My father is a wild but often melancholy man. Born surrounded by people with only a fraction of his intelligence caused a way of looking that often disrespected the weak. His deep knowledge of natural history linked to an atheist belief of Darwinian survival of the fittest steered his politics. Though working class he was of the belief that one must work your way out,. My more left wing views saw government, the leviathan we subscribe to is there to protect us all, and the weak need it most. His view on suicide was that it it is the cowards way out. In truth it goes way beyond any considerations of how one is perceived. As a child I thought, in contrast that it must be incredibly brave. Of course it is outside these concepts. It doesn't exist in the normal mans world. Taking ones own life goes so far against all our instincts that it can only be seen as mental illness. Indeed the percentages of those who suffer manic depression, (I still struggle with the term bipolar, it is an evasive term. I know I am diagnosed manic depressive) and schizophrenia who go on to commit suicide is extremely high compared to the normals. The language we use is stuck back in the days when suicide was illegal and the only crime one could succeed in yet go unpunished. We commit suicide, like commit murder, or commit adultery. Though I have wished I didn't exist countless times as we all do I have only been truly suicidal on a few occasions and the two conditions have nothing in common. Once you begin to think of the mechanics, look up Internet sites, read Exits' advice it becomes cear it is not an easy thing to do. About one in every thirty attempts succeed. My romantic version had always been to spend a few months drifting away from freinds, buy a couple of bottles of jack Daniels or perhaps a peaty is lay single malt. Buy a good gramme or two of high quality heroin then find a beach where the tide goes in and out by as far as possible wait till low tide, build a fire, drink as much spirits as I can and then inject the heroin. Hopefully the sea would take my body out so no one would have the unpleasant experience of discovering my dead body.
But our romantic visions seldom match reality.so mine was a cocktail of synthetic opiates, benzodiazepines and a massive dose of the research chemical MXP, methoxphenidine. It didn't work but like Charles freck in a scanner darkly by Philip k dick who intends his suicide to be a handful of reds, barbiturates, washed down with a nice wine. In the book unfortunately he gets burned and the reds turn out to be some weird psychedelic and god or some creature from between dimensions begins to read out all his sins beginning from childhood for the rest of eternity. I can joke about it now but I very nearly died and endured the most intense trip imaginable for over ten days.
There is a certain romance to suicide though I felt none of this. Perhaps its just the names and their work that have instilled this notion in to our culture. When Alexander McQueen killed himself a week after his mothers death and a year after the suicide of his muse and best freind we all wept for the loss of one of the truly great artists of our times. Van Gogh had already self mutilated, removing an ear before he clumsily shot himself in the stomach and stumbled off home for a prolonged death..Eliot Smith, the singer song writer ended his life with two swift stabs at his own heart, no smaller pre stabs as one would expect, no trial run. Sylvia Plath, a classic manic depressive made a few attempts before gassing herself. Ted Hughes next girlfriend also took her life leaving one to question the private nature of the man. Shortly after moving to frome a girl in our circle of freinds had been slipping in to darker and darker outlooks. She visited all her close freinds before driving to a quiet line, attaching a Hoover pipe to her exhaust and sitting in her car as the fumes filled its interior.. Mark speight was from Trowbridge but found fame introducing the children's programme Art Attack. He and his girlfriend, a fellow presenter went out partying for the weekend. She took a bath and the hot temperature killed her in conjunction with the cocaine in her system. Mark spent a week in misery, mainly with her mother before the guilt or the missing of his true love overcame him and he hanged himself in one of that hose rare London Underground pockets of space that meant he wasn't found for five days. I have mentioned my good freind Wid who killed himself by cutting slices down his forearms and opening his veins. My nephew, Toby returned from work to find his girlfriend hanging in their house. I still cry for him and have so much admiration for his rebuilding his life from such a horrible experience. Midge my girlfriends best freind stroke surrogate mother similarly came home to find Stig hanging. I'm not sure she ever truly recovered. Another freind Mitzy endured her boyfriends suicide. Virginia Woolfe famously put on her overcoat, filled the pockets with stones and walked off in to the river Ouse. Young british artist Angus fair hurst was one of the artists closest to the centre of that scene. I recall going to a three man show at the Tate called "in da garda da vida" along with Damien Hirst and Sarah Lucas, perhaps the two best known of the YBAs bar Tracy of course. But such success, as with McQueen makes it clear this is not some self pitying act. Gary speed, leeds united, Newcastle and Everton star was loved within football circles. He was currently manager f a young Wales side that showed more promise than any other in living memory. I recall watching football focus where he discussed the contemporary game with ex leeds team mate gary Mcallister. Then the next morning I hears he had hung himself. Beautiful wife, two great kids, successful and respected, even loved in his field.
Unless you have been there it is an insult to speculate as to what drives a person to take their own life. It is the biggest killer of young men. Explaining my reasons, well I'll try in a mother post.
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