Spoiler/Trigger Warning: Suicidal Ideology and other dark stuff.
I did a thing. I am almost maxed out on my credit card and I don’t currently have a job, and my bank pre-approved me for a new credit card because I used to have a job, so I applied for the new credit card. Then, I was feeling really depressed yesterday, like, you know, suicidal and stuff, and I decided to take a cruise. So, I bought a ticket for a 4-day cruise and I lied to my brother and told him I won the trip.
He believed me because I don’t usually lie. I kind of don’t even know who I am right now. All I know is that I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure out how to be a person who was good enough to deserve to feel happy and safe. But I was wrong. This world doesn’t reward virtue.
So, I haven’t decided to be a bad person, but I’ve decided to do some bad things. I took out a credit card I have no way of paying back on top of already having a credit card I can’t pay back, and I lied to my closest living family member.
I’m not even sure if I feel bad or if I know that I’m supposed to. I think, at this point, I’m just so desperate to feel like I have any control over my own life and choices, and this was the only thing I could think of.
I know that I need therapy. Bad. I think that when I get back, I’m going to try to find a good therapist. My last experience with therapy was about six months ago and it wasn’t great, so I was a bit gun-shy about trying again, but I know that I can’t figure out how to be okay on my own. I’ve tried.
Plus, I need some sort of diagnosis and medication. The Paxil is helping with the suicidal ideation but it hasn’t cured it, and it may not even be the right medication for me. It was just the only thing my GP was willing to give me upon meeting me for the first time so that I could request drugs.
I’ve been working on my stories, and that feels really good. I feel like I’m making breakthroughs every time I actively sit down to work on them. But sometimes it feels like a race to the finish line. Am I going to kill myself before I get a chance to finish one of my projects?
And if I finish a project to my own satisfaction, will that cure the overwhelming urge to take myself out of existence? I somehow I know it won’t but the lie that there is a thing, a relationship, or a goal that I can achieve is sometimes the only belief that I can hold onto to get me through this bout of depression, just so that I can fight another one. I’m borrowing against future happiness — like a Ponzi scheme based on hope instead of money.
This morning, I found out that a comedian that I used to know died. He was someone that I wouldn’t book because he was someone who never really seemed to get it. He thought that comedy was about getting up on stage and getting people to laugh. He never understood that laughter is sometimes a reaction to discomfort, and didn’t have any other tricks in his bag.
The way that he died isn’t public but he was fairly young and he was a comedian, plus there was always an edge of desperation and fury about him, so I am assuming that he killed himself. Of course, it was my fault. I didn’t do enough to try to get to know him. I let myself be influenced by people around me who liked to laugh at him instead of with him. I never saw through his bluster to his true potential and that is why he is dead now.
It would by hypocritical and dishonest to say that I’ll miss him. In fact, I recently thought about him and was relieved that leaving comedy meant I’d probably never see him again. But there’s still a cigarette butt the size of a fist burning a hole in my solar plexus when I think he might have felt so alone and hopeless that suicide was his only viable choice.
And he left behind a widow and a couple of kids, and I understand the perpetual razor-blades-under-your-skin of loss. “They” say that suicide is selfish, and I don’t believe that. I think that the kind of people who say that are people who have never felt suicidal. I also believe that it’s selfish to ask someone in that much anguish to stick around.
I mean, I’ll ask anyway, because if I have to be here, I need you here, too. I think that it’s a certain type of idealism that leads to a depth of disillusionment with the world, which then makes the world feel like such an unfriendly place to live. I wonder if all of the idealists who are offing themselves right now stuck around, if we could band together and make this a better world. Because, right now, the cynics are outnumbering us, and they are winning.
And I’ll admit that it’s selfish to ask you to stay. I’ll also admit that I hope that this comedian died of an aneurysm so that I can absolve myself of the guilt of his death. I understand that I am not responsible for everyone’s pain. But I also know how simple conversations with people have either nudged me forward on the tight rope of hope or almost knocked me off completely.
We affect each other. We are responsible to do the best we can for each other. I didn’t do my best for this guy. I know that. That was part of the relief at the idea of never seeing him again. I hate thinking that I might be one of the people who helped knock him off of his tight rope. Even if I only made a feather’s breath of difference in his life, my regret is that it wasn’t to nudge him forward.
I’m trying to figure out how to end this on an uplifting note, but all I can really say is, be kind. Be kind to other people, be kind to yourself. I’m going to wander off and try to forgive myself for being human. Do the same.