A Critique on Your Method of Suicide

– From a Twice Alive, Once dead girl.

My arm, my laptop and this article.

** I’d genuinely like to begin by stating that the topic of suicide is a very real and very important thing for me. I will be drawing into its themes, and the sad reality of it in the upcoming passages so if you are sensitive to such material, I recommend avoiding this entry. If, however you can withstand a blunt, first-hand perspective, that may at times may seem insensitive, or crude then proceed; but do so with an open mind, with the knowledge that the writer has gone down that dark road herself. I do not wish to trigger an unsuspecting reader. **

Now, disclaimers aside. Allow me to introduce myself in the context of suicide. In the winter of 2015, I died. For reasons that are kept between my therapists, family, and my memoir, I took my own life in a moment of immense agony. I don’t find anything particularly amusing about suicide, except that I do have a morbid sense of humor surrounding my own.

After slitting my wrist, alone; fading away in a pink murky bath I admit that I was certain that I had done the right thing. Looking back on that late December morning I still struggle to find fault in my actions. The pain I was in was so perverse that I had officially, and quite drastically lost my mind. Worse than that I felt as though I had lost my soul.

If you are unfortunate enough to have been in that place, then you know. To describe it to someone who hasn’t been to the eternal depths of soulless despair let me just tell you that I wouldn’t wish it on the devil himself.

Since my death I have had a new appreciation for strength, luck, and one’s propensity for enduring the impossible. When I hear of someone saying that they’ve made an attempt, however severe their attempt may have been I always feel a calm sorrow that tastes like empathy and grief. I can never find it within myself to curse someone out for trying or for thinking it because I know that if they are even half serious that they are or were in great pain. It is something you do when life literally feels, with every breath, unbearable and so much so that you are not only willing, but impatient to face man’s greatest fear; death, and to do so gladly with a housewarming gift in hand.

My mother would always tell me growing up there is no reason in our modern world that anyone should have to suffer. There is always a way out of it and living in pain isn’t living it’s existing. Us, humans were meant for so much more than mere existence. I share her views on the matter but as someone who has done the unimaginable, I have some views that I’ve kept to myself til now.

To be honest I was pissed when I woke up in the hospital the next day. I would remain pissed off for the following weeks in the psych ward and for the next year after I was released. I was angry I had been saved. I was bitter, filled with contempt for everything. The bullshit, albeit necessary bullshit, that one has to endure if they survive, and attempt is enough to drive some people back to the edge.

First there’s the case workers. The government underpaid- unenthused, unamused social workers that make you feel like another case number- another heavy folder dampening their day that they didn’t need. Then there’s police, doctors and other during admission to the psych ward that just talk as if you’re an infant in a stroller, sitting unaware of what the big people are saying; except you are aware, you do understand. Next there’s all the cozy comforts of the ward; other “loonies”, nurses, and the wide open harshly lit rooms. You have to go to therapy, and group therapy, and get in line for meds that you’ve never had before. You have night checks, and the occasional screaming from a fellow crazy down the hall who is cursing about Brad Pit and that the nurse stole his Oreo’s because she’s a Nazi.

 You know, the usual shit.

After the ward you likely have to stay in constant contact with that gloomy case worker. To call twice a day or every day to confirm with them that you in fact are still breathing. Then there’s the judgment from friends, family, and stares from strangers. The annoyance you feel grows for absolutely EVERYTHING. When something simply moves the annoyance intensifies. The people walking on eggshells around you will boil your blood into a fine crimson reduction that sludges through your system like pancake batter.

It’s slow. It’s frustrating. It sucks.

Now, having come many years out of that dark place in time I have reassure all my loved ones that the fear of failing again and repeating those feelings and those moments was enough to keep me from ever trying again. However, I still don’t regret what I did because I know I was in a pain that should have killed me. I do know now how hurt I was and how badly I needed help. Since then I have worked very hard to achieve a healthy state of mind,  So, you can imagine my surprise that after my MANY years of effort to be normal and appreciate life again just to make it to 2020/2021 and find that suicidal ideation is apparently “no big deal” in the eyes of the public.

Again…I am infuriated.

This “yolo” culture we live in is suicidal; indifferent. Its out of touch with reality…much like I was when I was suicidal……and yet… no one is getting strapped to a stretcher, held down by orderlies as you beg, screaming “No! no! no! Don’t you fucking dare! Please! I’ll stop just don’t…” while some stout middle aged nurse approaches with a syringe full of Haldol. Where after a prick to the buttocks your pleading fades to black and you go night-night. The masses aren’t subjected to being watched in the shower because they can’t be trusted to be alone in running water. No one is questioning societies actions and all despite showing signs of mental strain and dangerous mentality. No one is taking their pulse at 1:30 in the morning every single night to make sure that they’re still breathing. No one is even aware that they’ve all lost their minds. Crazies, like me I’m sure are perplexed, worried and strangely in positions to for once, being the voice of reason.

                        What in the literal hell is going on? Is this a sick grand finale joke? Some sort of drawn-out test to see if I’ll regress into an unstable level of psychosis?

There are many similarities of which I’ll get to momentarily, but first you may be thinking who exactly I am referring to in this generation. Well, due to the coronavirus pandemic and the immediate vaccine campaigns taken over the world I mean the whole of society. Not just “yolo” loving millennials.  I mean everyone. People are dying, the system is lying and oddly enough no one is really crying. In fact, things made far more sense to me in the ward than they do today.

I understand the need and urgency to avoid more deaths from the virus.  I do. I lost a relative to the disease myself.

