Part 2: Is “Suicide Survivors’” Grief a Lie?

I recently had suicidal thoughts that have moved back into the realm of actively planning…I spent a day and half figuring out how to get euthanized in Switzerland, how I would sell assets to finance my suicide trip, when to call the bank to change the beneficiaries for my money to a trust for my niece and nephews, and I drafted what would be the final words I would give the doctors to relay to my family.  My Facebook posts had become dark and cryptic, prompting some loved ones to express concern.  While I initially sought to allay fears by reaching out to my inner circle to let them know I was okay, just lost– days later, I fell deep into darkness.

After, succumbing to my bad habit of using google search to seek comfort from dark places (my therapists have tried to stop me from doing this, but maybe someone will use it to find this site now), I came across a long  article describing what is called the “Motto” or “Caring Letters” approach  to suicide prevention.  An experiment conducted by a psychiatrist in the 70s, demonstrated that by consistently following up with people who had attempted suicide and remained at risk, just by sending a caring letter, could actually make a difference in saving their life.  The letters in the experiment were standardized, but the lesson to the mental health community was when someone reaches out to someone at risk of suicide, to write about anything, however mundane but seemingly genuine, and does so regularly, and does not to ask too much of the person in return — it can have a significant impact. 

Given the tales we are regaled of the aftermath of a suicide, the guilt that wracks its survivors, about “why?” “And could I have done more?” I thought well, what a simple formula for someone to follow, to assist in preventing a suicide, and at least feel like they tried.  Right?  Surely, their fear of losing me would prompt them to write a simple caring letter?    

By sending the article and short explanation over to email, I tried to signal to my loved ones, that I was on the brink of making this decision again. It was the most I could do at the time.  I felt that numbness again, that freedom from despair, where I had a resolve to die, rather than just a desperation to stop the pain.  It’s a hard distinction I am sure for others to understand.   The email I sent, it was my SOS to my friends and family, please, send me something written that will snap me out of this moment when this feels like the right and only decision for me to make.

The silence I mainly received in response was deafening.  Worse yet, it was encouraging.  My immediate thought was is grief real or another lie I’ve been sold? Do people care when someone passes? 

Or is it just that I’ve become the boy who cried wolf, who opened up about my suicidal thoughts and shared to the world, only for the world not to think they are of any serious threat to me. 

Maybe people don’t have the same barometer as my therapist, to ask, is there a plan? Or maybe there are no words in their arsenal or they are capable of expressing to tell me that they love me or value me and that they want me to stay alive.  Or as my depressive brain tells me, maybe that just don’t love or value me and it would be easier for them if I was dead.   Even though science, says if you’ve attempted once, been hospitalized, you are a greater risk of eventually going through with a suicide, I feel like, people nonchalantly think because I’ve always survived and gotten help, I will continue to do so.  They don’t see my suicide as an inevitability the way that I do. 

Everyone is busy.  Everyone has different preferred methods of communication. They are too overwhelmed to open their personal email.  They can read work emails, news articles, and scroll through social media, but they can’t find the space, time and energy to read an email from me, let alone, the additional time it would take to respond.  Perhaps a Juno-filtered photo of myself, neck in a noose would be more effective.  Or maybe, as I’ve always feared, caring for me is too much of a burden, too much to ask for, however small the requested act.    

I am disappointed that even armed with clear directions, clear science, and clear news of the regrets people have after a suicide happens, paying attention to my needs seems far too much for most people to handle and there is a good reason depressed people keep quiet about suicidal thoughts.  And even upon my eventual passing, people will go through motions without any lessons learned.  I can already picture the things they’ll tell themselves to comfort themselves. 

But you know, I cannot be concerned about that.  At times, my concern of being the cause of survivor’s grief and trauma, of —I as I said in my earlier post— freeing myself of my depression only to shackle it onto others, sometimes, it’s been only that fear I felt that has stopped me.  But during these times, when it feels like these same people I want to protect cannot take the time to show concern for my behalf, I wonder whether my decision no longer needs to beholden to the concern that I would be hurting others.