Suicide: A Personal Reflection

From time to time, we’re shaken by the news that someone we personally knew or knew about took their life. In moments like that, we’re often taken unawares, stunned, and bewildered by the revelation. It makes us wonder, question why it happened and why we missed clues they were at extreme personal risk. That’s particularly true when the person who commits suicide is young or never exhibited suicidal tendencies.

A primary reason we’re blindsided is that the idea of suicide ranks near the bottom of our conversational topics. Suicide more than causes consternation; it invokes an intense mental, emotional, and moral discomfort. That is, until it’s someone within our inner circle or community.

According to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), in 2021 suicide was the eleventh leading cause of death in the US, the second among individuals between 10-14 and 25-34, and the third among individuals between 15-24. It was striking to learn in 2023 there were nearly twice as many suicides (48,183) as there were homicides (26,031). But which makes the headlines and leads the nightly news?

It’s four years since my friend ended his life. For months afterward, I felt completely distraught. My grief and anger were driving me into a depressive state. What had been theoretical about the stages of grief became reality. I confided in very few as I worked to project a semblance of balance and not to wear my emotions on my sleeve, even with close friends.

In time, I was able to articulate in a more coherent way my overwhelming sadness and the anger I felt towards the forces and people that drove him down. Writing about it and sharing my thoughts in a public forum, however, presented a bigger challenge. I’m now able to and in so doing, I hope to do justice to my friend and to the broader topic.

In “The Myth of Sisyphus,” Albert Camus asserts suicide is the only serious philosophical problem. Those who commit suicide, he says, have concluded life is no longer worth living. That not only seems obvious, it begs the question of why certain people decide to throw away their most precious gift, one that we instinctively protect and defend. I surmise Camus doesn’t provide a substantive answer for a simple reason: There’s no one answer. Broadly, the reasons range from shaming and social exclusion to mental illness and inflamed anger. But specifically, they equal the number who commit suicide. In the end, no suicide is inexplicable. There’s a reason behind each. And a person who was loved and cherished.

Still, what Camus posits is worth consideration because it gets to the fundamental question about the meaning and purpose of life. He prompts the reader to consider why, if someone concludes their life no longer has meaning or purpose and/or is filled with irreconcilable pain, they should hang on to it. The answer lies, he suggests, not in the mind where we make rational choices but in the silence of the heart. I interpret that to mean that suicide, even though ultimately an act of will, is generally not borne out of reason but out of emotion. Readers of Edgar Allan Poe, Joseph Conrad, and kindred authors who explored the depth of the human soul know that is something great writers have delved into over the ages.

When I got the news of my friend’s death, I was stunned and shaken, but I wasn’t surprised. Even during the time he was getting professional help and taking prescribed meds, I had “talked him off the ledge” several times. During one episode, I sat with him while he talked with a support person at a suicide crisis center. For a couple of days after, I stayed on suicide watch. He pulled through, like he had each of the preceding times, but it further enhanced my sense of foreboding that at some point he would end his life.

Despite the front my friend projected as a charming, social, and intelligent man who had it together, I knew full well of his inner turmoil. He had shared with me heartbreaking stories, speaking plaintively about the calumny and shame rained down upon him because of his sexual orientation, something I identified with having experienced similar. The opprobrium exacerbated the sensitivity he felt because of other aspects of his nature, like his repressed artistic talent and his heightened sensitivity to light, color, and sound—symptoms of Asperger’s disease—that conflicted with what had been drilled into him about masculinity.

Shaming is among the worst of human tortures. Ironically, those who should feel ashamed about their behavior often never feel it because they don’t give a rat’s behind about what others think of them. However, for those who internalize shaming and don’t have the inner strength to turn it back on those who maliciously dole it out, it can be lethal.

As noted earlier, having been shamed is not the only reason someone takes their life, but there is a thread running through every suicide: suffering. In Buddhist belief, suffering arises from desire and attachment. However, some desires and attachments are not only not injurious to a person, they are necessary for their sound physical, mental, and emotional health. They’re called people, and not just people broadly, but nonjudgmental people who are loving, supportive, inviting, embracing, and accepting.

When one is rejected, marginalized, belittled, shamed, or unaccepted, especially in their youth, they grow increasingly vulnerable and at risk. They can become reclusive and embittered and disillusioned, and when that happens, their suffering metastasizes. Even if they survive the treacherous minefields they’re forced to negotiate and make it to adulthood, even to late adulthood like my friend, they still can conclude, as Camus states, life is not worth living. And much too often after they reach that conclusion and end their lives, the world wonders why before it quickly averts its gaze and moves on.

It’s been ten years since the great actor, Robin Williams, took his life. The news of it stunned the world. How could such a gifted actor and comedian get to that point? What drove him to it? I don’t know and won’t speculate, but I suspect that beneath that joke-cracking facade lay a soul in anguish. Robin donned many masks in the range of roles he played, but the cover for his inner pain was his most powerful performance. Like with my friend, it makes me wonder about how many others mask their true anguish behind a pleasant, have-it-all-together, even mirthful persona.

Not every suicide is preventable. For some it might be a matter of time. I’ve heard testimonials to that effect. But I refuse to believe that was true for my friend and for most of them.

September is National Suicide Prevention Month, thus a perfect time to increase your awareness of and get yourself more educated about the telltale signs of suicide. You can easily find resources online, including the National Alliance on Mental Health and the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.

As one PSA reminds us, the more you know. It might help you intervene with someone you cherish before it’s too late.