Posted by Erik (130.67.8.92) on August 21, 1999 at 21:43:38:
Now and again suicide is mentioned on the board. I want to say something about that.
For most people the word is frightening, which is easy to understand. Still, for some of us it is part of reality, a part of life. In an extremely intimate sense it is a personal and private matter, so I should perhaps leave it at that. But some of the posts on the board lately have been hard for me to accept. Let me not mince words – I found som of them offensive and very possibly hurtful.
Some have written, ‘you must not take your own life, you will end up in hell and be in everlasting pain.’ Is that compassion? Is that helping? It may be your religion, your personal belief, but you have absolutely no right to foist your beliefs on anyone else. I don’t mind if you sende _me_ a mail and tell me that I will burn in hell forever. I have no god, I know no heaven and no hell. But you may well scare others, even bring them terror. If you can give caring and compassion, do so. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut.
Some of you have written, ‘suicide is selfish, you should think of your loved ones and the pain you will give them.’ Yes, they will feel pain, maybe even inconsolable grief. But what gives you the right to condemn?
I read about Elain. I thought of her often, felt compassion and grief. Yes, for someone I do not know, never have met. But I could not put myself in her situation, I have never had a mortal illness that I knew would kill me. How could I condemn her? I would be inappropriate. I have not the right.
People commit suicide for many different reasons. I have known a few, one very close to me. I cannot condemn any of them. I have not lived their lives, known their feelings, felt their pain.
Three years ago I was pulled into hospital for what here is called ‘immediate help’. Being a university clinic, they treat patients as well as teach medical students. The professor of neurology asked me to give a lecture on CH to the students. I didn’t want to. He said, ‘I can understand that. But all I can tell them is the medical side of it, I don’t know what it really is like, how it _feels_. They need to know.’
In the end I said yes. But I knew that I would have to pull out all the stops, give it to them straight – then perhaps some of them would remember if they ever met a patient with CH.
I’ll pass over most of it, you know it all. At the end of the hour I told them about my two last attacks. For three weeks they had been coming every four hours, day and night. They were all 10’s. Sweat from dread was pouring when I told of the last one – the one that made them admit me. I was at the ER talking to the doc when an attack started. As usual, I couldn’t sit still, not talk. I ended up outside, on my knees with my head jammed into a corner. I no longer screamed, just cried. The doc came, tried to talk to to me. I didn’t hear him. A nurse came, the love of my life came, held me, talked to me. I didn’t hear them, didn’t know they were there. I had no thoughts, just terror and despair.
Inside the roaring flames in my head a saw a picture that will live with me for the rest of my life. I saw my two hands. They were cupped tightly together. In the cup lay a small ball of sand. Grains kept dribbling away, the ball got smaller and smaller. It was me, my innermost self. My soul, if you want to call it that. Slowly crumbling away to nothing.
Then I told them about the next to last attack. It was in my office, at night. When the attack ended, I was ended as well. I opened the safe, took out a 32 pistol, loaded it with a single cartridge, put on the coffee. Then I sat at the table in the library drinking coffee, chain smoking, seeing the gray light of dawn starting to seep through the curtains. I was waiting for the nest attack. It would the last one, for I would kill it. That I too would die didn’t bother me.
I had no feelings and few thoughts. I did not grieve for anyone, I felt no remorse. Because I was nothing. All of me was used up, burned to ashes. My nearest ones would grieve, I knew that – but they would be wrong. There was no longer one to grieve over.
Some of you talk like it’s a question courage. It is – up to a point. But we are all human, and courage is not given us in unlimited amounts. It’s finite. Some of you say it’s a matter of morality. It is not. All humans break when strength and hope is ground to dust and nothing.
Some of us have stood on the brink of eternity, staring into the unknowable. If you condemn us, you have not been where we stood. You do not know.
This site has saved lives, I’m sure of that. DJ is not Jesus Christ (whoever he was), but has created a thing to be proud of. I hope he knows that.
I know that I am not alone in having stood on the brink. Some died, some lived. Don’t talk to us of hell or morals. If you can give consolation, help, compassion – do so. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut.
I know very well that a lot of you will see me as offensive, rude, even harsh.
So be it.
Erik