Tag Archives: suicide

Internet interactions

So this past week or so, I’ve been having some strange interactions online with some people who are rather antagonistic. One instance involves Person A adding Person B to a group without asking if Person B wanted to be added. Person B then left the group and Person A asked why. PB said he never asked to be added and didn’t want to be part of the group, and they got into an argument about it.

PA then posted on his wall, wondering why PB got mad, because it’s not like some notifications can hurt, right? I tried to explain that by adding without asking, he was taking control of the situation away from the other person, and people tend to react negatively to that. PA thinks that the only way they’ll know if they want to be part of a group is by adding them, rather than inviting. He doesn’t care that people don’t like that, he’s going to do it anyway because it doesn’t cause them any physical harm. There’s a lot more to it than that, and needless to say PA has a few of my friends, and my brother even, pretty mad. My brother asked me if I was going to let PA get away with what he said to me. I’m not that good with words to properly retaliate. Another of my friends wants to beat the guy up.

Another incident involved a forum where this person posted about depression being a disease, not just a mood, and people need to stop the hurtful comments about it. One person on there posted that you can cure your depression if you think positive thoughts, and if you can’t, then you just have a weak mind. He said I lack awareness and that I’m a defeatist for not believing thought can cure something I’ve been trying to think away for around 17 years. I’m just weak willed, you know?

Another person brought up pornography to take a shot at something the OP said elsewhere, and they asked for someone to define it, so I did, and they attacked me and said my art was “far from good *yawn.*” When I asked why they said my art was bad, they replied with, “Quote me where I said your art was bad, I never said that.” So I did and they insulted me further -_-

One person was saying “I guess it’s really a matter on what type of connotation you give to “weak” or “cowardly.” I don’t give those things a negative or shameful connotation when it comes to things like this.” Concerning depression and suicide. So what is this person thinking, that they can get away with telling people they’re cowardly or weak and that the people should accept it because their connotation isn’t the same as the majority of humans on the planet? Our entire history is full of fights with those words used as insults to goad the other person into doing something stupid. You can’t just magically change those words to be light and fluffy good things.

Other people are saying you can’t blame depression for suicide, because it didn’t physically kill them. I can understand this a lot more, but I pose the analogy of a mind altering drug. If someone was given a mind altering drug and went on a killing rampage, people would say the drug was to blame. The person would still be held accountable, I’m sure (depending on the circumstance), but the drug wouldn’t be shoved to the side, it would be listed as a reason for his behavior. A reason for him killing people. Depression isn’t much different. These people wouldn’t kill themselves if their minds weren’t in an altered state. Just because it’s all internal and no one is injecting a drug into the person, doesn’t change it.

I want to try to bring more awareness to mental health, but I didn’t expect so many mean people all at once. And I didn’t even post the thread. But hey, it’s not really that surprising. There’s a horrible stigma still that goes with being depressed. Well with any mental illness. Any illness. Any state of being. People will judge, and think they’re right, that their opinion is the only one that matters, on any aspect of your life, even if they know nothing about you but a blip of words. I find that many people will take a small bit of what you said and fill in the rest with their assumptions, never mind that it wasn’t what you said at all. They only read/hear what they want and nothing anyone says is going to change their minds about it. So bizarre.

I try to stay open minded, and try to see things from different perspectives, but I’m fallible myself, and I know I make mistakes. I may not like the feeling I get when called on it, but I would rather be correct than be an arrogant ass.

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This Night

Been listening to a song by Black Lab called “This Night” and it’s given me a lot of inspiration, but it also is feeding my depression. It’s strange that my depression feeds my creativity… I ended up writing last night…

“She set the cup on the desk and took her earrings and necklace off, her fingers trembling. She stared at her rings… It had been three years since he’d died… he would understand. She pulled her wedding ring off and slowly set it on the desk with her other jewelry. She slowly undid her boots, trying not to think about what she was planning, and put them next to the desk. She ran her hands down her arms, feeling the softness of the cashmere sweater, then pulled it off. She was wearing a workout tank top on underneath that would do for a shirt. There were people in greater need of staying warm… Her body would be cold before the night and she would no longer care.”

