by Dorothy Parker
Razors pain you
Rivers are damp
Acides stain you
And drugs cause cramp
Guns aren't lawful
Nooses give
Gas smells awful
You might as well live
In a former post I mentioned that I have been revisiting a book entitled Night Falls Fast: Understanding Suicide (by Kay Redfield Jamison) in a vain attempt to find some closure in regards to a friend's recent suicide. I suppose closure occurs in time and re-reading the book comes as a result of not really knowing what else to do.
The book not only explores why individuals choose to take their own lives but also connects the topic to the history of suicide.
"Later in the century, the superintendent of the New York State Lunatic Asylum described patients who had committed suicide by drinking boiling water, pushing broom handles down their throats, thrusting darning needles into their abdomens, or gulping down leather and iron. To kill themselves, the suicidal have jumped into volcanoes; starved themselves to death; thrust rumps of turkeys down their throats; swallowed dynamite, hot coals, underwear, or bed clothing; strangled themselves with their own hair; used electric drills to bore holes into their brains; walked off into the snow with no provisions and little clothing; placed their necks in vices; arranged for their own decapitation; and injected into themselves every substance known to man, including air, peanut butter, poison, mercury, and mayonnaise. They have flown bombers into mountains, applied black widow spiders to heir skin, drowned in vats of beer or vinegar, and suffocated themselves in their refrigerators or hope chests." "More recently there have been several reports of suicidal men deliberately trying to infect themselves with the AIDS virus, and a disconcerting number of people who provoke police officers into killing them, a practice known as 'suicide by cop.'"
While these methods may actually be morbidly entertaining knowledge to some, I see them as a testiment to just how grave and tortured some individuals have felt in their life time.
Anyone who has taken an SSRI (serotonin reuptake inhibitor) which is an anti-depressant type probably (or should I say hopefully) knows how seretonin works in the brain.
"Serotonin, a chemical found in plants as well as in ancient invertebrate nervous systems, is widespread in the bodies and brains of mammals, including humans. It acts in diverse ways: it controls the diameter of blood vessels, affects pain perception, influences the guy, plays a role in the body's inflammatory responses, and causes platelets to clump. More significant from a psychiatric and psychological perspective, however, serotonin is deeply implicated in the roots of depression, sleep regulation, aggression, and suicide." "The association between serotoin and suicide is further supported by postmortem studies of the brains of individuals who have killed themselves. The evidence is strong that there are serotonin abnormalities in the prefrontal cortex of the brain, an area strongly implicated in the inhibition of behavior. Reduced serotonergic functioning in this part of the brain may cause disinhibition, which may in turn result in acting precipitously on suicidal thoughts and feelings."
Is this supposed to act as a console? No and even though science may prove to be accurate it doesn't feel like enough to explain the reason why my friend is not here.
One 15 year old boy wrote this poem years prior to his own suicide:
Once..he wrote poem
And he called it "Chops,"
Because that was the name of his dowg, and that's what it was all about.
And the teacher gave him an "A"
And a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen foor,
and read it to all his aunts...
Once...he wrote another poem.
And he called it "Question Marked Innocence,"
Because that was the name of his grief, and that's what it was all about.
And the professor gave him an "A"
And a strange and steady look.
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door because he never let her see it..
Once , at 3am....he tried another poem...
And he called it absolutely nothing,
because that's what it was all about.
And he gave himself an "A"
And a slash one ach damp wrist,
And hung it on the bathroom foor because he couldn't reach the kitchen.
The more I read, the more I remember, the more I think that my friend didn't have to die. And all my education as a psychiatric social worker, all his own knowledge as a mental health crisis worker, and all intuition as a friend, wasn't enough to convince him to remain on this earth. It wasn't enough to get him to see that there was enough to live for.
I often wonder if he had just made it through the night, that the light of day may have made him think differently. Perhaps it wouldn't have kept the idea of suicide out of his head though. I still don't understand why the idea of suicide sustained in his head long enough for him to fully carry it out. I don't understand why the idea of suicide felt like a viable option. Despite the science that backs it up, my own reasoning is suffocated by emotional plea. I still cannot come to grasps with WHY...and I don't think that his death will teach me that. It may teach me many things but not that.
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