I could be your neighbor, your spouse, your child, your brother or sister or your parent. I could be the woman with whom you swap recipes or is very active in your tzedaka organization. I could be the guy who sits next to you every day by Shacharis or the guy who cheerfully says Good Shabbos to you every week without fail. I go to work every day, I interact nicely with my co-workers. My children might play with your children, our spouses could be the best of friends. I'm not going to tell you whether I am a man or a woman, whether I'm chassidic, yeshivish, chareidi, modern or any other sect - the truth is, it doesn't really matter. I could be anyone.
So, who am I? I am a suicide risk. I am someone who has not yet attempted suicide, but is contemplating it. I've Googled it. I've read some of the sites. I've researched methods.
I am someone who constantly feels the darkness gnawing away at my soul. You wouldn't know it by looking at me, but I'm in pain - no, not physical pain, thank God, but mental pain, spiritual pain. I wake up in the morning with no joy at the prospect of a new day. My thoughts are troubled not by mundane problems, but by a fog on my soul that is so amorphous that I can't identify it's cause. I can sometimes feel the happiness being drained out of my body - almost as if some inner demon had a straw and decided, at that moment, to start sucking the joy out of me.
What makes it all worse is that, in the grand scheme of things, I really have nothing to be sad about. Thank God, in this economy, I have a good job - I'm not rich, but we get through the month without too many problems. I'm happily married to a spouse who loves me dearly and would walk from one end of the world to the other for me. I get along well with my parents and my in-laws. I'm reasonably healthy for a person my age and have reasonably good kids. I'm generally regarded and liked among friends and family. They view me as intelligent and they think that I have a great sense of humor. I have hobbies that I follow and have the means to persue those hobbies; if you knew of my skill in those hobbies, you might even be envious. Like most people, I have my ups and downs spiritually.
And yet, there are people who do have legitimate reasons to be sad -- real problems, real worries. There are people who have lost their jobs and don't know how they are going to provide the next meal for their families. I don't have that problem. There are those who are ill, who face a lifetime of debilitating illness, handicap and real physical pain. Thank God that's not my situation -- I'm generally healthy. What right do I have to complain or feel sorry for myself? Some unfortuantes have to deal with terrible marriages or dysfunctional families. Some have to put up with domineering spouses and overbrearing parents or in-laws. Thank God my spouse is a wonderful, lovely person and my parents and in-laws are wonderful, even-tempered people who wouldn't dream of interferring in our lives. Some people are social misanthropes who spend their lives lonely and friendless. That's not me either. There are those that would kill to be as blessed with children as I am.
And yet, despite all these blessings that God has bestowed upon me, I'm still miserable. Despite having infinte reasons to be happy with my lot, I still feel sadness. And the fact that I dare to feel this sadness in spite of all the goodness that God has bestowed upon me, when others with real problems manage to go about their lives overcoming their adversities only makes me seem more... selfish, more self-centered and more of an ingrate toward all the good that God has provided me with -- and that just makes me even sadder.
Of course, you wouldn't know any of this by looking at me. I'm a fairly skilled actor or actress. I can smile with the best of them, I can let out a good laugh and lie through my teeth while telling you how well things are going for me. I can even manage to carry on the charade for a few hours during a simcha, function or shabbos meal. If I told you that I was contemplating ending my life, you'd think it was a brilliant, but bad joke on my part. I make it a point to try my best to never appear sad in front of anyone.
Please don't tell me to see a psychiatrist. I had a bad experience with one as a kid and while I generally don't have trust issues, I do have some for that profession. In addition, I have two other fears associated with taking that route: Firstly, I don't want to end up as a "Prozac zombie." I don't want to be artifically happy -- I want to be naturally happy. In addition, I can't deal with the risk of an "emotional crash" if I forget to take my meds, or if I can't/won't take them. Secondly, I don't want to end up in a padded room over at Bellevue. I have nightmares about being constrained in a straightjacket and lieing in a padded room for days and days on end. I think about that possibility and I break out into a cold sweat and panic runs through me causing my heart to race and my breathing to run shallow. I have a real, even if unfounded fear of a psychiatrist committing me to just such a hellish existence. If I have a choice between that and death, I'm almost certain that I'd choose death.
Please don't tell me that suicide is against the Torah or that I'll forfeit my Olam Habah or that I won't be buried in a Jewish cemetary or any of that. When the pain is really bad, I don't care. When the blackness at it's worst consumes me, I'd be at the stage where I'd gladly trade my Olam Habah for an end to the pain. The disposition of my remains don't bother me -- if I'm willing to mutilate it horribly with a gun or a knife or a jump off a high building, why would I care about it's final disposition? Don't tell me that my husband or wife won't be able to sit shiva for me -- I know that that's usually not true anymore.
You might be wondering why I haven't already "done the deed" if I'm so miserable. What's keeping me here, you might rightfully ask. To be honest, there is only one thing keeping me here -- the fact that I don't want to hurt those that I love. I can't imagine the grief that I would put my spouse, my kids and my parents and friends through if I committed suicide. I've spoken with people who have lost loved ones to suicide; and I know that while the act may end the suffering for the suicide, the family goes on suffering for many, many years, tormenting themselves with questions of "could I have prevented it?" and "how could I have missed the signs?" I can't do that to my family -- at least not yet. For now, the love of my family still outweighs the pain that I'm feeling and it's for them (certainly not for myself) that I endure. The question remains, however, how long can it continue to do so? The pain is so great now, that I fear what will happen if, someday, it becomes so unbearable that I (figuratively, of course) say "the hell with them, I need out NOW!" I don't want it to get to that point.
You might wonder how it is that I have the self-awareness to know that I am in trouble and yet still be in danger? You can rightfully ask how a reasonably intelligent man or woman such as I could possibly do something so final? Don't I know that suicide, as the cliche goes, is a permanent solution to a temporary problem? Don't I know that there are resources out there -- suicide help lines, police, etc.? Yeah, I know. I know that at the moment I am a risk to myself -- a small risk to be sure, but still a risk. But sometimes the pain is so great that it doesn't matter. Sometimes I feel that the pain has gone on for so long (years, in my case) that the problem is not a temporary one. And yes, I know that there are resources out there, but that way lies some of my worst fears -- lying sedated, constrained in a padded room.
Will I eventually do the deed? I don't know -- I can't say that, only God can. I know that I'm at a statistically higher risk than most people. I know that there are resources out there to help me, and that I am afraid to utilize them. I pray every day for God to take away the gloom and doom that surrounds my soul. I hope every day to defeat the inner demons that rampage across my psyche. And until then, I try to take some comfort in the love of my family and friends.
But it gets harder every day.
