On a grim anniversary, a struggle to step back from the edge
Suicide. It eternally competes with “child rape” for the top spot in the darkest of themes possible for me, but if volume is a factor the former surpasses the latter by far.
An uncomfortable anniversary of such is coming up and I’m struggling to write about this at all for fear of upsetting or offending the rest of the family, but at the same time it’s all that’s on my mind and actually talking about it is both what needs to be done to combat it, and the subject of the anniversary would want this written for just that reason.
Suicide used to make me mad—and it still does—but that’s evolved over the years. I saw it as the most selfish act a person could commit, an act whose only result is a wake of destruction for the friends and family left behind. I see now that my judgement was based on dealing exclusively with that one part: The aftermath.
I witnessed the tears on my shoulder patches and badge while they embraced me, their bodies heaving as they struggled for air, literally racked with grief. I heard the young children of the decedents comforting me (ME!) when they saw my tears of frustration and empathy in response. I had to hide the remains from view as best possible to preserve memories, and occasionally used my pocket knife to cut away carpet (and wallpaper and pictures) covered in remains.
Yes. Suicide pisses me off.
That said? It never really truly struck home until just a few years ago in the comparable twilight of my career when a family member joined the sad ranks.
I’d looked in from the outside for so long, it never occurred to me to consider it from the inside out. Sure, I gave it a cursory thought (I DO possess empathy, however inconvenient it may be) but as a rule I only saw it as a foolishly permanent solution to what is a temporary problem.
At those points in my life, however, I never considered the utterly crushing weight of depression or the terror of true anxiety, and what it’s like to live with them. This clear moment also made me realize how I suffered from both of those as well. I mean, I’ve known for some time, but not really known, if that makes sense.
It’s safe to say I gave pause to reflect.
There is an abyss, and it has an edge. I now find that most people don’t know they’ve been at this edge for some time until something finally causes them to look down and either take a few steps back, or to stare into it a bit until it indeed stares back at you and Decision Time comes.
In my case? I’ve talked to some people. Not just friends, but in windowless offices with lots of books and very comfortable chairs and lots (and lots) of documented Q&A forms.
There’s a stigma that goes with this, make no mistake—but now that I realized I’d been introduced to the same demons that the decedents mentioned above had with firm, uncomfortably long handshakes (and the occasional vile embraces), I came to prefer the awkward discomfort to the alternative. To becoming a two-page police report and a call to “ServePro” like so many other souls I’d encountered.
Talk. Take a pill. Know that there’s no happy ending to not considering such, and know what it does to those you care about all the same. And if anything? You can take comfort (if not humor) in seeing the face of a true PhD’d professional making an “Oh S**T” expression despite all their training when you relay such awful truths that even doctors themselves wait for you to leave so they can quietly lock their office door and pull out a bottle of red label Johnny Walker to help THEM cope with what’s in your head.
It really is therapeutic to know it’s okay to be a little crazy after seeing reactions like these. (Note I spoke of that in the plural.)
Talk. Or at least recognize it’s okay to be feeling these feelings if you can relate. And know there is a way out, no matter your proximity to either side of that edge of the abyss.
It’s anniversary time, so hugs. (And as long and uncomfortable as you’d like.)
When officer Alexander D. Teach is not patrolling our fair city on the heels of the criminal element, he spends his spare time volunteering for the Boehm Birth Defects Center.