My first suicide attempt seemed to simply happen to me.
I write that it happened to me, because that’s what it felt like: an urge that swept down on me and instantly spurred me to action: I fled to the bathroom and swallowed half a bottle of aspirin, hoping it would be enough.
I was 14 years old. My mother and her boyfriend were at it again, fighting over me. I’d had it. Clearly, I wasn’t thinking very logically because, on the one hand, I wanted out, but on the other, I was afraid that if I swallowed the whole bottle of aspirin instead of just half, and didn’t die . . . then I’d really be in trouble with my mother, who was one scary beast.
The next thing I knew was my mother waking me up to peel potatoes. Sitting on the pantry stool, I looked down at her scrubbing the floor and saw her through a thick mesh of dappled light and tangled leaves and a high-pitched whining noise. A potato rolled off my hand and hit the floor with a dull thud. My mother, utterly disgusted with me, told me to go back to bed if I was going to be that useless.
I woke up again at midnight, still hearing the high-pitched whine, but clearly not on the verge of death. I looked up my dosage and symptoms in our PDR (Physician’s Desk Reference) and concluded I’d be fine with more sleep. I slept until 4 p.m. the next day. When I woke up, I knew it had been a half-hearted attempt. I also recognized that no one seemed to notice or care.
Suicidal, Again
The next attempt was about a decade later in New York City. I’d just lost my job and was living off my credit cards and spending most of my time buying, eating and throwing up junk food, mostly ice cream. I also spent time counting all my pills to see if they’d be enough. In between gorging myself and counting pills, I also was reading, first Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar, a semi-autobiographical tale of her own descent into suicidal depression.
The Bell Jar put me in such a self-pitying mode that I needed a break. Then I saw a book in a local bookshop entitled The Savage God: A Study of Suicide, another semi-autobiographical book by a poet who’d survived his own suicide attempt. I couldn’t possibly resist buying it. I read it.
Rather, I devoured it – and, I swear, this book saved my life. It gave me some perspective that I’d been missing, with its blend of first-person narrative and well-researched exploration of suicide on a national and international level. Besides that, the author A. Alvarez’s self-portrayal was bracingly honest, absolutely free of self-pity and seemed, at times, to be addressing me personally.
For instance, addressing the myth that writing about your suicidal ideation may be therapeutic, he writes, that, on the contrary:
“For the artist himself art is not necessarily therapeutic; he is not automatically relieved of his fantasies by expressing them. Instead, by some perverse logic of creation, the act of formal expressions may simply make the dredged-up material more readily available to him.”
Those words brought to mind Plath’s courageous, and seemingly endless, exploration of her own death obsession in her poetry and the tragic end of that exploration. Alvarez goes on to say:
“The result of [an artist] handling it in his work may well be that he finds himself living it out. For the artist, in short, nature often imitates art. Or, to change the cliché, when an artist holds a mirror up to nature he finds out who and what he is; but the knowledge may change him irredeemably so that he becomes that image.”
In other words, the writer may actually be talking themselves into that closed, dead-end land of suicidal ideation. But as the saying goes, “Don’t believe everything you think.” And if you think you can’t reason your way out of suicide, consider the possibility that you reasoned yourself into it.
Feelings Aren’t Facts
As another example of why you shouldn’t believe everything you think, there’s the concept of “perceived burdensomeness.” Thomas Joiner, Ph.D., the psychologist who coined the term, writes:
“Perceived burdensomeness is the view that one’s existence burdens family, friends, and/or society. This view produces the idea that ‘my death will be worth more than my life to family, friends, society, etc.’ – a view, it is important to emphasize, that represents a potentially fatal misperception. Past research . . . has documented an association between higher levels of perceived burdensomeness and suicidal ideation.”
It’s notable that many survivors of suicide attempts are relieved to be alive, after all. Shannon Parkin describes her gratitude for her survival in her post on this site, Learning to Hope after 30 Years of Depression and a Suicide Attempt. A surgeon who survived his own attempt concludes his story in The Guardian:
“Five years on, I am grateful to be alive. It took a few years before I could say that. I still have bad days, but I live a full life and it doesn’t hurt to be alive anymore. I’ve learned that when times are tough, I need to talk about how I’m feeling.”
From my own perspective, I’ve read the responses of suffering people on this website Speaking of Suicide. Many people have written comments saying they know talking to someone will not help. Again, I am reminded of the warning to not believe everything you think. Find help, even if you think you know it won’t help.
Consider the possibility that you could be wrong. In my own case, I was 100% positive that therapy wouldn’t help me. And then, guess what? Therapy has helped me.
Suicidal Thoughts: A Habit, and a Comfort
Still, in the decades that have passed since my teen years, those suicidal thoughts have never completely left me. If I’m fighting with my husband or have had another poem rejected, or am feeling that I have failed at something important to me, those ideas come sweeping down on me and I remember the hoard of muscle relaxers left over from my last surgery and I wonder . . .
