The Death of Me
Warning: today’s article is about suicide and gets a little bit graphic and heavy.
I thought about suicide the other day. I should be clear: I thought about suicide, not about committing suicide. I’m not going to hurt myself, so please don’t worry. Although these are thoughts and emotions I’m very familiar with, they poke their heads around much less often these days. I just want to share my experiences, in the event they might be useful to others. We often never speak/think of suicide unless a) we are contemplating it ourselves or b) someone we love has recently committed the act. There are other times when thoughts about the subject might come up, but we generally plug our ears and try to drown them out LALALALALA I CAN’T HEAR YOU style. Like any other thing, trying to avoid thinking about suicide is probably damaging, as would be obsession with the subject. This is middle-path-ness. Take it in, let it go.
Depression has been a very long time companion of mine, since even before the deaths of my mother and sister. After they passed, depressed became more or less my standard setting for many years. Thoughts of ending it all were honestly pretty common back then.
I’d have these moments of such deep suffering that the only relief I could find was imagining a knife cutting through my veins. Something about the moment of impact, and the release of blood afterwords oddly beckoned me. In my mind it felt warm and strangely safe. Imagining what that ultimate letting go might feel like would give me a second of peace, in what were some of my darkest, most desperate moments.
At one point in my life the only thing stopping me from killing myself was my father. He had already lost his wife, his daughter and both of his parents. I couldn’t stand the idea of seeing him suffer another loss. I had seen first hand how suicide affects those who are left behind. I have lost a lot of friends to suicide and I can tell you it fucking hurts. This showed me too, that no matter how alone anyone thought they were, no one really was. And so I held on, because I knew it wasn’t just about me.
After many years of trial and error through therapy, medication, self care regiments and less healthy avenues (see: cocaine and pills), I came across the first thing that ever really offered me lasting relief: meditation. It seemed fucking stupid at first, but it was more or less the only option I had left. So I started sitting. And I kept sitting. And I began to experience moments of actual relief. The type of relief I had previously imagined dying might offer, was instead accessible to me through a very simple process of sitting and breathing.
In fact, these moments of relief, showed me that everything else was at best an illusion, tainted by depression and identification with thoughts. I realized that whatever I actually am, is a lot deeper than my thoughts. I began to see thoughts as a function of being human, rather than who I actually was. I learned that I can let thoughts go, and choose which ones to nurture. I realized that just because a depressing thought arose, didn’t mean I had to engage it. I got better.
Now, my life looks a lot different than it used to. I’ve got a wife and a daughter and I love them so much. I make a living doing work I love, I live in a city I love and more days than not, I’m mostly happy. But, even after more than a decade of working with my thoughts in meditation, the dark ones still show up. If I’m honest with myself, they probably always will. That’s okay though. It’s just a chance to practice.
These days if a suicidal thought comes up, I try to see it for what it really is: an illusion. Yes, I might get depressed and desperate for some sort of relief, but I know two things: suicide won’t actually give me the relief I seek (and it will hurt the people I love so deeply) AND the relief I’m looking for is available right here, right now. I just need to sit for a moment and breathe. That gives me clarity. That lets me see how lucky I am to still be here, and helps me connect to and enjoy the many blessings of being alive.
Furthermore I’ve understood, that I am not my thoughts. With practice I can nurture thoughts that lead me forward, and let thoughts that would imprison me float by. I see them, acknowledge them, then let them go and move onto the next thing. It’s not always easy, but it’s always worth the effort (remember, EFFORT not STRUGGLE).
If you’re hurting, just know that even us punk-rock self-help authors hurt too. None of us really have it figured out, but the relief you seek is accessible, and moments of true happiness are waiting for you. My advice? Lean into it, rather than trying to avoid it. In my experience the path to actual relief, true happiness, is through or problems rather than around them. Try to find what works for you, but make sure it’s an honest connection, rather than a distraction. If talking about it helps, do it. If writing about it helps, write. Play music, sit quietly, go for a run, do whatever you need to do to be present with yourself. And if you need help, it’s out there. No shame there.
Wishing you the best on your path, as I do my best to navigate my own.
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Also be sure to check out my new book The Death of You: A Book For Anyone Who Might Not Live Forever out now via Wisdom Publications!
AND if you wanna hang out in real life, I’ll be on tour with my band Teenage Bottlerocket, come say hi!
High fives and deep bowing all around,
M