con·tem·plate
Pronunciation: \ˈkän-təm-ˌplāt, -ˌtem-\
Function: verb
transitive verb 1 : to view or consider with continued attention : meditate on
synonyms see consider
Etymology: Latin contemplatus, past participle of contemplari, from com- + templum space marked out for observation of auguries
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I’ve contemplated suicide lately. Twice during this period I’ve come scary-close to surrendering to that siren call. Unrelenting pain accompanied by myriad life issues and social isolation all came together to make me wonder if there was any reason to go on. I don’t want to die. I just want the pain and sadness to stop.
It’s no wonder that suicide is the leading cause of death within the first three years of spinal cord injury. There is so much loss in the beginning. Loss of health. Loss of self. Loss of freedom and future. Loss of friends and for some, loss of family. All the health complications pale in comparison to the struggle to come to terms with sudden, unalterable disability lived within this alien new body.
Stigma exists in our society for those who commit suicide. People who do so are seen as weak or selfish. That’s easy to say. Try living this life before you judge. I am amazed by the number of people who tell me they don’t think they could live paralyzed. It’s ironic how many of these same people minimize my struggle with this decision.
I’ve been offered anti-depressants to get through. To blame my thoughts on depression is to trivialize the reality of my existence. Life with severe disability is hard. Sometimes quality of life trumps quantity of life.
I find near-total isolation of my SCI is the most daunting aspect. So many barriers exist that keep me from people. Getting inside other people’s homes is nearly impossible if the home has not been modified for a wheelchair. Bathrooms? Forget it. Same with meeting in public places; parking, accessible space and my unique bathroom needs make going out difficult.
A month ago, well after I started wonder if it still made sense to be alive, I was stunned to learn that another person within my spinal cord injury community chose to end his life. Ozy was a young man at the start of a big life when fate intervened. He was on a motorcycle trek through Mexico when a chance encounter with a wayward donkey caused a crash that left him a high-level paraplegic. Ozy went on to law school and started rebuilding but never found resolution. Ozy was a thinker, a doer and a writer. Among the last of his writings that I read is this…
"I expressed myself with my body! I showed joy with my body! I was a fighter and a wrestler, a streaker and skinny-dipper. I was a runner, a jumper, an expert weight-lifter, and yoga master! An adventurer! A thrower of axes and a hefter of logs. A fisherman who wrangled with sharks and octopi. A wearer of giant pumpkins! I was so much fun! A hearty embracer of friends. A climber of trees and of mountains. I loved to throw big rocks! To dig and build and move heavy things around. I was so strong! I loved to play with children! I would catch my cousins in my arms, all three at once, and run them in circles, or bear them proudly around on my shoulders."
Ozy and I shared an on-line community. We didn’t know each other beyond it. Upon learning of his death, our community pulled together and comforted each other. While many would not have made Ozy’s choice, almost everyone understood how he came to that decision. Since his death, there have been others who have come forward to say that they had either made an unsuccessful attempt or were also contemplating suicide.
From another friend (with permission)
Thanks for your post on suicide. I've been struggling lately and Ozy’s death has affected me. I didn't even know him beyond his posts. It's "the straw that broke the camel's back" On top of everything else, his choice sits in the back of my brain. I'm not always conscious of it but it's there and it colors all my thoughts. I hope it passes harmlessly. I was chatting with ***** and told her that it's not the SCI so much; I can live with that. It's the injury+ financial woes+ physical complications squared by estrangement +isolation + Ozy's choice = suicidal ideation. How does one talk about this outside of our community? I find that no one else gets it.
I acknowledge my injury. I understand its scope and (current) permanence. I REFUSE to accept it. I refuse to believe that I will live the next 20, 30, 40+ years in this chair.
The next time you’re tempted to tell me how “brave” I am or how admirable that I’ve gone on with my life, think twice. The struggle is great even if, from your perspective, it is invisible.
2 comments:
Just wanted to offer up one of my favorite poems, Dylan Thomas.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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