Dealing with suicidal thoughts is nothing new to me, I’ve had them at least from the age of 11 and depressive thoughts from even earlier than that. It doesn’t get any easier.
It comes in waves, sometimes very suddenly and without warning and sometimes I don’t even know what the trigger is. It’s overwhelming and exhausting, not just for me but for the people around me that care for me. It’s not something I can hide very well as my brain goes into a shutdown mode to protect me from actually causing any irreversible harm.
There are various emergency helplines that they give you to ring when you’re in “crisis” but at that point in time, I don’t want help, I want out.
The rational case for Suicide
Suppose you have a terminal illness and prolonging your life would only mean a painful, undignified death, would anybody want that for themselves? Some people want to cling onto life for as long as possible for the benefit of their family and loved ones but actually watching that traumatic experience play out sometimes just delays the grief and adds to it. Nobody likes to think of their loved ones last days as suffering.
What about chronic conditions that aren’t going to get any better? Do we have the right to choose our time? Do we have a right to choose dignity and a peaceful exit? No matter when you die, your loved ones will still go through the grieving process, death is the only certainty but uncertainty itself. Is it more selfish to force someone to stay alive against their wishes or to choose death on your own terms?
The benefits of faith
These are not easy questions and will be heavily influenced by what you think happens to you after you die. If you have a faith, you may fear eternal consequences or you may even believe that paradice awaits. If you believe that we simply cease to exist then that could be more reason to cling on to existence or it could be your desired outcome. It’s much easier on those left behind if they have faith and believe that they are going to be reunited with you. There is no comfort in the idea that you simply cease to exist. For this reason I admire people with faith.
There is a logical case for faith, Pascal’s wager. If you believe in God and you are right, there is a reward for such faith. If you don’t believe and you are right, there is no reward but there is a consequence if you are wrong. People with faith tend to recover from illness better, it might be a placebo affect of believing your prayers will be answered, but even so, if the outcome is positive, who is to argue with that?
I think belief is part of the human experience whether you’re religious or not. I’ve not yet met someone that doesn’t have a superstition or theory about something in life that they cling onto without evidence. The absence of official faith is often replaced with other ideas, many ending in “ism”. If there is a vacuum, it will be filled and not always for the better.
Signing out on your own terms
I digress, back to the original topic at hand. The closer I get to 40, the stronger and more compelling the thoughts of signing out on my own terms gets.
Old age isn’t for me. People my size don’t get to old age and to be perfectly honest, I don’t see that as desirable either. I don’t want to die from a horrible condition where you are fully alert mentally but trapped in a body you no longer have any control over. I also don’t like the idea of being mentally incapacitated but continuing to live. Nobody wants either of these things to happen to them and many people, even younger people have to live with these kind of conditions and I think they’re incredibly courageous and I get angry at myself for being so weak willed that despite my relative advantage in life, I still feel this depressed when perhaps I have no right whatsoever to be complaining about my lot in life.
Ironically, that guilt doesn’t cajole me into making the most of the advantages I have, it cements my sense of unworthiness. It’s like there is a marksman in my head trying to kill me, but it isn’t another person, it’s me, shooting arrows at my own shadow.
I think to myself that I’ve got further than I expected, given I was taking overdoses of painkillers at the age of 15. If you told me then I would get to 40 and that I’d have learnt to drive, got a steady job, been to university, lost weight and put it back on again several times over, that I had a wife that loves me, I probably wouldn’t believe you but here I am.
Best years behind me now
I may have achieved nothing noteworthy but perhaps more than I could have expected to and when I think about what remains of my life, I imagine that I’ve my best years are already behind me.
At my weight I’m at a very high risk of a stroke or heart attack. You might say stop catostraphising Jonathan, it might not happen, don’t concentrate on the worst possible outcome, what were you saying about self fulfilling prophecies before?
You might be right but I’m also a realist. I don’t think pretending that everything is going to be ok is a good strategy either. I need to either back myself to beat this, which I’ve consistently failed to do through the first 40 years or I can take control in a different way and go out on my own terms whilst I still have full capacity and dignity. Is it not better to go out at the top? Retire early whilst I still have a career, not carers, being a comfort not a burden?
The burden of caring
I know that the people that love me will want me to carry on but and would be devastated should I pass but I also know how hard it can be watching someone you love slowly (or suddenly) deteriorate as I have seen with my own mum. It takes its toll on you physically and mentally coping when someone is constantly in and out of hospital. It chips away at you from the inside and sometimes, you just want it to end.
That sounds horrible and must make me a bad person but I remember the day I registered for Uni. I was a mature student, at the age of 21 and instead of spending the day out drinking and making friends with my new cohort, I spent the evening in A&E after my mum had taken an overdose.
The hospital was full of freshers that had too much to drink and injured themselves but I was stone sober. It wasn’t the first trip to a hospital to visit my mum and it certainly wasn’t my last, but it stuck out in my mind. Part of me felt angry that I was there when I should have been focusing on my own life and part of me felt very guilty for having those thoughts. How selfish could I be, thinking about myself at a time like that?
My wife must have the same feelings towards me from time to time when depression takes over. Not again. Why me. Should have chosen someone that isn’t as mad as a box of frogs. Mum had no control over her illnesses and neither do I. Unfortunately this does seem to be a hereditary fate. Mums demons are my demons but I don’t have children to live for and I don’t have her faith to fall back on either but on the plus side that means the curse won’t be passed on to another generation.
Right now I’m coming out of my most recent episode of crisis. I’m not at immediate “risk” but I can make no promises about what the future will brings but then who can? We don’t know what is around the corner, maybe things will change for the better? Things don’t improve passively, you have to make them happen.
I’ve lost just under one and a half stone since the summer, it’s not a lot, I’ve lost more weight than that in a single week with other diets before but it’s slow and steady this time. I am in a race against time with my own mind but I’m still in the race. I haven’t given up yet.
I may have to wait another 3 years for the weight loss surgery that I think will give me the best possible chance of an improved quality of life worth living for but it feels very much like I’m walking the green mile and part of me hopes that the phone will ring and there will be a reprieve whilst the other half just wants it to be over. I’m tired boss, as the famous quote goes.
Rant Over 