Checking out

Fair warning: This post includes a frank discussion of suicide.

If you're the type of person who believes suicide is a failure or weakness of some sort, or that it's "a long-term solution to a short-term problem," move on, tend to your own business. Nothing to see here. 

If you've clicked on this link because that dark cloud is threatening, let me go no further before I share this information:

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255

Or you can visit the website at suicidepreventionlifeline.org.

Or you can click here to chat online instead of on the phone.

Or if you prefer to text, text HOME to 741741.

The TTY number is: 1-800-799-4889.

The veterans' crisis line is 1-800-273-8255.

If you feel awkward or uncomfortable about calling because you're not sure what to say or how it works, click here for a brief summary of exactly what happens when you call. (Thank you, BuzzFeed News. I love y'all for that.)

While you're summoning the courage to do that, go to Netflix and watch the entire first season of After Life with Ricky Gervais. The episodes are only 30 minutes, and there are only six, so you can binge watch it if you like. Trust me on this one; the series is delightfully course and profane, and you'll find yourself laughing at things you feel guilty laughing at--despite your sadness. Just do it.

And one more note before I go any further with my own stuff: I just want to state quite honestly that I am fine today. I know that over the next couple of days, some certain friends who know me well and love me anyway will call or text to check in and see how I'm doing. Because they'll be concerned. For those folks: I'm good right now. I promise. I love you, too.

So....
A doctor killed herself last week. Lorna Breen was a forty-nine-year-old emergency room physician who worked in New York City. She contracted COVID-19. Her body recovered, but tragically, her psyche did not.

I haven't stopped thinking about her or feeling heartbroken for her family.

Edwin Schneidman, author of The Suicidal Mind, coined the term "psychache" to describe the psychological torment a suicidal person endures when he or she experiences an unresolved sadness or yearning for so long, suicide seems the only escape from the unbearable psychological pain. This pain, by the way, worsens with stress.

You see the problem here.

I have no doubt there are far more people than we realize hovering on the brink right now, ruminating on what a relief it would be to simply check out.

Because life has some really shitty aspects right now. What are we supposed to be doing at this point in the pandemic? Should we keep isolating? Break out? Wear a mask everywhere? Or give up because others aren't? Will we be able to meet our basic needs for food and toiletries ongoing? Will we lose everything in our retirement accounts because the stock market keeps fluctuating? If we get sick, will we recover?  Or languish alone in a hospital room until we die? When will we ever get to see our friends and family members again?

We're all trying to sort our way through, and every day is frustrating and exasperating and don't even get me started on how really, really, lonely this isolation can be for some folks. Even those of us who are profound introverts enjoy the company of a few close friends. I haven't seen my friends or my kids or my grandkids in months. Yes, we talk on the phone. Sort of. Is texting the same as talking?

Loneliness eats away at potential suicides. And I'll tell you a secret about us: We don't tell people when we're lonely. In fact, we tend to withdraw even more. Because when we get lonely, we assume it's because others have stopped calling because they've stopped caring. I know, I know, it's not true, but the fact is, self-loathing and depression are bosom buddies.

Most people struggling with clinical depression have learned through conditioned response to stop mentioning it. Because mentioning it often brings on platitudes that, at the very least, don't help ("You just need to get out more, have some fun once in a while"), and at worst, might push us a bit closer to the edge ("You wouldn't feel this way if you weren't so self-absorbed all the time").

So we back away quietly (so you won't notice we're missing), wrap ourselves in a mantel of sad thoughts, and go sit somewhere (on a couch, in a bed) so we can listen to sad music or watch sad or dark TV or movies or videos.

This is what I imagine happened with Dr. Lorna Breen. She went from working 18-hour days with colleagues she loved and patients who needed her to being quarantined alone with a disease, day after lonely day. The feeling is that the world, that life, goes on without you, and you aren't needed anyway... so why linger?

I'll tell you--from experience--why you should linger: Because it gets better. No, really, it does. Life is just shitty at times. There is definitely a yin and yang to it, though, a balance of pain and pleasure, sadness and elation. Yes, there are moments of intense despair. But there are dogs. And sunsets. And sunrises. And incredible constellations stretched across the night sky. (Go on, pry yourself out, have a look.) There's ice cream and lasagna. And there are books. Thousands and thousands of books that will transport you so far into your imagination you will forget (if just for a time) how shitty life feels right now.

And there are definitely people who care. I met one of my most beloved friends in an online chat room for clinically depressed people. We have been friends for 20 years now, and I treasure that friendship because he gets it. He'll always be there for me, and I for him. (And just as a side note, if you're thinking an online chat room for really depressed people might be a bad idea, it's the polar opposite of what you would imagine--lots of highly intelligent, very caring, very funny people riffing on the absurdity and/or shittiness of life can be profoundly entertaining. Trust me.)

If you're feeling that dark shadow closing in, please, please reach out. Call someone who is non-judgmental and supportive. Or call the lifeline number above. Sometimes talking to a stranger is much easier than opening up to someone you know. And yes, I realize how very hard it is to take that first step. Just know that there is someone here who knows how hard it is... and how much better you'll feel after you've taken it.