Serious Stuff
A couple of days ago, I wrote Suicide is Painless?, when I was particularly down in the dumps. It was one of those posts that I was in two minds about posting, but clicked the “Publish” button before I could think about it too much. I’m glad I did, because it seems to have struck a chord with some people and I’m grateful that I’ve made that level of connection.
But at the same time, it’s a little disturbing. This is serious stuff; attempted suicide is very prevalent amongst young people, and for that reason, I wanted to do a follow-up post to respond to a couple of comments that I’ve had and to perhaps give a better view of my perspective on the subject.
First, my perspective. I’ve never seriously considered ending my life, although I’ve known people that have tried and one person that succeeded. Every now and then my mind will toy with various ways that it might be done, but I’ve never actually set out to do it. I’ve never seen it as a sin, as those religious types do; to me, it’s a statement. What that statement might be, though, very much depends on the person involved. For some it might be a statement of resignation: “That’s it, I quit”. For others, it might be a message aimed at one particular person: “Look what you made me do”. For still others, it might be something as simple as “OK. Bored now. What’s next?”.
We can argue back and forwards for ever as to whether suicide is the coward’s way out or a very brave thing to do and either view could be correct. I think it takes a lot of bravery to actually go through with it, but what brings a person to that point may be their wish to run away from what the world is throwing at them.
In the comments to Suicide is Painless?, Anonymous said:
I’m only 17 and I feel pretty much exactly like you do in every way… I’ve come inches and seconds away from committing suicide 3 times now. And I was going to do it again tonight, believe it or not. It’s just good to know that others feel exactly the way you do
which I found quite disturbing. Here’s a person who - at only 17 - has already tried to kill themselves three times. 17 is no age at all; at 17 you should be full of the joys of life, eager to get out there and sock it to the world. It should be a time of discovery, learning and happiness. It shouldn’t be a time when you’re looking around for a high building to throw yourself off.
You can always find bad in the world - you don’t even need to look too hard these days - and you can always feel like things are never going to get better, if you let yourself. But you can also always find good in the world - although you might have to look a bit harder - and the troubles of the world are not yours to worry about (unless you are George W. Bush, in which case yes, it is all your fault). No matter how down you might feel, no matter how desperate your situation is, you can find something to be thankful for. Hold onto it and keep the thought of it with you at all times, and remind yourself of it when times get bad. Ignore the troubles of the wider world and concentrate on making your own world better.
If you don’t feel you can do it by yourself, ask for help. And keep asking until you get it. The first person you ask may not want to know, or may not be able to help. Move on to the next. And so on. If you can’ find someone in the real world, well one of the great advantages of the Net is that it puts you in instant contact with millions of people.
This hasn’t, perhaps, been the most cheerful series of posts and not necessarily what The New Wolfs Howl would normally provide. My apologies for that, but I think (hope) that it has been worthwhile for at least some of you. I don’t think that I have still really got a handle on my thoughts about it but I feel that I’ve at least started to show you where I’m coming from.
Fifth level drinking
I’m not sure what level I was at last night when I wrote my cheery post about the mechanics of suicide, but this morning I’m definitely at level five. And reading back what I wrote is not helping the headache.
I don’t really know where that post came from - some deep, dark part of my psyche that gets released when I have too much beer on a school night, it would seem - and I don’t know what to feel about it. I know what some of my friends will feel about: “Stop being such a miserable drama queen and cheer the fuck up”.
By the way, if you’ve never heard it before you should listen to Larry Miller’s Five Levels of Drinking routine (You Tube has a clip); wonderful observational humour.
Suicide is painless?
I’ve got a bit of a reputation as not being the most cheerful or tolerant of people, and that’s probably well deserved. But I can be quite happy and out-going on occasion. It has been known, honest.
But I’m not the the cheeriest of people and sometimes I get really down in the dumps. I hesitate to call it depression, because that word - to me - is associated with people who just can’t function when it has them in its grip. Depression is an illness; what I get is more a mood. Not a good one, but a mood none the less, and I can continue to go about my daily routine.
