I dont usually like to post things like this, but I think its time for me to share. Sometimes I feel that, in my family especially, people tend to internalize and stew over their loved ones motives for suicide. We ask ourselves what we could have done or said to have prevented someone from making this decision; should I have called him more often? I should have said I love you more et cetera. I sometimes question myself, what if I had just texted Kyle to simply say hello?, I do feel regret and sadness, but dwelling on what we could have / should have done is not helpful nor is it even warranted. Asking what could I have done to prevent this suicide? (while it is a natural reaction) is not going to bring Kyle back into this world. More importantly, internalizing his motives into our own regrets not only causes more suffering but it also de-emphasizes the significance of the number one cause of suicide: depression. We cannot control genetics or brain chemistry with excessive hugs and nurturing I love yous, we cannot alter statistical probability with a comforting text or phone call. When we lost our Auntie Anne, yes, we weeped, we were sorrowful.. but in a way, we were strengthened, uplifted. We gained this strength because we knew that there was nothing we could have done to heal her (even with all the medications and doctors and treatments) and we admired the grace, dignity, and courage she possessed as she faced her fate. She taught us to laugh in the face of death because even though we cannot control where the sickle falls, it nothing to be afraid of and it is nothing to be angry about. Then, when Kyle passed away it hit us all harder than we ever could have imagined. We were all crippled with shock and grief. With questions and regrets. Kyle died of a disease just like Anne, and we owe it to him to see it that way. Depression is a sickness that effects the brain. Some people with depression show many symptoms and have episodes where they lash out and blame their loved ones for the crushing feeling of pain they hold inside. When I was a teen, I was sick with depression. I had an overwhelming feeling of, not quite sadness, but agony. It wasnt in my body like a headache or nerve pain, it wasnt any particular negative thoughts or emotion. It was a horrible feeling in my gut that crushed my spiritual being, it was like living in an in-describable hell where you have no idea why everything is awful, it just feels that way. And it had NOTHING to do with how much people told me they loved me, nor the bullies I faced in school, nor how many people texted/called to show that they care. I dealt with the same factors during and post-depression. It was simply that my brain chemistry was imbalanced. To deal with my depression, I screamed at my parents, I abused myself physically, cutting into my arms to shock those around me. I did those things because I was desperate, begging for help to smother the crippling pain I felt internally. Today, no longer suffering from depression, I look at the fading scars on my arms and think of how much I regret being so emotionally abusive to my own parents. But on the other hand I now have a different perspective into Kyles mind at the time when he made the decision to take his own life. You see, since the pain of depression is so hard to translate into words, the easiest way for a person to ask for help is to lash out and hurt those around them so that they understand the pain. Kyle was too pure hearted to lash out at the people he loved like I did. He was too kind and too thoughtful to try and make the people around him suffer the way he did. Because he felt so much pain inside, he did his best to make others around him laugh. Although I never spent a whole lot of time with my cousin, there were aspects to his personality that were obvious. He was witty and kind, and had a brooding concern for others. Making others laugh was his usual goal in conversation, probably because hearing contagious laughter from others made him forget his inner turmoil, even if it was for only a second. He was not the angsty, needy, depressed person that I was; he was like Anne, dealing with his disease in a dignified and graceful way. And in his final moments he faced his fate with the unimaginable amount of courage and strength that it took to pull that trigger. And we need to take the time to admire that. To admire him as a tortured soul who tried his best for so long to keep his loved ones from experiencing the pain that he dealt with. We get so lost in questioning what we could have done in a situation --that was honestly out of our hands-- that we forget to appreciate and admire the beauty and nobility in the way he tried to protect us from himself.
Posted on: Tue, 12 Aug 2014 16:29:38 +0000
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