Aight. There isn't much to say that hasn't been said before- but I have a bit to interject.
One of my best friends committed suicide four years ago. In a morbid twist, my gecko- Stewart, was named after him (I ain't gonna lie. Probably just seeing what I want to see but it's the eyes, they look like Jon's. He's my baby)
Now, he had many varied and strange problems. Bipolar, Depression, ADHD, A few physical medical problems here and there that aren't life threatening, but I can't remember the defining names for it, he also had Torrette's syndrome. And Schizophrenia.
Did I mention that no matter what shit he was on, he always saw people in the shadows, watching him? Made him paranoid as fuck but unless he told you about it, you wouldn't know.
You'd know he was strange... he liked studying urban myths- his favorites being the Lochness Monster and the Moth Man. He'd get hyper, amp himself up and just run around... just... run.
He had a good life around him, but with all that shit going on in his head.... he had attempted suicide I think about thirteen times throughout his life? His birthday was only three days before mine. He passed before he was even legal to drink.
I ain't gonna say I like it... hell, when I first learned he passed, I kinda shut off a bit. Because he and I had talked about it extensively. The dude just didn't want to keep going. He knew how much it would hurt people, but he was sick of no medication fixing anything he had. He was frustrated. At the same time, he wanted to make the claim that if he died, I shouldn't mourn him.
That's the part I think is selfish. Yes, I understand that you don't want your loved one's grieving you, I can understand that maybe that thought makes people sad, or feel awkward.
It's taken me four years to actively really be able to get past his shit, because of that one request. I spent that first year in a tailspin. Relationships got fucked to hell, friendships could wither away, life passed me by because I was walking the wrong way.
I blamed myself for his death because before that- I had gotten mixed into a bad group... It was my own damned fucking fault and I didn't much want to talk about it. At the same time, I didn't want him around me while I was trying to figure out a way to get away from that, manage a relationship I didn't want to acknowledge was failing, and generally flailing around as some vague attempt at having a life.
I feel guilt because I cut myself off from him.
So being told not to mourn, mixed with guilt... it wasn't a pretty sight.
That would be the only thing I can REALLY pin down as the most selfish thing. the act itself is polarizing as we've seen, but it can have varying reasons- but asking people not to mourn you is a rather definite thing to me. Don't fucking do it.
Now- in my own experience, I have another situation to throw at you.
What if you knew a answer for a medical problem might be literally a day away, but you had gotten into so much pain, that you literally couldn't think anymore- to the point where you see something, anything. And go for it.
I had a parasophogial (I think I spelled that right) hernia. Basically I was born with half my stomach was cozied up and bros with my lung. Pancreas and stomach lining sometimes joined in. Starting about three years ago, I started showing symptoms, when I ate, sometimes my stomach would pretty much KNOT itself, and cut off it's own blood supply. The feeling was akin to being stabbed, having that knife moved in every direction, wiggled- what have you. Pain intense enough that it made me vomit, cry, loose control of basic skills, ect.
After two years, there was an appointment for a new doctor, and a diagnoisis. Pretty much I knew that I was getting surgery in little less than a month, I really was just seeing the guy before hand to get to know him before a battery of tests to see just how fucked up everything was down there.
Thing was, I had an episode a week before that meeting. I was writhing in pain, with my best friend trying to hold on to me in some vague attempt of comfort with my boyfriend nearby, nervous but trying to keep it together. I wasn't able to talk. I was crying, sobbing, screaming, making guttural noises that honestly should be in horror movies. I'd jerk my body around, trying to find some sort of comfort in any position. Not happening.
And then it got worse.
I got to a point where I couldn't really register the amplifying pain because the second it started getting worse, I saw the wall next to me. I reared up and moved hard and fast at that damned wall before anyone had any sense to stop me because no one expected it. I was told that two things happened- that I don't remember. One- I hit my head on that wall damned hard. Two- I apparently grumbled that "I didn't do it hard enough."
I was exhausted at that point, I couldn't move much, but now my boyfriend had more or less thrown my friend off the bed and was holding me and trying to keep me awake, talk to me, what else can you do?
Now- the reason I didn't go to a hospital? The way they would have dealt with it would have been... primitive. And recovery would be hell. I was already in hell. Not keen on it. I wanted to either hold out until the scheduled surgery with five little incisions and you would walk out of the hospital the next day, or die trying.
Did I mention that shit can kill you? The whole stomach-cutting-off-it's-own-blood-supply thing?
I ended up getting through that night, obviously, then a few weeks later, had that surgery.
But it's left it's marks. My boyfriend's afraid to see me in pain. Whole damned thing scared him.
Scared me too- had I been of conscious thought, I wouldn't have attempted that.
Literally what I remember of the action was... if felt like when you touch a hot stove and you jump back. I dunno, I'm pretty messed up at times. Still here, though.
No, I don't think the action is selfish, but I think it's one that should be talked about extensively. My friend's mom knew since the time he could talk that he saw things she didn't. He attempted suicide for the first time at the age of ten. I'd like to think the fucker's in a better place. I have a drink and a candle set up for him on his birthday and the anniversary of his death every year. It's taken me some time to get used to it, but I'm ok with his passing now, just something that he wasn't going to let go. Trying to stop him wouldn't help.
Now, if you feel suicidal and you're looking at this thread for some reason- don't fucking kill yourself just yet, aight? There are answers and options available to you. None of the staff here is trained to help you- but there are resources that you can find online and by phone. Talk to someone. Talk to your family and friends. Talk to a doctor. Figure out a plan. If you're serious on it and nothing else can persuade you, tell them. Talking never hurts. Be honest, don't sugarcoat it. Say what's going on, why you feel you need to do that shit, how long it's felt like that. Talk with them.
