Suicide By a Friend

I have no feeling of personal guilt in the matter. I stand by my original statements. I just regret that we shall never meet again. Good friends are that rare.

edgar- My thoughts are with you.

There are some people for whom death is a more agreeable alternative than life. No one really knows what is buried deep inside another's heart. In many cases, there is not much that anyone can do, if a person is hell bent on killing himself.

We all can be Monday morning quarterbacks............woulda, coulda, shoulda, and can second guess what we might have done to prevent the suicide. The fact remains that we are each captains of our own ship, and if death is the course that a loved one has taken, so be it.

True, phoenix. In the case of the person responsible for my starting the thread, the real sorrow and regret will be felt by her mother and children- -she left two. They have to live with the suicides of a mother and [several years ago] a sibling, plus the cancer death of the woman's husband. They're the ones who have to be strong.

It is always the hardest for the people who are left behind. But that is a part of the second guessing. In addition to the loss itself, there is the idea, "If only I had..........................". Often it is the guilt about unresolved anger and animosities towards the dead person that fuels the unnecessary anguish on the part of the family.

If the mom and children are having difficulty in coping with their loss that goes beyond normal grieving, it would be a good idea if they got some professional help to work this through.

My counselor would have said "Thats popular reasoning but mostly wrong" . The person who is contemplating suicide is often doing it to be manipulative on those to be left behind. Its an ass backwards relationship of power and control, but when you think about it, suicide is an antisocial act based on a myriad of reasons that only occur to the victim.

When I felt my guilt it was for not picking up on signals he may have been leaving Shortly before he killed himself he quit my company to "go on his own" and we ended amicable and had a party and all the presents. He called me a few months laterand told me what a great time he had working for us and how his career took off because of our association He called one of my prtners and a few other people he worked with and the next day he shot himself. Most all of us were devastated and were filled with questions about the suicide and "why couldnt we see this coming". As most of us knew, the guy was suffering freom anxiety attacks and , since I suffered them when I drank, I tried helping him through on his regimens. There was no unresiolved anger or guilt, we were friends and he still had done contract work for us in an area that he had a specialty.

My theory was that the panic attacks concealed a deeper depression that was being treated with medication. The medication side effects , in certain % of cases is an increase in suicidal tendencies. Of which he became a "counterindication statistic" for Xanax and some other pill.

My close buddy has a wife who began developing depression around menopause(She menopaused early like in her mid 40's) she became depressed and was under therapy. Her dr gave her some medication and instructions to start taking them. One evening, we all went to dinner and she seemed particularly ebullient. This ws strange because she was a few words but important words type of person, she was great for careful critiques of our art work, and we loved her for that . Well that night she was like a young Goldy HAwn, really kind of ditzy and giggly. She went home and took all her pills , left a note and about 2 hours later, her husband, who had been watching TV in another room found her in a deep coma. She survived and lived to tell the story that , yes she meant to kill herself. It just seemed that she was required to do it to solve her problems. Her husband changed doctors and got her into cognitave therapy combined with different meds. Shes fine now, although she feels a little embarrassed for doing it. We talk and joke about it now , but weve recognized how , just like a bad glowplug can screw up a very expensive diesel engine, some misfiring of chemicals can commit one to attempt suicide, and all of it is fixable with theproper mechanics.

Thats my story and Im stickin with it..

But why?

I am sure I have a truly unpopular stance on suicide.


BUT


I believe that, as Phoenix said, WE are the only captains of our ships.

Yes. I agree, suicide is a very selfish decision.
But who else will worry about, and take care of US if we dont?
Who else will fill our needs if we dont?

This sort of selfish decision, is one of the only decisions in our lives we have total control over.
And I do not believe anyone, not even ones own children, have the right to stop someone from it.
Speak up, offer help ,support , and love where needed, but don't attempt to control the situation.

Now there are acceptions to that.. always..



The family / friends who are left after someones suicide DO have the really shitty end of the deal . But the fact is that the person who wants to commit suicide has to live in what ever pain they perceive, for the REST of THEIR lives.

Im sure the person who wants to commit suicide asks themselves "How productive , loving, complete, and beneficial can I be for my own family if I dont want to be around? "

If they can not function through their own problems, and knowing that they feel they can not go on with what ever burden they have, that will make themselves feel like even less of a person and compound an already full emotional wound.

We dont know what it is like to live in another s skin.
We dont know what their pain feels like

And we will never know.
Life s experiences are different for each person. And noone has the right to invalidate someone elses pain and suffering by telling them that they have no right to suicide, or that they shouldnt 'feel so bad'.