I know, however, that I don’t really mean it, that these thoughts are the dregs left over from a lousy, truly soul-crushing upbringing and I remind myself that nothing . . . nothing, not my disastrous first marriage, not my first and second battles with cancer . . . nothing was ever as bad as the evil I’d already survived.
I chalk those suicidal thoughts up to a habit of thought, now, a weirdly comforting concept of an exit door, an escape from everything and anything that may come my way. Those thoughts console me, just as they console other people, as well. Thinking of suicide places an absolute limit on how much I anticipate that I will need to endure in the years to come, however dire things may be.
Perhaps the world runs out of water and civilization collapses entirely, or perhaps my personal world falls apart and there’s nothing left for me but endless pain. It’s only in contemplating life’s worst possible scenario that acting on these suicidal impulses seems even remotely possible. By mindfully observing suicidal thoughts, I let them pass through me like the memories of a nightmare that flicker through my mind and then dissolve into the plain light of day.
Advice for My Suicidal Self
If I could go back in time to that desperately unhappy 14-year-old girl, I would avoid the standard clichéd advice. I would not remind her that others have had it worse than she. To one who is suffering, that is useless. I would avoid telling her to buck up and be strong – how can one know in the midst of that dark mindset that strength is even possible?
Instead, I would tell her to wait, that the time would come when she would have more control over her life. And what if I went back to visit that twenty-something, miserable over her failures, you may well ask? I think I would tell her that failures happen but they are not permanent. Suicide, however, is permanent.
I am 72 now, in a much more loving and manageable marriage, a retired college professor in a comfortable house with a paid-off mortgage. In addition to the memories of miserable times, I have my achievements to look back on: my Ph.D., my career as a professor, and my trips to far-off cities and countries, thanks to my university.
I recall my casual stroll through Rome’s narrow streets to its magnificent Coliseum, and my visit to the Vatican museums and being awestruck by Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam and crying joyful tears standing before his transcendent Pietà. I savor my memories of my solo flights as a student pilot, my two skydiving experiences, and my ride on one of Costa Rica’s longest ziplines over a valley and through its fantastical rain forest.
As I relish memories of the places I’ve been and images of unimaginable and awe-inspiring beauty I’ve witnessed, I am inexpressibly glad to have survived these dark urges.
© 2022 Linda H. Straubel, PhD. All Rights Reserved. Written for Speaking of Suicide.
Dr. Freedenthal – Thank you so much for including a link to my article here, as well as a link to my novel. I love that you included a stack of the books I referenced. They brought back so many memories of my own journey through and away from my own darkness. You are so kind, and our entire community is blessed to have your caring, empathetic and wise voice to counter all the dark voices we live with. Every time I see a link to another comment on your invaluable site in my email, I am again reminded of how glad I am that I found you.
Thank you for this, Ms. Straubel. I know I am going to take my life one day as my 81-year-old father did – i found his decomposing body – but let me just get through today, let me see to my work and my tasks, let me see to my physical exercise and nutritious food and to my instruments – I am a musician of 40 years pro experience – and being kind to all I meet out in the world. And let me watch my face and body continue to age, and move into the realm of being ignored by the world because I am no longer young. I comfort myself with “It’ll all be over soon, I promise.”
I just didn’t think I’d end up utterly alone for 9 years, longing to touch and be touched, all the way out in the middle of nowhere after growing up and living in NYC for my whole life and being shoved out by rents only affordable by the wealthy, who also get the best medical care, the best social lives, the means by which to achieve what they want out of life, while most of us seem to just struggle like a turtle on its back until something takes us.
I have no mother or father, no wife, no children, no property. I have completely failed financially – just working full time and having to walk dogs and do handy-man jobs for peanuts just to make the stinking rent at age 61, when many of my friends and family are moving into comfortable retirement and taking extended vacations – and I’m still not making the rent. I hate myself for my failure, and the world will be better off when I’m gone and in a little while, it will be as though I was never here at all. Everyone thinks I’m positive and bright and talented and handsome – but I know the truth, I am a waste of physical space.
Thanks…
I am 61 also. Will be 62 on Aug. 17 2023. My wife and I are on disability benefits. They are minimum. Unfortunately I have suffered persistent treatment resistant depression since 1979. I have had all treatments, meds. and therapies including shock treatment and magnetic stimulation. Now I am enrolled in trials for Ketamine. I have not worked for pay since 1993. We are very poor. We never go anywhere or do anything. Too expensive. We live as shut ins. I also suddenly last year developed adult onset idiopathic progressive ataxia. I will never walk without my walker again. I have lost my balance, coordination and go from an armchair to the bed and back. This changes your whole life. It shrinks my already small world. I will have to deal with these significant problems as I age in poverty. When I say I understand I do. If only. My depression has been so severe that I could not keep a job. They never fired me because they said that I was a stellar employee. They said that it was a devastating mental illness. They were taken aback by its sudden appearance. It was not sudden. It goes wherever I go. I have fought a never ending often futile battle with it. Many hospitalizations. 4 suicide attempts. Most of my life lived in a dream world in my head. It never gives me a break and I am exhausted. I am concerned about you. I really wish you will not kill yourself. I know I do not know you. But I can see your incredible value as a human being by just reading your letter. You interest in others welfare. Your sense of justice. Your experience. Your empathy. I have always admired being musical. Able to master playing an instrument. I have often thought of what a joy it would be.
