You Never Know

If you ask people to describe me, they usually say words like sweet, kind, lovable, outgoing, fun-loving, happy, positive, funny...and I wouldn't say they are wrong.  Most of the time, as my old Myspace account says, I rock.  But, as it also says, often, I'm a mess.

The first time I tried to commit suicide I was 12.  My best friend-turned-nemesis had told me that I should because "the world would be a better place without you in it".  I decided to believe her and went to my mom's bathroom and swallowed a whole lot of Tylenol.  My mom had a moment of parental lucidity and noticed this was happening and made me barf it up really quickly (which is good, I learned as an adult, as acetaminophen poisoning can kill your liver if left in you too long...which means even with emptying your stomach, you could be done for anyway).  She lectured me about being stupid and sent me to bed.  

The next time I tried I was 15 and my best friend with benefits and I were having a huge fight.  I don't remember what he said, exactly, but it was bad enough that I went into the bathroom, got a razor, and slashed my left arm 37 times and my right arm 5 times (I got tired of slashing).  I went and sat in my bedroom to wait.  The problem is, I went perpendicular and nowhere near my veins, as I was using a disposable razor.  But there I sat, waiting to bleed out, fully expecting it to happen...and then the blood trickle slowed down.  And stung like crazy.  It seemed incredibly anticlimactic. So I went into the bathroom I shared with my mom to get some toilet paper to clean myself up, and that's when she came in and saw me.  "You IDIOT!" she shouted.  "You're going to stain your shirt!!!".  Well, that wasn't really what I was expecting, nor was it likely what a psychologist would have recommended, but by the time she finished pouring hydrogen peroxide over my many tiny cuts, I was too annoyed to be worried about what the boy had said.  So it worked, I guess.  

Adulthood did not miraculous fix me.  Nor did marriage.  Nor did my kids.  I'm not fixed.  I have demons.  Sometimes they whisper, sometimes they yell.  Sometimes I'm everyone's inspiration and the life of the party, and every once in a while I spiral downward until I lie crying in fetal position on my bed truly believing that everyone's life would simply be better if I were gone forever.  

I don't know what to do with that.  When my aunt died in 2008, it kept the demons at bay for a long time.  I thought there was NO way I would put my grandmother through losing me after she'd lost her daughter.  I absolutely didn't want to leave my mom alone with my dad and brother.  Weirdly. it helped.  For a while. And usually I'm fine...but sometimes I'm not. 

For a long time, I thought this was the way everyone felt sometimes.  I didn't realize there were people who honestly couldn't fathom it.  I think Robin William's death hit me as hard as it did because I SO understand.  The world is confused.  The world doesn't understand and is reeling that this funny, wonderfully talented, kind man could have those kind of demons and have them so badly that he'd rather die than keep fighting them.  I'm not confused.  I'm sad.  I'm somewhat terrified.  I'm happy that my demons are leaving me alone right now.  But I also understand...and recognize that you just never know what's going on in someone's head.

I don't know what the answer is.  I was so touched by the viral images with the images of William's "Genie" with quotes to the effect of "Genie, you're free."  Then I was sobered by the suggestion by a group of experts that likening suicide to freedom is unwise.  Commenting upon that perspective led to a discussion so emotional, it ended with a family member "unfriending" me then blocking me on Facebook, so angry with me, his parting words to me were meant to cause me pain, before he went and deleted them.  Clearly, there is no right answer...but what I do know is in these days following this event, while I completely sympathize with Robin Williams, and have felt the way he likely felt, I think in his death, I found a reason to keep fighting with those demons.  For the sadness I have felt over the last few days is nothing I've ever felt for a celebrity, or for anyone I don't know.  If his actions caused this much of a reaction in me, I can't imagine what his family must be going through...or what mine would go through were I to do the same.  For years, I used the duty I felt to my grandmother as my lifeline.  The last year or so, that's been less helpful...so now I guess I have another one.  So I'm thankful for it.