Now, let me contradict myself and agree with Farmerman.-

Suicide is not a normal choice ( as I have said in other threads).
Most people who are chemically balanced do NOT see death as the only way out of something.
Barring a terrible tragedy , most people seek outside help, even drugs at times, to fix their issues.
Alot of people who commit , or attempt to commit suicide could POSSIBLY be "saved" with therapy, medication, and a strong family backing.

But I believe that part of that backing and therapy has to be the respectful acknowledgement of the decision of suicide.

In my opinion only, too many people pass off suicide as a chicken **** way out of something. Though, this may actually hold water as an arguement in SOME cases, it shouldn't be given out to all .

*hugs* to all who have lost a loved one this way.

*hugs* to all who have found themselves in a place where suicide seemed like an attractive option. It's not an easy place to live.

I think that each case ifs different, and one cannot make a blanket statement about all suicides. There are some people who attempt suicide, where the act is manipulative, and a cry for help. In those cases, IMO, it is wise for loved ones to intervene.

In the case of depression, often medications and therapy can turn a person's life around. Bottom line though, if a person really wants to die, he will accomplish it.

BTW, people in the depths of depression usually do not attempt to commit suicide. They often do not have the wherewithal or emotional strength to commit the act. It is when the depression is lifting, that is the most dangerous time for suicide.

When I was in my early 20s by best friend's boyfriend sat down beside her in her car and shot himself in the head.

In my opinion he killed my best friend to. We had known each other since the second grade and his actions forced her to become someone else; someone neither of us could recognize. I think our shared history carried too many reminders for her. Twenty five years later I still mourn the loss of my best friend.

I know people kill themselves for a variety of reasons but sometimes it is to punish and ruin. I agree that we captain our own ship but when someone's ship starts tearing up the things I love my heart has a hard time forgiving.

I hope this story fits in with this thread:

Dear Frank,

Here is your Friday story,

Six Months to Live and Laugh

On the day a woman learns she has only a short time to live, she meets someone who shows her the humorous side.

By Dorothy G. Hensley

Editor's Note: Dorothy G. Hensley, age 89, is in the final months of her battle with congestive heart disease. We received this submission from the Dream Foundation, whose mission it is to grant terminally ill adults one final wish. Dorothy's dream is to be a published writer. We are happy to acknowledge her talent and publish her wonderful story.


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This is the day I learned that my life is coming to an end, and that's all right. Eighty-eight years is more than most people get.
My daughter and I sat in Dr. Barbara's office. "I have done everything I can for you," she said, kindness in her voice. "Would you like me to contact hospice?" Surprised, I didn't know how to react. The doctor was looking into my eyes, waiting for a sign of understanding. "They can take care of your needs, enabling you to stay home." She paused, and then said, "Do you know about hospice?"

I said, "Yes, I had hospice when Mia's dad died." I was remembering the flurry of activity, almost eight years ago, when a registered nurse and two aides arrived at our home, along with a delivery of a hospital bed, bedside potty, a wheelchair, and a walker. In no time at all the bed was standing and made up in the living room, the potty was hidden behind a screen, the wheelchair was out of the line of traffic, and the walker was folded and leaned against a wall. Yes, I was acquainted with hospice.

Mia spoke, "Are you telling me my mother has six months to live?"

The doctor transferred her attention to Mia. "No. We don't say that now." She looked back at me, "You may live months or a year..." I sensed hesitation in her demeanor. I stood, ready to leave; I needed to go home and talk this over with God.

However, before I could go home, I had to keep an appointment made last week with a beautician, a stranger, since retirement had claimed the operator I was in the habit of using. Maybe the hair-do would give me a lift. Yet I felt a strong need to talk about what I thought of as my new status. Until I was better acquainted with it myself, I didn't want to discuss the obvious change in my relationship with Mia; she needed time, too.

Back in the car an unfamiliar silence lay between us. By the time Mia stopped the car to let me out at the beauty shop, I knew what I was going to do. Suddenly I was glad I didn't know the hairdresser.

Her name was Melody. After introductions, I was seated in an adjustable chair, leaned back against a sink, and felt water and shampoo fingered onto my scalp. Then, before I could change my mind, I said, "I've just been told that I'm going to die." Her fingers stilled immediately. She said nothing for a moment, so I added, "I'll have to call in hospice." Then I sat quietly, waiting. When her fingers started working again, I felt the muscles in my neck become tense. What was she going to say?

"Hospice, huh? You're telling me you've got six months to live?" I opened my mouth to speak but didn't have time before she continued. "You can't have six months. That's mine. You can have three months or five or nine, but you can't have six."

For the second time that day, I was too surprised to speak. She finished rinsing my hair and pushed a knob on the chair that allowed me to sit up - and just kept talking... I began to laugh.

