Suicide

I found out today that, after a long battle with severe depression, a beloved celebrity ended his own life. These are my thoughts:

Suicide is strange to talk about. I've had a weird relationship with the enigma my entire life. I think everyone thinks about suicide at least once in their life, and yet it's rarely spoken of, and even more misunderstood. As someone who deals with depression on a regular basis, I completely understand his wish. I wouldn't consider mine as ever being severe, and I often find myself in and endless circle of misery. So I can't imagine what he felt, but I know it was bad.

Many people claim those who end their lives are cowards, but it couldn't be further from the truth. It takes a lot of guts to harm yourself. Even when your only wish is to die, it's painful. It's frightening to think of what will happen. It's not selfish, either. When everything around you is wrong, and you only wish you wouldn't wake up after you fall asleep, your judgement is cloudy. It may not feel like it, but it is. It's not about the people you leave behind, all you can think about is ending your own suffering. It may even feel justified, as if everyone else would be better off without you. Everyone else seems happy, why can't you be? Something is wrong with you, right?

Though I've found myself in this place more often than I'd like to admit, I could never ever get myself to even attempt to do it. And I believe it's because I had something these poor souls must not have had. That thing is hope. For some reason, no matter how miserable it is to wake up, I feel like things could get better, and I want to be around for that. You know, my life usually gets worse every year.

I dropped out of Weber State because I was cutting myself and I wasn't thriving. At the time, it really seemed hopeless to me. I was failing half of my classes (though I still got excellent grades in the classes I did pass). I was getting UTIs all the time. I had no friends and, even though I was happy about that, I felt bad for not wanting more. For not being "normal". I was on clonazepam, and I felt like my anxiety was better, so why was I not "normal"?

My health started deteriorating. Later that year into the next, it just kept getting worse. Everything below my bellybutton wasn't working properly. I was truly miserable. I found out about my husband's much earlier "infidelity" (we were dating, and hadn't done anything yet). It crushed me, but I went through with my engagement and marriage. My wedding was a complete nightmare, and it destroyed whatever hope I had of getting along with my new family. I lost my best friend because of who I was marrying. My health problems persisted and worsened. I went to a few doctors multiple times. I got a colonoscopy with normal results, but I'm skeptical, because the doctor was young and seemed extremely uncaring in my follow-up appointments. I finally got a doctor to take me seriously (after I lost 50+ pounds for no reason) and order a CT scan. I thought they'd find out what was wrong (surely, it had something to do with my stomach or bowels, or maybe my uterus was tilted and squishing my other organs), they'd fix it, and I'd be happy again.

Turns out I have this freak incurable, progressive, genetic, systemic, life-threatening illness. It wasn't going away, and it almost certainly has nothing to do with the majority of my complaints. It answered a few things I didn't care about - why I bruised easily, why I'm exhausted all the time, why my urination habits were going haywire, why my back and stomach hurt so much, and why I got those UTIs all the time.

As for my bowel problems, they tested me for a few more things, got me the highest dose of Amitiza, and sent me on my way. They never looked into my sexual dysfunction, assuming my husband must not know how to please me or that I can't relax enough. Doctors just generally don't care, I find. My school performance has only gotten worse. From near straight A's, to near straight F's. Sometimes I wonder why I'm even still in school.

My point is that everything has gotten worse over time. I would think that, if I had problems before, I would be done by now. But the funny thing is that I still have hope things will get better. Every time something bad happens, I feel like I get more resilient. Like it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I'm more grateful for the small things, and it's all because of hope. I just wish more people had hope. I especially wish that for the victims of suicide. It's tragic, and I wish they could've been helped, but you ultimately have to help yourself, and some people just aren't equipped for that.

Rest in peace.