There is much being said in the media and in our social media feeds about suicide and mental illness. Some of it is pure lament, some of it is an attempt at having more open conversations about these hard things, some of it is honest sharing about what it’s like to be on the precipice, and some of it is completely wrongheaded and cruel.
And then there is the stuff in between the good and the bad – those feeble (and admittedly often wrong-headed) attempts to be helpful, to fix this and somehow put the world back in order. To convince those in the darkness that we really want them to live.
“Suicide is selfish.” “Choose life.” “Choose joy.” “Think of the people you’re leaving behind.”
For those who’ve been anywhere near the place where Robin Williams was earlier this week, these statements can trigger you and do exactly the opposite of what they’re meant to accomplish. You know how useless it is to assume you really have any rational choice when the darkness takes over your mind. You know you can’t just “snap out of it”. You know you’re not really being selfish when you’ve become convinced the world would be a better place without you.
As one of those people who’s said some of those wrong things in her life… can you please find it in your heart to forgive us? Forgive us, but don’t let us off the hook. Tell us what we should say instead. Tell us how we should show up for you. Tell us how we can show our love in helpful ways.
Because some of us are desperate. Some of us are standing on the shore, holding the only thing we think might be a lifeline, making every feeble attempt we can to toss it into the raging current to pull you back to shore.
Sometimes we throw the wrong lifeline and we hit you on the head instead.
When my beloved first slipped into the darkness that had no name, I had no idea how to handle it. Five months pregnant with our first child, and completely unprepared and ill-equipped to support someone who didn’t himself understand what he was going through, I can tell you this… I said a whole lot of wrong things.
I tried to bargain with him. I tried to make him feel guilty. I tried tough love. I tried anger. I tried desperation. I tried dropping him off at an overnight care facility. I tried hiring the best psychologist I could find. I even tried to hide the phone when I thought he was making the wrong choice and then threw it at him and ran away when I realized I had no control over the situation. Yes, I threw things.
And then the next day, after I’d spent the day driving all over the countryside trying to find him, when he was lying in the hospital bed about to be wheeled into surgery to try to save the life he’d tried to end, I STILL said the wrong thing. Instead of saying “I’m so glad you’re alive. I love you.” I said “Why did you try to leave me? How could you do this to me and our baby?”
Because I didn’t know what else to say to convince him to stay. Because I didn’t want to be alone.
Fifteen years later, when he slipped back into the darkness, we thought we were better prepared. We thought he couldn’t possibly slip so far again. We got help. He talked to the right people. He promised he would never, ever try to end his life again.
And then one day I was rushing him to the hospital in another desperate attempt to save the life he tried to end. Again.
And STILL I said the wrong things. Because I was angry. Because I was desperate. Because I didn’t know better. Because I loved him.
Despite all of my mistakes, he found a way to forgive me. And he got better. And he worked, once again, at staring his demons in the face. And we worked at patching our marriage back together.
Because in all of that – in all of my blundering attempts to help him – he saw that it was love that made me do it. And in the mix of the wrong things, I also said some right things. And he says now that I saved his life.
It might happen again – to him or to someone I love. (Please God NO!) And I’ll probably still say some of the wrong things. Hopefully I’ll also say more right things than wrong. Hopefully love will be strong enough to tip the scales.
So I beg you – if you are one of those people being triggered by the wrong things being said – please help us. Please let us know where to stand and where to throw the rope. I know you can’t communicate it in the middle of your darkness, or you would. But if you’re currently not in the darkness and remember what it’s like, talk to us. Tell us what people said that were the right things. Tell us how to love you.
Because we love you. And we’re desperate.
This is an incredible post. I’ve been on the dark side and on the loving desperate side, so I know how important this is. Thank you.
Heather, you know I’ve been there too…this was so beautifully spoken. Thanks for making me think.
Telling my whole life with your words…
Tonight I don’t feel so alone.
Last weekend I attended the memorial service of one of our friends who committed suicide. We weren’t able to fight with his demons. In fact, many of us had no idea he even had them until it was too late. There are now so many of us wondering why and what we could have done, if anything. Thank you, Heather, for this post and for your honesty. You are helping me and you are helping many others, too.