Fortunately, there are very effective, non-experimental non-vaccine treatments. Unfortunately, you’re not allowed to talk about them, use them or consider them. What I do not understand is how the world can be in such a dire state of psychosis that everyone has agreed to play Russian Roulette with “untested guns”. Not only do they all wish to do this and with great eagerness I might add, but they are fervently adamant that you do it to! Knowing that you could die or be severely injured we still see the world, the media and the collective cheering you on to “take your shot.”

It’s almost funny to me. If I tried to be that enthusiastic about recklessly endangering my life or others even if the odds were in their favor, I can assure you I wouldn’t be sitting in the shade of my porch writing this on my laptop. Rather, I would likely making a collage in group therapy next to the uncommonly gorgeous schizophrenic girl in the ward while she strokes my hair because it makes her “happy.”

 There’s just no way in hell that the world’s population would pass a psychological exam right now!

The mentality of “just do it” and “what’s the big deal? So, what if you die?” I was told was not allowed with you “normies” and your precious lifestyles. You try to be realistic, and concerned and warn someone that, “Hey you could die taking that jab. Over 11,000 already have.” is about as useful as telling your head nurse that “you don’t belong in there.” You’ll be met with anger, glazed over stares, and a guilt trip. No one is listening and those who are listening don’t believe you. Even if they did, they aren’t going to stick their neck out for you.

Take it from someone who has killed themselves when I say that the masses are suffering from suicidal and even homicidal ideation. Homicidal isn’t as accurate as I’d wish. It’s more just a total disregard for someone else’s life.  The scary thing is that the governments and leaders are the ones encouraging this mass psychosis. Like the nurses in the ward, you are encouraged (practically forced) to participate in the rituals; going to group, check ins, lining up for the meds window. Everyone social distances in the ward too. Most people don’t know that, but you aren’t supposed to be able to touch other patients. In the wards there is also signs on the floor, made of tape, pointing you in the direction that you are supposed to be going.  

Much like the ward, the media is tightly controlled. You get to see what they say you can see. You can talk to others on the outside but like today they are monitoring your exchange. It’s psych-ward 101 what’s going on today.  If you don’t participate when they tell you to then you have privileges taken away. If you keep doing it then guess what? Your chances of going back to “normal life” will be postponed until you can learn to comply. Restrictions tighten.  Refuse the medication that you don’t think you need, and you are reminded how dangerous you are to everyone else if you don’t take them. They beg, bribe and eventually harass and force you to take the drugs.  You don’t get a say on what treatments they give you. They are the doctors and they are here to save and protect the little, helpless you.

What should terrify you all is the part I haven’t mentioned yet. When doing a lengthy stretch of time in the ward, whether or not you’re truly crazy there is a phenomenon that takes hold of every patient. After a few weeks you have unknowingly grown comfortable in your cage. So much so that when its time for your release and they unlock the intake doors where sweet freedom awaits…. you hesitate.

You don’t want to leave.

You have become institutionalized, and you don’t recognize it until they give you a clean bill of health and send you off. What started off feeling like all your rights have been seized suddenly has changed. You panic. It was easy to be told when to be places, it was simple to not have choices or responsibilities. However, its from being locked up that the mind gets warped. We are adaptive creatures and I think society is unaware of how quickly this alteration of reality sets in. The fear I have for humanity is highlighted by the statement made at the World Economic Forum by none other than its founder Klaus Schwab when he said by 2030 we would do nothing and that we “would own nothing and be happy.” This seems to be grooming us toward just that and as someone with first-hand knowledge of the psychological impacts of lockdowns, medical tyranny, and personal freedom reduction even if it was/is for our better good, I know has deep impacts on us. The difference I see is that most people aren’t aware that this is happening.  Order out of chaos is a dangerously effective grooming tool and its being done worldwide,

Luckily that feeling usually doesn’t stay very long for most people but in the context of today’s world what would this mean? Would it mean a society that would be begging to be dictated? That they would cry, begging for a vaccine or to have lockdowns again? Willing to lie about being infected just for the opportunity to stay in quarantine? Unable to function freely because their muscles for independence had grown soft and weak. Or worse, intentionally becoming infected just so you can go back to that prison you’ve grown accustomed to?  This sick acceptance of death, disregard for other’s lives, the fear of not being controlled; holding their breath for someone to tell them what to do, think and feel is disturbing to me and I’ve seen what the inside of my arm looks like without so much a raised eyebrow.

But as I mentioned earlier, I find it nearly impossible to be mad at anyone who finds themselves in that suicidal state of mind because I know that only great fear or great pain could cause such behavior. Does no one see the lunacy being propagated? Has the fear of threat been exaggerated to give excuse to lock you up? I leave you with one last terrifying thought… a question to ponder on- one which truly keeps me up at night.

            If freedom to the psych patient is just beyond a set of doors that reunites them with the “real world”, where then will the world have to go when the time in their locked-up lunacy is over? What can one expect if they face the exit doors when they will only lead back into the ward? When people snap-out-of-it, what good is the return to reality if the “real world” has gone completely mad? Will it be too late? If it took me years to find my way back to normalcy what hope does the entire human race stand. I say this because I needed time, and help…things we cannot afford to do for every single person on earth while maintaining a healthy civilization.

In the words of the great physicist, Albert Einstein (one of my personal favorite quotes) “The question that sometimes drives me hazy; Am I, or the others crazy?”

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  1. Riley

    “Lancer” the Western series?

    Or more likely this ~

    https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TheLancer

    Like

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