Then later:

“Let me at least try to help you.” He said.
“Don’t you understand?” She cried, glaring at him with such anger in her eyes. “Just let me die! Why do you suddenly care? You didn’t care earlier. You couldn’t be rid of me soon enough! I can’t keep trying to live like this! The pain… the pain is just too much… I don’t belong here, I shouldn’t even be alive.”

I shouldn’t be alive. If I were to go to another world… if I were suddenly transported to somewhere like Middle Earth… It would be a death sentence to me. What would I do? Would I let my body slowly deteriorate, becoming a burden on whoever tried to help me, or would I slip quietly away and kill myself?

At the doctor the other day, the nurse was amazed at my chart… amazed that I’m allergic to all plant life. How am I even alive? What do I eat? Hypothyroidism, fibromyalgia, allergic to so many things, asd… Is it a miracle I’m alive? My body wasn’t completed in the womb… I’m seeing more and more evidence of this the older I get, with the various problems I have. I keep wondering what I’m going to do if I go the way of my grandma and get Parkinson’s. She wrote about not wanting to be a burden on people, and I saw what happened when it got bad… I don’t want to go that route, but would I kill myself to prevent that kind of stress on my family? There is no happy ending with Parkinson’s. There is no peaceful passing, not really… When did she really die? She wasn’t really there… she didn’t know us in the end. She was like an infant again… Watching someone you love go through that is horrible.

But look at what happened with Robin Williams. All the responses on his death… people want us to stick it out, they don’t want us to “take the easy way out.” It’s not easy. There’s nothing easy about deciding to end a life. It’s the thought of “will it be easier on them in the long run?”

I have had an amazing life in my almost 30 years. I have done so much, accomplished a lot, gone so many places. I have no real regrets. If I died today, the only regret I would have would be that I wouldn’t be here for my boys. I wouldn’t be here to watch them grow up, to help them through life, and it would be more of a problem for my husband who is under enough stress as it is. My parents would have to take the kids, probably, since they’re retired. I need to work on a will and get life insurance, something to help my husband out. Funerals are expensive, after all and we’re not exactly rich…

“She bent down, gripping the soft leather straps in her hands, and wrapped the greave around his shin, buckling it on tightly. A hand brushed back her long brown hair, fingers grazing her cheek gently. She looked up in time for his lips to kiss hers, his hands pulling her closer to him. A single tear traced its way down her cheek as she wrapped her arms around him, his armor digging into her skin. A small price to pay… He slipped out of her grasp, smiling sadly. He cupped her face in his hand, then grabbed his helmet and walked out the door. She watched him leave, watched as the army gathered around the city… the smoke from the attack burning her eyes.
And like that, he was gone.

She stood on the edge of a cliff, staring down into the rushing river below, longing to feel the water on her face. It would hurt… but what was a little more pain? She should be used to pain by now. It was the peace at the end of the pain that she wanted, that she longed for. She smiled and wrapped her arms around herself, longing for his touch again… it wouldn’t be long. They would be reunited soon enough. The wind whipped her dress around her ankles, her hair blowing wildly…
A deer looked up, thinking it heard something, but the forest was silent and empty.”