I can go for months and feel fine, then (usually without warning) I’ll get that feeling where everything is too much trouble and I really can’t see the point of doing anything. Around these times, which can last a few hours or a few days, I’ll drink too much, I won’t eat properly, I’ll not bother about showers or any of that sort of thing and I’ll become pre-occupied with death.
Not necessarily my death, but just death in general. I’ll read all the news stories that deal with people being killed, I’ll re-read books that have lots of death in them, I’ll think about people that I have known and the ways in which they died. And, sometimes, I’ll think about my own death.
I’ve always harboured a desire to die at a great age, surrounded by a large and loving family. At the same time, I’ve always wanted to die in some heroic manner - rescuing the damsel in distress, or taking the bullet meant for someone else. The third side of the triangle is that I’ve long thought about the best way of killing yourself.
It’s not that I actively think about killing myself, but sometimes I do think about what would be the best way. Should it be the knife? But then, what about the pain? I’m not sure I’d have the fortitude to keep going through the pain of the initial cuts, to the point where it would be effective. Pills then. But pills are so unsure; what if you take just enough that you end up having your stomach pumped, or get gastro-intestinal bleeding? Yuck. Gun? That’s out; this is the UK - guns are hard to come by. That only leaves the high jump and guess what? I’m afraid of heights, even though the most popular high jump suicide spot in the country is just up the road.
Some people see suicide as the cowards way out, and I can see that point of view. Face up to your problems, don’t run away from them. Other people see suicide as very brave, and I can see that point of view as well. Go through the final, greatest pain knowing that you’ll be free of it when you break through to the other side. Religious types see it as a sin, but I never was religious. Is it a weakness, a failure? Maybe, or is it your life’s greatest achievement? The final and incontrovertible assertion of your own will, not kow-towing to what anyone else demands of you.
When I was a teenager, I made a vow to myself; I would never see my 60th birthday. I’m 40 this year, so that means I’ve only got 20 years to go.
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I get these posts, sometimes; I start with a particular thing in mind that I want to say, and then I get side-tracked. When I re-read what I’ve written, I realise I’ve only got a small part of what I wanted to say across. By then, of course, it’s published and I leave it up for the world to see. This post is one of those - I haven’t really put down in writing what’s in my head, but that’s probably because I can’t really make sense of what’s in my head at the moment. I’ll think on it some more and may update this post later.
You can’t be serious
TV Show The Bill (that one about the coppers that used to be good years ago, but which went pants when it became just another soap opera) got into hot water last week. They featured a story about a MS sufferer and in the course of the programme mentioned a drug called Plavitron.
Apparently, they’ve now been called “grossly irresponsible” because they made this drug up and have “misled” a number of people with the disease about available treatments.
I’m sorry but The Bill is not a factual programme; it is not reporting truth. It’s a drama - you know, made up - and as such has no responsibility to be at all accurate in what it portrays. While I don’t wish to mock the afflicted, some people obviously need a reality check.
42
If that number doesn’t mean anything special to you, you should probably stop reading now. For the rest of you… did you know it was 30 years since Hitch-Hikers first appeared on BBC Radio Four?
I came to the party late and didn’t get into HHGTTG until the second book (Restaurant At The End Of The Universe) had been published, but I was immediately hooked. I devoured every little thing that Douglas Adams produced - re-read them a gazillion times, until I could quote verbatim from the books. At school, we’d greet each other with a line from one of the books - and the correct response was to quote the next line.
I remember how picky we got when the TV series was produced, and none of the cast looked as we thought they should (except for Arthur - Simon Jones was always perfect casting for that role. Martin Freeman can’t hold a candle to him). Sandra Dickinson for Trillian? Puh-lease!! And why couldn’t they get Zaphod’s other head to work properly?
What I loved about the whole HHGTTG phenomena was the flexibility in the narrative, which made it different in each media. There’s stuff in the radio series that has never been in anything else, the books are different from the TV which is different from the albums which are different from the film. Essentially, Douglas Adams had one idea (whilst lying drunk in a field) and was able to re-sell it to everyone.
Check out this BBC story for a discussion on what 42 really means.
Far out in the unchartered backwaters of the Western Spiral Arm of the galaxy lies a small, unregarded yellow sun. Orbiting this at a distance of roughly 92 million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue-green planet who’s ape-descended life forms still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea.
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