Thoughts of Suicide

Suicide.


After leaving Magee Rehabilitation Hospital, but still in early recovery, the thought hit me often - at least once a week.  Life wasn’t just hard, it didn’t make any sense.  I was a failure - couldn’t do anything right.  I was supposed to have died, and I even failed at that.


God, if there is such a thing, had spared my life in some dark divine joke - to sit around, crack open a can of beer, and laugh with the angels while watching the human sitcom. 


These were dark moods when they hit me.  Scary.  I remember standing in the kitchen, holding a knife, poking my finger to draw a bit of blood - yes, it was sharp - contemplating my vein, grayish blue against the underside of my wrist.  It wouldn’t be hard.


It hadn’t been a particularly bad day - same bullshit, different day - I just wasn’t seeing a point.  Nothing I did seemed to get better…I had wanted to be so much in life, but was now permanently held back by my busted brain.  My previous talents were good, I had been good - better than good.  I had been able to do things and was going places, but now I was simply not moving.  Stuck in nowhere town Pennsylvania.  My dreams had been wiped out because of one damned moment.  It wasn’t fair.  Life wasn’t fair.

In death all things are fair.

The knife was tempting, easy, in my hands - it wouldn’t hurt for long.

I’m not sure why I didn’t commit suicide.  No-one came in to save me - there wasn’t some Godly revelation - I just put down the knife, shook my head and walked away, quietly crying.  My mind still returns to that moment - why didn’t I do it?  Could I have avoided some of the pain that was yet to come - pain that I’m certain is still in my future.


Don’t get me wrong, I am glad I didn’t commit suicide that afternoon or any other afternoon.  Life has moved on and life has been beautiful and exciting while also drab and  painful.  Life has been, well, life.  More than anything, life has been an experience, and its experience that I would need to give-up.  Experience is what keeps what we see interesting and new, and its these experiences that I hope we can share.

If anyone is currently dealing with questions of suicide, all I can say is - Don’t do it.  I have no real reason - I can’t guarantee that Life will get better, but what I can guarantee is that there are small surprising pleasures that pop in and out - the taste of ice-cream on a hot day, the texture of a cat rubbing her head against your shin, joy when your football team beats the New England Patriots in a playoff game (sorry Patriot fans) - these are all things that happen and then stop.   In the same way, painful events are something that happen and then stop.  It’s the memories that we focus on that will not stop - be they joyful or painful.  Life happens, and we can remember the pleasures or focus on the pain, either way it will end one day, and once its over, you can’t experience either.

This blog entry got a little off topic - the initial intent was just to write the memory, but it took a sharp turn into commentary because I know thoughts of suicide are a common part of recovery.  Let’s not jump around it - if you’re recovering from TBI now, you’ve probably had these thoughts.  All I can say is that what you choose to do is your choice.  TBI happened and you lived.  Take it as a blessing or wallow in it as a curse - both are true at times, but if you make a choice to end your life, there are no more choices.

This topic is scary, but important to recognize.  I’m sure I’ll touch on it again in the future, but I would appreciate some thoughts to build on.  Please comment and if you feel comfortable, share your own stories.