The sweet embrace of death

It’s on everyone’s mind with the passing of Robin Williams. It’s on my mind every day. I don’t know how I feel about the people who don’t understand suicidal thoughts talking about it, because so many of them can’t have any idea what it’s like to be on the edge, reaching for death, praying for an end. I’m glad so many can’t understand, but a few end up posting comments or blogs acting like they do know what they’re talking about and their words are hurtful and misinformed. I’ve seen people telling us that joy will cure depression, or that we just don’t have enough faith, that we aren’t believing in God enough. Some people claim that anti-depressants and other medications are evil and we shouldn’t take them, but without them, some of us wouldn’t be alive. I need something to help me. I may not have found any medications that help me yet, but I’m still going to try. If someone can have a somewhat normal life away from the darkness, why wouldn’t they want them to have it? Why do they expect people to be able to overcome something physical with happy thoughts?
Brain scans show that depression is physical, that it’s not “all in our heads” so to speak. Do they tell schizophrenics to just think positive thoughts to get rid of the voices or paranoia? My schizophrenic aunt is a very positive person, she just had no grip on reality without medication. In fact, without her meds, she thinks she’s fine, but I dare anyone else to agree. 

I guess I’m just really upset that there are so many people spreading dangerous information. Some people are glorifying suicide, even saying “Good for him” that he was able to kill himself and end his suffering. I know how painful and lonely my depression is, I know how my suicidal thoughts make me feel. How there doesn’t seem to be any hope, how death seems like the only answer, how everyone would be better without me. But I never wanted to truly end my life, it just seemed like the only way to go. I wanted peace, I wanted the pain to end, I didn’t want to suffer anymore and I didn’t want to be a burden on everyone else. I’m glad that I didn’t succeed. I’m sure one day my children will be glad. They’re probably glad now, but they’re too young to comprehend it. If I’d succeeded, I’d not have met my husband and my sons wouldn’t be here now, and the joy they have given people, even just random strangers, is surely a good enough reason to have stayed alive. Granted, I’m sure they’ve also given random strangers insane headaches too… ^_^

I’ve learned to tell myself that while I’m in my darkest moments, reaching for death, that my brain is lying to me, that there are people who care about me and that by leaving them, I would be making their lives miserable. So I need to be strong, for them. I need to keep going. I have fibromyalgia and hypothyroidism along with severe allergies that prevent me from eating fruits, vegetables, nuts, and most grains. I’m in pain constantly and I have to force myself sometimes to just get out of bed. My kids are a good motivator, I have to constantly keep them alive from their own mistakes! But I wonder how long I’ll be able to keep going on my own, even though my life could be much worse. I sometimes feel like such a wimp for feeling how I do, and I have to remind myself it’s my brain torturing me, lying to me. 

Over ten years ago, when I was singing up in Vancouver, on concert day, things happened in a way that I ended up not drinking or eating all day (not exactly for lack of trying, I did buy the food…). After the concert, we went back to the hotel only to find the high schoolers had bogged down the elevators so we took the stairs. I think I ran up 6 flights of stairs before I collapsed. Oh that darkness… it was like a peace, a relief I had never known before and I wanted it badly. I wanted it to wrap itself around me, envelop me in its comfort… but then the people around me saved me and the darkness sped away from me, bringing me back to life and it hurt. It really hurt to be ripped from the darkness. I wanted it so badly, only to have it taken forcefully from me. I never really recovered from that, I think, since that was the incident that triggered my fibro. Touching death gave me a lasting pain, a constant reminder. With each time I’ve gotten seriously ill (like with my pregnancies), it makes life that much harder. But the harder life gets, it seems like the more I have to live for.

While I was a teenager, I didn’t feel like I had anything to live for, everything felt so horrible and I was convinced everyone hated me and I barely had any friends. Now, I have a support group of 62 amazing women, I’m on pretty good terms with my family, better than most, I have a great husband and kids, and I have the ability to speak to others and listen to them, help them through difficult times. So even though right this moment, I am in incredible pain, exhausted emotionally, mentally, and physically and still have so much work to do, my life is really good. I even have people asking me to do art for them. The depression still takes me, it still drags me down and I find myself doubting people, doubting their love for me, doubting their need for me. But I know that my brain is lying to me and I can’t give in just yet. Maybe some day I will be embraced by death completely and know that peace and relief I touched so long ago… but not yet. Not while I can still do some good in this world. Because if I can continue to help people, it’s worth it.