Right now I stay alive for my wife and our cats. I am not rich. You are not rich. I do have a loving wife. It is our 35th anniversary this Oct. 15. I can only hope that you had more support I am fortunate. I have been thinking of getting out for months now. Somehow I get up and barely make it through the day. I can hope you will try to make it day by day. Really this is the best way I have found. I am poor materially but wealthy in my empathy for all. I guess all the agony and anguish has been good for something. I am not a great example of a full life lived to the full. I just hope that I have helped. I do care.
Been constantly depressed from 14 now i am 30 and still the same. Attempted suicide one time but rope on my neck broke.
It’s much easier to heal from depression and suicidal thought if you are a girl. Because every girl finds a man without any problem and after that they have a constant help and everything is healing up, because man who loves a woman is ready to die for her.
For a man with depression on the other hand it’s a pure nightmare. Everyone hates you even without depression, but with depression it’s mega hard and everyone avoid you like you are a disease. Finding a girl and someone who cares for you is impossible. No hope, just pain or dead, and no one even cares if you are dead anyway.
It is not easy for women to cope with depression not many men are willing enough to die for a woman. The only reason that you haven’t found a good woman is because you haven’t been looking in the right places. Also, who would want to die for a man who thinks women can easily cope with depression and suicidal thoughts? I know I wouldn’t.
I have had extreme treatment RESISTANT DEPRESSION FOR 53 YEARS. NOTHING HAS WORKED.
I have had talk therapy, DBT therapy, groups, all drugs over 25, rTMS, REGULAR SHOCK TREATMENT, TAKEN COUNSELLING OF ALL TYPES AND NOW I HATE MYSELF SO MUCH THAT I WANT TO KILL MYSELF
[This comment was edited to abide by the Comments Policy – SF.]
I am really struggling with suicidal thoughts. I had the job of my dreams and left it to take up teacher training. It didn’t work out. I can’t get back to my job despite trying several times and will never get it back that I know. I am so unhappy have no children and just want to die.
Lou, I am sorry you are facing these suicidal thoughts. You are not alone, is the philosophy of the National Alliance on Mental Illness, NAMI. I wish I had known about NAMI Connection Recovery Support groups during the decades I spent depressed and often suicidal. I write the words I wish I had read ten years ago. Recovery is possible. This post is one example of recovery stories, in addition to the stories of Stacey Freedenthal PhD https://www.nytimes.com/2017/05/11/well/mind/a-suicide-therapists-secret-past.html?_r=4 and Marsha Linehan PhD who journeyed from suicidal teenager to the developer of the life saving Dialectical Behavior therapy . In addition I suggest you contact your local NAMI office to find out about attending Connection Recovery support groups. Most of the NAMI support groups are still virtual so you can join from anywhere. I have co-facilitated more than 70 virtual NAMI support groups in the last year and I know how helpful the groups are. You also may want to look into listening to recovery stories of people through NAMI’s In Our Own Voice program. I know the first time I heard a NAMI speaker describe their recovery, I saw hope. I have been an In Our Own Voice speaker since 2019. I found my lens of hope and grace and know you can as well, Lou. https://speakingofsuicide.mystagingwebsite.com/2021/12/01/shannon-parkin/
I too took up teacher training and made it to the Fifth week before I quit and was so depressed again. I have had over 40 such huge failures. Remy you are better than me and you are strong and resilient. I want to see you SUCCEED. I have no children and many more failures than you can imagine. Yes really. But you can help miserable me by surviving. To get up and see all the good in your life. You will survive and flourish. You have a lot to live for. And that is other paths to success. I know depression. Deep down inside you have potential and talents. You can stay in the game. You will have many things come your way ????. Just messaging someone as sensitive as you are, has made me more happy and I can HELP you. I can talk to you and we can both try together to accomplish something . Remember I have been in your position . And if you try to help me. If I can help you. I will wake up in the morning and helping you makes me more optimistic. I will never abandon or judge you. Please use me and my experience at being hopeless ???????? help you. I for one need you to be there and to be alive. If I want to know you better that is already a success for us both. So lean on me. I care but don’t mind. And I can learn from you. It might seem unlikely but it is real. So please every day you wake up think of how to help me. And I will think about you. Maybe both of us together can add some decency, some hope, and some real feelings of helping each other. I have been through like things and I will always be there for you. So please give me a chance to help you and you to help me. You see you can actually do so.ething positive for yourself and me. I stand behind you. Please don’t leave me alone. I do not want to feel alone ANYMORE.