suicide ideas

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i dunnmo the supposed euthanasia machines dont cause pain, and neither would heroin due to its opiatic nature. drowning would cause no pain but would be severely uncomfortable due to not being able to breathe.

It was the middle of a Spring semester when I was back in school to take teaching classes. I called someone who had responded to my personal ad. I started off the conversation something she had said that I thought we might have in common. She kind of dryly said, “I’m ____, and you are ______.” And the conversation was kind of like that. She immediately pigeon-holed me and I played along. She couldn’t talk about her work which to her was boring (one of the prime things I look for in a friend or potential girlfriend is someone who can talk about things)

Earlier, I had written some letters to credit bureaus asking for copies of my credit report saying I was an ornery cuss (in retrospect, injecting social skills, expecting feedback, when the situation was such that it’s going to be pretty damn unlikely to get any feedback of any social variety whatsoever. I mean, is it really likely some employee going to write a handwritten note, hey, great letter. Not very likely.)

I then called someone else who I had previously met through personal ad, we hadn’t hit it off. That was kind of a desperation move.

And sometime later it hit me, very strongly. A feeling that I might as well kill myself. I was then 34. I hadn’t seriously considered suicide since 17 or 18. And it was so sudden it was scary.


There were social precursors. Months ago, I had called a friend from a job I had left trying to remain friends. I called her lightly on Sunday afternoon, left a message. Lightly called again the next Sunday, left a message. And a third time, maybe even a fourth (but not always on Sunday, but spread out). Now, my last two weeks of the job she had even given me a card saying I was a great guy. Through her, I met her boyfriend and was somewhat friends with him. I was not the least interested in dating her, just remaining friends. She probably thought I was pestering her, maybe even stalking her. That was not my intention at all. Gosh, all the calls were separated, I didn’t know what had happened, and she really was busy. I had even held her baby in the hospital.

Okay, and then Charles, I had met back at the beginning of the teacher program about two months previously. He kind of wanted instan-friend on my part, even shared with me that he was battling depression (and dammit, I wish I could have been more of a friend. ‘oh, wow, that’s serious, that can be Very serious. Are you kind of doing okay, now?’) We were putting together a school project where we had to take a scene from a movie and say which of six main teaching methods did this illustrate. We were sitting in the dark (his ppower had gone out), he asked me how old I was. Well, I was then 34. I guess he was in his early to mid-twenties. I said I was four-hundred and thirty-four years old and had a weird genetic condition. It seemed like a funny joke sitting in the dark spooky and all. Plus, it’s a little bit a screenplay I had been working on. And frankly, sometimes I feel so smart, or let’s just say seriously minded, that I might just as well be four-hundred and thirty-four years old! (I mean, do sometimes feel like an alien on the 'wrong planet'). He suddenly needed to go to this meeting he had previously decided not to go. My car almost got flooded driving home instead of waiting out the storm. So, this vague thing in which I’m not sure whether the friendship is over or not. And the possible damage to my car, kind of a tangible thing which I kind of held against him, although I don’t think he intended it, I mean that he could not have reasonably foreseen that.

(And I do have this weird genetic condition (statistically unusual), it’s called Asperger’s Syndrome, which does have its pluses and minuses. And no, just like all Asian kids don’t play the cello at age 3, not all of us with Asperger’s are necessarily Bill Gates or Steven Spielberg.)

And then this damn Unitarian church had been working out, then wasn't working out.


Okay, so it seems like, for me, this occasion of suicidal thoughts was caused by a baseline of social things which hadn’t worked out. And then one or two small ones right then and there.

Now, I have read in a behaviorist book on quitting smoke that the urge to smoke again comes in waves, and don’t assume the wave is going to keep increasing. Very often the wave comes, increases, but then fades away. Accept this fading away easily and graciously.

Ever read Dostoevsy's "The Demons" ("The Possessed" in some editions)? There's a character who believes most people would kill themselves if they wouldn't be very scared of two things - physical pain and "the unknown" or "the punishment" (call it God if you want) that might follow. The fear of pain is very strong and often irrational - even if you have good reason to believe you won't suffer much you'll still be afraid.

I've used the idea of suicide as a safety net in the past - somehow the thought that I can decide to die if I really wanted to brought me some peace of mind and put certain things in perspective.

I'm not an optimistic person and given the choice I would rather not have been born at all, but I adhere to the kantian view that a moral* person should have some respect for their own life and even a duty to preserve it (not to others' detriment, of course). And who knows, if you stick around long enough you might even have a pleasant surprise once in a while

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*I mean moral in a philosophical sense, the word was completely hijacked by all kind of weirdos and fanatics

yes i suppose the thing i need to remeber is that i am not a fortune teller and that the future is in my opinion completely unwritten so anything could happen

including at entirely unpredictable times. The people I'm "supposed" to like, we sometimes don't hit it off. And other times, for example, a couple of times I've had friendly relations with Republicans, and I think to a large extent precisely because we aren't supposed to get along, funny that way (for I'm on the political left). In fact, it worked so well I need to remind myself, next time, may not get along that well with a Republican!

Elton John struggled with thoughts of suicide. For something as simple as being gay in the relatively enlightened times of the early 1970s? Well, yeah. Combined with maybe he made some artistic compromises, nothing wrong with that, that’s part of experimentation, but he may have felt that he neeeded to keep doing that, that he needed to keep doing what people expected. Combined with his songs were higher on the charts in the U.S. than in the UK, and that had to hurt some. Plus, in a tour in New Zealand, his manager (and possibly lover) punched a female model who had insulted him and Elton. The manager received a 28 day prison sentence. Elton went back home for a recording session. Well, nothing he could really do for his friend. And his friend should not have hit the lady and 28 days does not seem that excessive. But, prison is a scary place, for anyone, and even more so for someone who might be stereotyped as being gay (the model had called Elton and the manager “a couple of poofs”), if you’re stereotyped as being gay, whether you are or not, it puts you at increased risk of being sexually assaulted. Maybe Elton should have stayed. That might have had the effect of bringing both him and his manager out of the closet. And a question of how much good you could have done anyway. And maybe their relationship had struggles and difficulties and uncertainities. Maybe he asked his friend and his friend said it was alright but still hoping that he was going to stay anyway.

So you feel as though your life is stacked.

A number of things going one, you’re not sure what to do, and you get stacked.

You feel like you’re in a series of boxes, there are no really good moves, and the prospect of getting out of the boxes one at a time doesn’t seem very appealling at all.

Keeping your sexuality private, well it’s a private matter, why can’t I keep it private? You’re an artist, you’re writing songs, there’s kind of a level of inauthenticity. And it is hard to be authentic in this world, esp jobs, especiallyfor those of us with Aspergers. I tell myself, engagement, not conformity. That helps, somewhat. There’s a lot of other stuff that helps somewhat. But even that’s not all that appealing, that kind of partial answer.

Well, you keep moving on. It helps to have people to talk to. Sometimes you do, sometimes you don’t.

A doctor once told my Mom depression can start off reactive like to a death in the family and become biochem.

It can be like Seasonal Affective Disorder, not enough sunlight stimulating the ? pituitary to release ? melatonin.

And I still think there’s a real question if a person abruptly discontinues antidepressants.

Let’s just keep talking, as need be, intermittently, all that.