a friend called me today and told me that one of her neighbor’s committed suicide.
she asked me to re-post this blog (from much earlier this summer).
this one’s for her.
a friend of sorts (more like an acquaintance) committed suicide this week. a neighbor. he lived a very honest & true life, he was gay & very open & very loving, and he created a very successful business. he had a great passion for community, in the true sense of the word. he was loved by many and loved many in return.
i wonder about the moment: what makes you GO THROUGH WITH IT. swallow the pills, pull the trigger, hang yourself? what point do you reach, one that feels so intensely weighed down with no end in sight. is it fear and doubt that creeps in and finds a home? is it a secret that is buried for so long and then makes it’s way out into the world, is it the weight of unbearable? is it an illness that grabs hold and begins to ravage you and you think, no more… no more, on my terms now. is it just that life feels so overwhelming, the bills pile up, the debt is mounting, the phone doesn’t stop, the race will never be won, there is no light at the end of the tunnel?
what is it that makes you stop and say, no, time to go. i can’t anymore.
i’ve had some fierce days lately. weaning myself off cymbalta was horrific at best. HORRIFIC. my god, a wrong dosage can throw you into a major spin and not let go. it’s painful and frightening and ‘crazy’ isn’t a big enough a word to describe the rollercoaster ride. i sat in a HAMPTON INN room wondering how ken would survive without me. i replayed all & every scenario in my mind. and i realized that ken was the type who would mourn for a month or two, but then he would need to be with a woman. he would. that’s who ken is. and i don’t fault him for that. i personally would want a huge amount of alone time, like months and months and months. but not my ken. he likes the company, and he’s such a treat and such a good man, he shouldn’t be alone. and that would be his choice. i racked my brain thinking, who who who… and when none came up that i would find suitable as an “amy” replacement, i gave up on the whole idea. fuck it i thought, and then then then… one person came to mind (these are available women, not women with partners/spouses/wives/husbands): liz randol. she is truly the cats meow. sexy, funny, smart, gorgeous, vibrant, edgy … a dream girl. whew. that’s one less thing to worry about. but then i started thinking of other friends who are available, marcia, and claire … and i decided that this was too much while weaning myself off cymbalta. it was making me even crazier. thinking of single woman for my husband.
i sat there and i thought awful thoughts, suicidal thoughts, bad thoughts. i felt like i had no control. but i also knew deep in my soul, that no, no… i didn’t want to die. i just wanted the pain, the suffering to die, to go away. this was not an unfamiliar feeling… i had it many times before. feelings of sadness, of unworthiness, the black holes. the big bad black holes, but mine always, always, with a tint of grey.
and, i wonder now, what is it, that moment when it goes completely black. no hope, no belief, no way out. do we really think that life would be better without us? do we really believe that folks wouldn’t miss us like crazy and somewhere in their soul blame themselves for something unsaid, undone, misconstrued.
i am all for people choosing how they die. i am. i think it’s the most important part of life — the end — everything we do is about that last moment. it is. who you are at the end of your life says everything about you. were you kind? loving? generous? greedy? selfish? nasty? cruel? unforgiving? vibrant? spiritual? god fearing? mean spirited? will you be alone at the end of your life, will there be friends and family talking about you with great appreciation, or will it be SRO at the church, the synagogue, the buddhist community center, the shrine, the temple, the mosque…
and so i sit here on a gorgeous day, wondering what was it that made him take his life? what moment, what pain, what thought… and i am reminded when i sat in that hotel room in the hampton inn on that evening not so long ago, my head throbbing from so many thoughts & fears & doubts & worries, filled with the should i & could i & what if, and my god, i could understand the weight of the pain & torment that runs through our hearts & bodies when we are so very scared, so very confused.
and i wonder, could a word have made a difference? an action? a smile? a hug? a kiss? a phone call?
yes, for some, it does matter. i know that for sure.
just to hear someone say:
you are not alone.
you are not alone. and every heart is exactly the same. it’s just the package is different.
and for some, yes, life becomes a hardship. a burden. a weight. the alarm goes off, and it’s over.
and then i think hmmm, life and death, we really shouldn’t judge either.
but while we have you, while you’re here, while you’re touchable and kissable and huggable, we ought to take advantage of that.
and that’s all i have to say.
life @ 50