Few are those brave enough to expose the dark and difficult turns on the labyrinth of life; fewer still are those eloquent enough to tell the truth and express the heart’s yearning. I too have been on the precipice, brought back by two significant beings–a 10 year old daughter who simply said “don’t die on me, mom” and Albert Camus who gifted me at age 16 with my life mantra, “in the midst of winter, I found in me an invincible summer.” It guides me still, 50 years later. As for words of guidance, all I recall is presence of those who loved me and the plea of a child. Thank you heather for a thoughtful post. You have blessed me numerous times with your wise words and naked truth.
Wow, this is well and honestly put. Having both supported people with dark depression and been there myself with multiple suicides and a 10 year path to a bipolar mood affective disorder diagnosis, I understand. There is no right thing to say, the best thing is probably some of the dark but funny cartoon strip takes on it, eg http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/adventures-in-depression.html or the one where someone climbs under the blanket with you. Just being held and helped to get through the night to a new day is sometimes all it takes to survive a dark valley until sunrise. Even “I love you” is well meant but not enough sometimes, if anxieties are more practical than emotional, if keeping a roof over your head against bailiffs is the final straw that tips you. I’ve had plenty of varied final straws, detailing, explaining or countering them is not the issue, they are in the moment triggers, not the background chemical mood hell that often defies logic and love and instead just demands patience, perseverance and companionship – and yet depression is not attractive company, and you can’t be there all the time. I’ve had flack for calling Robin Williams’ suicide brave in opposition to those calling it cowardice – I don’t/we don’t know his motivation or thoughts, so no speculation or judging. http://www.bubblews.com/news/5553085-robin-williams-rip-funny-man-dies-leaves-us-laughter-tears-amp-memories.
My last attempt was the bravest scariest thing I’d ever done, I cried through taking the pills, shaking, knowing full well what I was about to do, I said goodbye to just 1 person at 2am despite having dozens of close friends and hundreds online, I was not feeling unloved. I was just tired of surviving and wanted time out without worry or fear of life’s load, in the moment of the night’s dark hours, lonely at the time – because who can share the darkness and your own fears/anxieties? I saw suicide as a holiday, as respite, as paradise, I needed a temporary break but saw death as the only way to achieve it.
At the point of suicide it is already too late to say, “why didn’t you call me, ask for help?”, it is already beyond that. It is a selfish disease, in that it is a disease, it is NOT the fault of the person with it, it is ungrateful, all-consuming, unattractive. There are as many reasons for it as there are lived lives. It is NOT the coward’s way out, it is the last resort, after everything else has been tried. There wasn’t anything I needed to hear that would have made a difference, but companionship in my personal hell might have helped, though I doubt the 24/7 presence in time of need is even possible – who is there when you wake with night terrors, panic and fear? Who would want to be there. The last time I felt even close to this way, I was relieved that it was daytime and my partner was with me – that got me through. At night, or if she’d been away who knows what might have happened?
So, yes, I forgive every insensitive statement made towards me, even the judgements, because they come from ignorance, and I appreciate the love, help, and hugs. But in the moment of suicide it is not about you, it is about me, it is my choice because I feel I have no other choices. It is selfish because I can do no more for myself to make life liveable. But it is also not what I want, and not something I do by choice – and herein is the paradox, it is the ONLY choice I have left to make, the last slither of empowerment and control over a circumstantially powerless and emotional mood that feels out of my control, and that is angry at myself for not being able to do anything about it.
Stephen Fry suggests “do not ask why?” which is quite appropriate for bipolar mood disorders, for others “why?” may help, or “what can I do to help?”. Best of all is simply to listen, to learn and to love, to stem the loneliness of the disease, that is the only thing I can ask, whilst internally I’m asking myself all the time “why?” and “what can I do?”. So long as I’m still asking those questions I have not given up hope that tomorrow may be a better day.
Katy, thank you for this beautiful explanation and helpful suggestions.
With gratitude and appreciation for your writing,
Susan