[Standard disclaimer: the number for the National Suicide and Crisis Hotline is 988. Don’t be afraid to call them–they are helpful and competent. I called once just to see what it was like, and in the hopes that I would be more likely to do so in a real crisis. –ed]
I have spent a lot of time thinking about suicide during the past four decades. Even before I had my first real attack of depression in high school I sometimes thought about my preferred way of killing myself. Ideally, I would get in bed, go to sleep, and never wake up, but since that is unlikely to happen all by itself I considered hypothermia, carbon monoxide, and pills. There are downsides to each–the possibility of pain, the effort required to execute the plan, the chance of failure. I’ve never been interested in making a suicide attempt: I intend to succeed or not do it at all.
I have spent thousands of hours imagining killing or hurting myself in a myriad of ways. I have had days when, in my anguish and despair, I could hardly think of anything else. I lay in bed or on the couch, various scenarios running through my head, looping endlessly.
Yet I have never tried to kill myself. I’ve never even made a plan or written a suicide note. In other words, I have never even come close. This seems incredible to me given how much pain I have endured and how much I have thought about it. Many days I truly don’t want to be alive. Some days I fervently wish I could lie down in bed and never get back up. I haven’t had any real desire to be alive for a long time. Some days I am at least ambivalent about it. Even on those days, if somebody needed a volunteer for a suicide mission I’d be the first to raise my hand. If a doctor told me I had terminal cancer I would probably say “oh thank god.”
For whatever reason–my desire not to hurt others, my feelings of duty, some stubborn spark of hope that just won’t die–I have never actually attempted suicide. I can think of scenarios where I would. If I had ever owned a handgun I don’t think I’d be alive right now. (Interesting fact: more than half of all handgun deaths are suicides. This suggests to me that Americans are not very good shots).
I don’t think suicide should be a crime. I don’t believe that other people are justified in requiring you to continue living even though your life is unending misery. Your first duty is to yourself.
That being said, most suicides are the result of mental illness. In other words, if you are thinking of killing yourself, you are probably not the best person to judge whether suicide is justified or not. I don’t know you, dear reader, so I cannot say with absolute certainty, but I am 99% sure that you are actually the worst person to judge whether you should kill yourself or not. Mental illness distorts your perceptions of reality. When you feel hopeless, when you feel despair, when you feel that you have never been happy and you will never be happy in the future, you are experiencing the effects of mental illness. None of those things are true. Yes, they seem very true and very real. But there is hope, you have been happy in the past, and you can be happy again in the future.
The fact that I understand this is the main reason I am still alive today.
Black Hole Radiation 