"I get lots of free lunches out of that six-month prognosis. My kids treat me great too. The other day my granddaughter said, 'Don't say that, Grandma. It might be bad luck.' I said, 'Well, someday it's going to be true. Then won't you be glad you were nice to me all those years?" I was laughing out loud now, and it felt wonderful.

"I tell anybody who needs to know," she added. "One day I parked in a hard-to-find-space, and a woman in a Mercedes stopped behind my car as I got out. She yelled at me, 'I've been waiting to park there. I had to turn around first.' The teenage boy sitting in the passenger seat looked embarrassed - as well he should. I told her, 'You want this parking place? Okay. You can have it. I've got six months to live, so a parking place is the least of my worries. I'll just get in my car and pull out. You can have it.' The teenager said, 'M-o-m-m-m?' and the lady left without further chatter. It comes in handy, you know?" I continued to laugh.

Only God has the wisdom and the knowledge to choreograph that particular afternoon in my life, with all the right people in all the right places at the right time. As I got ready to go home, I faced the back of the shop where Melody was shampooing her next client and talking a mile a minute. Smiling, I said in my head, "Thank you, God."

On occasion, when I sense a dark mood hovering around, waiting to pounce, I think of Melody and laugh. Oh, I'm still going to die, but I won't die in six months. I wouldn't dare!


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More About The Author:
Dorothy G. Hensley has said of writing that she felt "almost overpowered with a passion as strong as hunger, as demanding as birth." Dorothy did not complete high school and never believed she had the talent to be a writer; but she has written all her life. Her daughter remembers her mother getting up very early in the morning so she could write at the kitchen table while the house was quiet.
When Dorothy was in her 40's, she went to a junior college to learn to be a better writer, despite lack of support from her husband and ridicule from classmates 25 years her junior. Three years ago, at the urging of her daughter, Dorothy began taking a memoir-writing class. It was in those classes that her instructors and classmates acknowledged her as a talented writer, and she began to believe it.

Dorothy has written many stories about her family and experiences while growing up. It is her dream to see her passion of writing in print - to be recognized as a writer of promise before she dies. She is currently in hospice care.

The Dream Foundation, the first national organization in the U.S. founded to bestow a final wish on adults. Dream spokesperson Eve Lechner wrote, "Our dreams focus on providing resolution, a sense of completion and fulfillment. We cannot provide a cure for our dreamers, but we can dramatically impact the quality of their fragile lives with the joy experienced from a dream come true."

If you would like to contact Dorothy and let her know how her story touched you, please email [email protected]

Who is writing the pages of reality?
Imagine if instead of old age we think sooner of death and the passing through its doors. A few extra years of thought might do a soul some good. As for suicides, who are we to say when someone can leave? What can someone teach us that leave us? Do we look into who they were more after they are dead? Kind of like the dead poet thing, I will be famous after I'm dead. Is it our choice to read into suicide whatever we want, like writing in a book when the author is gone? Who is writing the book anyway you or me? How many books can there be?
Mc Cobb

In one sense, my friend was certainly crying for attention. She did it on the driveway, instead of hiding in a room, where it would take a long time to discover her.

Edgar--

Perhaps she chose the driveway so as not to spoil happy memories in the house?

Maybe.

I do not necessarily have moral-ethical-intellectual problems with suicide.

After all, we are each just a short hop away from the inevitability of naturalistic suicide, thus I see no inherent conundrum by having death on one's own terms. Plus most everyone hastens their own demise in any number of ways as it is.

I understand why some might seek it and others avoid it.

My brother had a spectacular suicide by diving off Lion's Gate Bridge, to the waiting ocean below. He was an excellent diver and I can well imagine his fine swan dive on that fateful evening.

The Lions Gate Bridge has a tower height of 364 feet and a ship's clearance 200 feet....

...almost sounds like you wish you had video...

Interesting reaction from a brother.

He was an avid scuba diver, skier and swimmer, he died the way he liked to live. Who am I to judge?

To be most precise he was my father's second wife's son from her prior marriage and we did not live together (except for one year in my mid teens), nonetheless we were reasonably close for a spell.

cicerone imposter: as a humorous aside, I firstly thought your post was in response to snood's (as I might assume he's black); too much holidaying may have skewed my perspective to the dark side of humor (pun).

My thread Living For The Moment might give some added perspective.

Love the quoter, but I thought someone should say that this statement is an error.

words of grac,
I know how you feel the swan dive is a respectful poetic description. I would expect a brother to chose words with grace. It shows me your in good mental shape. Keep it up, and hey I would love to have my brothers last movements on earth on video. We tape births why not deaths?