Hi, Like some others in this cascade of depressed people, I have
recently been thinking about suicide. Essentially my story is that I
have been unable to shake this idea since I was about 16 years old (I’m
now almost 36) when I first came to the real...
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Hi, Like some others in this cascade of depressed people, I have
recently been thinking about suicide. Essentially my story is that I
have been unable to shake this idea since I was about 16 years old (I’m
now almost 36) when I first came to the realisation - or conclusion,
because I wish I could be wrong - that maybe life is meaningless (in the
sense that we’re just chemical reactions, and that every thing and every
idea that every culture in the world has ever created is artificial on
some level), and that I don’t have what it takes to distract myself
sufficiently from that (ie I’m not smart enough or talented enough or
insightful enough or rich enough to ensure I can do all the things I
want all of the time). I have had good times and bad times, there are
many people in my life whom I love, and who love me, and I am wealthy to
the extent that I would probably never have to work a day in my life
again if I didn’t want to, and could still afford to live in a nice
house (albeit with my parents for the time being!!), and keep my
beautiful classic Ferrari. I have also done a lot of thinking about what
I think is the most urgent and important way in which I can contribute
to the world I live in, while still having a satisfying career – and so
I have done quite a bit of study, and now work to the best of my modest
ability to help ensure our society does all it can to improve children’s
lives, to keep them safe, and to ensure they have every chance to reach
their own potential. I also donate to charities, I protect rainforests,
I socialise, I exercise, I participate in the political process. I’ve
done a lot of travelling, I’ve worked in various industries (and spent
substantial amounts of time deliberately not working as well), and I’ve
devoted a lot of time and effort towards exploring my interests. I’ve
also seen a range of psychotherapists over this time. I have put quite a
lot of effort into identifying combinations of medication that work for
me (and am currently on a some pills that I think work very well
comparatively-speaking). I’ve also tried a range of non-medical drugs
(though actually I don’t enjoy any of them much, except for alcohol). I
have discussed my issues at length with psychologists, witch doctors,
friends, lovers, my mum, etc etc. I have also resolved that no matter
how hard it gets, I would never do myself in out of consideration for
those close to me. But these days it’s just not enough. Now I have urges
to kill myself. It’s not just, as many support services tell you, that
“suicidal people don’t want to die, they just want to end their pain”; I
don’t. I’m not averse to pain, though it’s true I’d rather minimise the
predominance of it. But more than that, I want to avert the necessity to
continue to live in the way I have been thus far for another 50 or so
years. It’s true that I do have my hang-ups, which I could probably
address more diligently. I know that I’m lazy, that I’m a
procrastinator, and that I have a propensity to take the easy way out a
lot of the time – and this causes me to be less effective than I could
be. More significant than this (though possibly related) is the fact
that I have a very strong, very fundamental sense of self-loathing, or
that I’m somehow less important than other people. My usual approach to
interpersonal interactions is that I do them to a background
understanding that whoever I’m dealing with will probably find me
unbearable, and that I need to just do what I need to do and get out of
their way as quickly as possible so that they do not become polluted by
my existence… or at the very least so that they don’t get the chance to
get a window into what I’m really like. The evidence tends to suggest
that people do find me hard work in any case. Lastly I’ll concede that I
probably have some problems with attachment and that I can relate to the
literature on attachment disorders – and as such I question whether I’m
even capable of feeling close to other human beings. This is something I
try to be mindful of when I interact with others. Perhaps surprisingly
then I am also aware that I do have some good qualities. I can be very
charming, fun, and good (if slightly awkward) company, and some people
do warm to me. I think that I set high standards for myself, and for
others, and when I get involved in something I do it pretty well. I
think I have a lot of integrity, patience, consideration and empathy for
other people, and after quite a difficult slog and a few disasters along
the way I’m now fairly well-equipped with the social skills to be able
to treat people accordingly, and also to recognise when other people
aren’t doing the same for me - and to let these people go. I can feel
love – in fact I would go so far as to say that love is one of the most
powerful force in our lives (as long as we can allow it to be). I pursue
my love interests in a measured but passionate way… though I also
realise that meeting someone one truly connects with as an equal is an
almost once-in-a-lifetime occurrence, and so when I am rebuffed by
people I’m interested in I feel no resentment whatsoever because I know
it’s entirely their choice to make. They can’t be responsible for my
feelings, and I can’t be responsible for theirs either, or try to change
them. I can only be myself. But again, being myself ultimately means not
wanting to be here at all. Twenty years is a long time, and I feel as
though throughout this time I have tried pretty hard to find something
to hold onto, but have been continually drawing blanks. Admittedly
things could have been very different if the human species had shown
some sign that it was responsible enough to do things like avert climate
change, the destruction of natural environments and the extinction of
species, keep limits on population growth, distribute its wealth
equitably, and resist the oh-so compelling temptations to go to war with
one another. At the same time however, I sometimes catch myself thinking
that maybe these things really aren’t significant enough to be worth
thinking about. The worst thing about being depressed is that it makes
big problems seem small - and my own apathy and intransigence in the
face of my selfishness and spiritual poverty, as indeed in that of my
own species, makes me all the more despicable in my own eyes, and all
the more unworthy to take my place in it. So where to from here? In a
sense I’d almost feel that this might be grounds to hark back to the
darker days of psychotherapy, and just blitz my capacity to feel rather
than try to support me to feel better. I’d probably be an excellent
candidate for a lobotomy for example, or for being locked up in solitary
confinement so I’d at least be allowed the luxury of going properly
insane. In earlier times I might simply have decided that if my brain
was of no further use then at least my body could be, and so I could
join the army, or go into a monastery or something like that (perhaps
the modern equivalent being to become a labourer at a mine site and
drink myself senseless every night). I guess I would be happy to go into
a psychiatric hospital for a little while, do a course of ECT, or
undergo some kind of experimental treatment in the interests of
developing new techniques for use more widely. I could also/instead
spend a year living with my mum, restoring my poor old Maserati that I
crashed last year (yep, I like cars...), and going to
counselling/psychotherapy a couple of times a week (I am a bit dubious
on psychologists though, as invariably they insist that there’s nothing
wrong with me and that I should just try to do more fun stuff). And at
this point that all sounds like little more than a dreadful waste of
time and money, but then I suppose I’m hardly in a position to make
decisions about that. Ideas?
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