Oh Captain, my Captain

There are times when I have idea in my head that are bursting to make it to print.
Sometimes I ponder them, edit them, worry about reactions of my readers, and discard them before they even come to fruition.

I thought of this as a kind of abortion, until I realized it is more of a suicide.  I kill characters that reside in my head either because they no longer served a function, or to make room for new ones.

This line of thought lead me to want to talk about the actual act of suicide.  You can imagine the self editing, and multiple abortions of that idea.

It is time now, with humility that I want to talk about it.

Maybe because I am watching a movie with a famous actor who killed himself not too long ago.  I read people's posts of heartache, disbelief, and many who called him a coward.

I kept my mouth shut, at least in the public forum.

If you have read this far then here is my disclaimer: These opinions are mine.  I do not expect to change anyone's views or beliefs, I merely have to get these thoughts out there so that I might forget about it for a while.

The actor is best when he/she is so convincing you can not see them any other way than you do at the very moment you are watching them.  If they convince you something is funny and you laugh, then the actor has done his job.

When this actor decided his time here was done, I was very affected.  I was going through a dark night of the soul and was not strong in thought or faith of ever escaping it.  He made me feel weak.  Yes weak.

He had the strength to decide it was time to end his pain, whatever that pain may have been.  I don't know.  I was not friends with him, never met him, never would.

But I know he was in pain.

A pain I swear I could wish no one would ever feel.  A pain so terrible that some people take razor blades and make small cuts to feel something other than what is bouncing around in their heads.

St. John of the Cross writes of his Dark night of the soul.  A carrying of spirit from this realm to (what he believed) the place with God.

People write poetry, songs, symphonies, plays, and a plethora of books on depression, or alcoholism, or just unhappiness.

For every person who takes a risk to put their heart out in the public, I am inspired.  I grow strength from people,  perfect strangers.

But this actor made me feel weak.  He did the one thing that no matter how low I have been I know I could not do.  Instead I reached out for someone.  I cried, I slept, I cried.  My days followed like this for almost six months.

I cried when I woke up simply because I did wake up.

I rarely showered, and even more rarely did I leave the house.  I stayed in my nest with my love taking care of me and letting me feel the horrible feelings I had.  She wished she could take them from me.

She couldn't.  I was the one who had to take the first steps.  I had done it before and chose to do it again.  I chose life.

The actor chose death.  I respect him for that. Yes he will be missed and loved, but he was in no way a coward.  We will all be missed and loved one day, that is what matters more.

I am not saying all people who are depressed, bullied, sick, or sick of being sick should choose to end their life.  No.  Exhaust everything you can, call on every person.  You will pleasantly surprised at who will come to your aid and sadly disappointed at those who you thought would and didn't.

Try.  Try everything you can think of first.

Do I know if this actor tried everything he could think of?  Obviously not.  No one does.  But he knew when it was too much.  I can not call that being a coward.  It was probably the most desperate and scary and ultimately brave thing he could do for himself and those he loved.


I leave you with St. John of the Cross:

"I remained, lost in oblivion;
My face I reclined on the Beloved.
All ceased and I abandoned myself,
Leaving my cares forgotten among the
lilies."