping trip or we'd run out of during the week, including my mother's cigarettes...just wrote a note to the store so they knew I was getting them for her, too bad for her that didn't work for the alcohol). I'd also travel with her on the train during the summer so she could see her psychotherapist, who didn't accomplish too much. Of course, I'm not sure how truthful my mom was to him about what was going on at home. As I grew older, my sadness turned to anger--which many people who suffer from depression rely on--see, if you say you're depressed, people pick on you, they stay away from you. If you're angry alot? People are ok with that in many ways. And, of course, I discovered alcohol...on my own.
First time I had alcohol outside the home? 8th grade field trip--to a Cub's game. Fruit soaked in liquor. Sweet and made me feel better. Yes, that was that downward spiral. But I didn't succumb until some years later.
By now, I was angry most of the time I was stuck at home. I'd be fine, for the most part at other relatives' homes, I'd be fine at high school and with my friends, but the suffocating darkness was something I fought daily at home. Yes, I blamed my parents. It was their failures that caused me to be this way. I'd mouth that, but I'd never really believe it. I believed I was just a horrible creature that didn't belong.
I would say I've consciously attempted suicide at least 4 times since my 18th birthday, the last time being 2003 or 4. Very stressful time in my life, both home and job. I was driving on the highway, not particularly thinking about anything, when the tendrils of suicidal ideation began...whispering...all I'd have to do is speed and launch my car off the tollway overpass...it'd be quick, no one would be the wiser and I wouldn't be in pain. I didn't make a "choice" not to commit suicide, see, I was too afraid that I wouldn't end the paid, I'd live through the "accident" and end up without the use of limbs or in a vegetative state or somewhere in between. See, I never had enough self esteem to think I could actually complete the job since I was such a loser and failure. Oh, I was also on an anti-depressant at that time and quit that shit.l
This all began because on the same day that Robin Williams ended his pain, another women lost her battle with cancer and one of her friends, being in pain, said Robin had the "choice" to live and her friend didn't. I've battled both cancer and depression--the cancer was much easier. People understand physical illnesses, but mental illness? It's something scary for many and misunderstood for most of us. After I post this, I'm sure that people who've known me for the last 40 years or longer will wonder what the fuck? NOT KIM. She's so determined, strong, independent, smart...and funny...Yes, KIM...depression is easily hid, specially when people, even loved ones, family and close friends, aren't looking for it.
Since I've retired, I've not thought of suicide as an answer. Yes, there are times I've been depressed...and I'm not sure how I will feel after I post this. I've been tearing up/crying while I write it, but I felt it had to be written.
Robin, may those depths be lifted, may you finally find peace. May your family know that you dearly loved them and they had no fault in this matter and remember the bright, funny loving man that you were.
And before you shame someone for suicide or an attempt, please think about this post.
And before you shame someone for suicide or an attempt, please think about this post.
I need to publish before I lose my nerve. Thank you.
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