TheBanyanTree: Understanding Suicide

[Monique Colver]

I can live with warped! If I weren't warped I wouldn't have survived this
long!




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Monique Colver
Colver Business Solutions
www.colverbusinesssolutions.com
monique.colver at gmail.com
(425) 772-6218


On Wed, May 7, 2014 at 4:24 PM, Jena Norton <eudora45 at sbcglobal.net> wrote:

> I've been to the edge of the dark abyss and was fortunately pulled back in
> time. I think the pain blots out reason and rational thought. The dark
> abyss is the feeling that we are nothing and it doesn't matter to the world
> whether we live or die. This lack of feelings of personal worth are what
> kills the soul and eventually the body.
>
> We are so fortunate here to have understanding, compassionate, caring
> people who are not afraid to share their raw feelings, to appear
> emotionally naked and vulnerable and to be there to support, cajole, swear
> at, or cry with those who reach out.
>
> Reading anything you write is a humbling experience. And I still think
> you're funny as hell! But then I'm pretty warped too <G>
>
> Jena Norton
>
>
> >________________________________
> > From: Monique Colver <monique.colver at gmail.com>
> >To: Banyan Tree <thebanyantree at lists.remsset.com>
> >Sent: Wednesday, May 7, 2014 3:59 PM
> >Subject: TheBanyanTree: Understanding Suicide
> >
> >
> >The other day I said to Mr C, “Remember when I used to be funny?”
> >
> >“You’re still funny sometimes,” he replied, being the proper husband that
> >he is, always supportive.
> >
> >I miss me being funny. I miss me being on top of my game. So far this year
> >I haven’t been particularly funny, except for the odd moment now and then,
> >and I haven’t been on top of my game. I’ve been underneath it, crawling
> >around in the sub-basement. I can barely see the stairs from here
> >sometimes. It’s frustrating because they’re right there, over on the
> right,
> >around the corner, and there’s light at the top of the stairs. But I can’t
> >get my fat ass over to the bottom of the stairs to start the climb up.
> >
> >And I think I can climb up. I think if I can reach the bottom, I can pull
> >myself up the stairs.
> >
> >But damn. This year.
> >
> >I’m not suicidal. For one thing, I don’t have a plan. For another thing,
> it
> >seems like a lot of work. For another thing, I couldn’t do that to Mr C
> and
> >Ash, because they didn’t ask for this, and they are here for me, every
> day,
> >even when I’m not.
> >
> >But I understand it. I understand the pain that allows someone to think
> >there is no other option, and I understand the depths of the isolation,
> >isolation that may not be real. It is in our minds, but in our minds can
> be
> >a terrible place to be when it’s not functioning properly.
> >
> >When I read of a suicide I also, inevitably, read a comment (I do try not
> >to go there, because if there’s one thing that can make me lose hope in
> >humanity, the comments section can do it) that says how selfish suicide
> is,
> >how stupidly selfish.
> >
> >And I am happy that the person who wrote that doesn’t know the pain that
> >comes with that sort of mind numbing depression, and I am angry that they
> >are so callous. It is a deep deep pain that brings about suicide, and
> >solving it isn’t like a jigsaw puzzle where you can just put the pieces
> >together and have a whole because some of the pieces are missing, and no
> >matter where you look, you can’t find them.
> >
> >Anyway, what’s wrong with being selfish? I’ve been told that I’m selfish
> >because I don’t have children, which is just silly because me with
> children
> >would be totally selfish. Who would do that to a child? I like children
> too
> >much for that.
> >
> >That may be beside the point, but you see that little kernel of truth
> lying
> >in there?
> >
> >Look, I would love to stop talking about myself. I would love to have my
> >moments of happiness, my moments of work, my moments of connection, my
> >moments of making a difference. I know all the words, I know how I’m
> >supposed to feel, and I know the problem is with me. I would love to talk
> >about you, and not have a thought for me and my depression and my panic.
> >That bad feeling in my chest, the sort-of achy, sort of ice in my veins
> >feeling that ties me up in knots so I can’t think properly are seriously
> >things I can do without. They do not add to my quality of life and they do
> >not get me invited to parties.
> >
> >“It’s a choice,” some people say, as if we hadn’t thought of that, as if
> >this is somehow intentional, and if only we were better at not being so
> >selfish we would do that. Oh, yes, we hadn’t thought of that. We have
> >techniques to keep the darkness away, but sometimes it slips past our
> >defenses and settles in, like a cat finding a sunny spot to sleep in, but
> >it’s not as easy to dislodge as a sleeping cat. A cat I could nudge, and
> it
> >would stretch, and maybe move. (I don’t have cats so I don’t know exactly
> >what it would do. I imagine it depends on the cat.) I keep nudging the
> >darkness and telling it to go away, that I don’t have time for this. I’m
> so
> >not in the mood for the darkness. Sometimes I push at it really hard, and
> >it acts as if it’s going away, but it doesn’t go far enough away.
> >
> >I want to be funny again. I want to be smart again. Or at least reasonably
> >intelligent. Look, I don’t need to be a genius. I have a great life, and
> >I’m really pissed that I’m not enjoying it a lot more. My husband deserves
> >better than this. (This is the slippery slope that can lead one to
> consider
> >suicide as an option by the way – we might think we’re doing our loved
> ones
> >a favor. We’re wrong, of course, but we don’t know that when we’re
> thinking
> >it.)
> >
> >I’m sick of talking about myself and my damn feelings. Please talk about
> >you. Tell me what you’re doing, how the kids are, what the family’s up to,
> >how work’s going. Tell me all your stories, fill up that empty space with
> >your words, help me regain my connection to a world that I feel I’ve lost
> >touch with. Help me back from the abyss.
> >
> >And I swear I’ll make you laugh again.
> >
> >M
> >
> >
>