My not-so-fatal Suicide.

[Rev. Rye]

There but for the grace of Jah goes the Reverend. I suspect that I’d be in a similar place if my Dad died (and, if he died before my mother, I’d probably have killed her and then myself.) Although, at the very least, I’m told I have a trust fund to keep the lower-rung Maslovian needs going. I wasn’t sure exactly why you were doing it, and what you talked about is understandable. I’ve struggled with suicidal thoughts for quite a bit of my life (Luvox and having a therapist helps me), but often it could come about for little to no reason. Early on in my therapy, she asked what I expected of the future, if I expected good things to happen or bad. I said I had little to no hope for the future. When she asked why, I found I couldn’t articulate a reason. And, even though I knew intellectually things were going well for me, the fog barely lifted. I never attempted suicide, but, at my worst moments, that was only because I worried about what would happen if I failed. Or maybe it was just logistical problems.





In my cowardice, the furthest I ever went is unlatching the window on the 12th story of a building. Not even opening it, because of many possibilities, from the possibility that 12 stories isn’t a big enough jump to kill a person, to the possibility that someone might see me, or that even the few people I cared about might miss me, or that I might chicken out. Antidepressants and having a therapist have since helped me in that regard.

And flashing forward to this April, I saw your post and I figured I needed to help. I’m not the least bit surprised you were angry at the time. If I ever got up the courage to end it all during the darkest days and someone managed to stop me, I’d almost certainly have been pissed. I’d have seen someone saving my life as ruining my death.



But if it at least helped you off the brink, it’s at least a bit worth it.