Member-only story
Through A Glass Darkly
In mental health professions suicide is your worse fear
She was an aspiring singer-songwriter who had bright, inquiring eyes and idolized Jimi Hendrix. I remember how she conquered her fears by taking her electric guitar to perform at local venues. And he was a quiet philosopher with enthusiastic ideas for making the world a better place. Both ended their rides early. They were both in their twenties when they killed themselves by the same means on the same spot, a mere three years apart. And both were in my care
What is there to say that hasn’t already been said a thousand times before? A free flow of feelings rub up against each other — rage, guilt, remorse, sorrow, fear, impotence, all jostle for attention and all equally valid, however irrational some may be.
While most of us struggle at times to keep going against the odds, to grasp joy and meaning wherever we can, however ephemeral it may seem, how is it possible to understand the person who throws in their cards and decides to bail? Suicide means not playing the game anymore and we instinctively shrink from its dark aura and chant, how could they do that? It’s against the rules. It’s a foul.
Yet if we have lived at all haven’t we felt its taste at some time during a dark night of the soul? As Gandi said,
