"Suicide doesn't take away the pain, it passes it!" Stop Saying This!

I was going to simply post on Facebook my reaction to someone's meme of, “Suicide doesn't take away the pain! It passes it to someone else!” Instead I feel it needs to be a blog post, because there is a lot to explain about this phrase.

“Suicide doesn't take away the pain! It passes it to someone else!”

We've all seen the memes, heard the phrase, and nodded in agreement about true how suicide effects more than the person taking their life. But for the love of god I HATE this statement. I hate everything it says, and all the guilt it brings down on a suicidal person. Like we don't have enough stuff to feel shitty about, lets guilt the fuck out of them to keep suffering. This is not me supporting suicide, death is a very permeate thing, and even when life sucks it's worth waiting out the storm for bluer waters.

I will admit this idea of guilting into living is what kept me alive. When I often came close to ending my life I realized that if I died—if I disappeared from the world—my family would suffer. I couldn't handle that, so I wouldn't go through with driving my car off a bridge into the river. Or walking into traffic. I had no one that said this to me, it was something I came up with all on my own. I'm sure most suicidal people have thought about the pain their family would feel, acknowledged it, and feel great remorse for what they are leaving behind, but it doesn't stop them from ending this. All it does is pile on the guilt for a bigger crash. It could also be the final stone that crushes them.

Here's why.

People that think about killing themselves are suffering, we are in emotional pain. We battle it everyday, and most days we can conquer it. However, when it feels like the world is falling apart around us, when everything is going to shit, aka a bad day for an average people, our strength dissipates. There is nothing left to hold our most intense suffering back, our mind grows tired and allows the pain in. We feel it deep, to our souls and in those moments rational thoughts vanish. Often the sense of being a burden is present, that everyone would be better off without us around. We could end their suffering of having us around by simply ending our own suffering. That brings the guilt. We feel guilty for living because we are making others suffer. I only touched the surface on the range of messed up shit and pain we feel in those moments, but you get the idea. Now on top of all that you're going to add “Suicide doesn't take the pain away, it only passes it to someone else!”

How fucking compassionate are you?

First off, the pain suicidal people feel, well it's completely different. Yes, the loss of the loved one is devastating and when you feel that loss maybe you could get a quarter of the way to the level of anguish a suicidal person consistently exists in. Some do manage to get to the level of a suicidal person and that's awful, and heartbreaking. No one should be that lost in pain to take their life, but don't be a prick by guilting someone into living, trust me. We don't need any help getting our guilt-trip on. We are packed and ready for the journey long before you come along with your memes.

Instead, why not show compassion and say something like, “I can't begin to understand your pain, but I'm willing to listen. I'll always be here.”

That's what most suicidal people want to hear, that we are not alone. We are not a burden, and that our problems are not all consuming. Show us some light at the end, give us a glimmer of a blue sky, and we will respond.

Last Sunday, I wanted to kill myself. For the first time in a long time I was thinking about ending my life. Why?

Well, I woke up feeling shitty. I had dreams about my mom and her bullshit, which put me in a sour mood. I wanted to go out to eat, be around people to take my mind off things. My husband didn't want me to go out because he didn't think I would enjoy myself in my current mood. Understandable since most of the time when I'm upset first thing in the morning I don't want to be around people. He didn't understand that me asking to go out for lunch was my way of trying to pull myself out of my mood. I wanted to feel like apart of the world that day, but he didn't get it and that was lack of communication on both our parts. Instead of explaining it to him I went down an old path destructive path, and started doing things to increase my shitty mood. I told him I didn't want to cook because the kitchen was a mess. Really it wasn't, just some dirty dishes but when my depression kicks in. Well, it might as well be a war zone. That's how different my perception of things are from non-drepessed me, to depressed me.

Just a few dishes, or fucking World War lll. Fun, right? (hint: it's not. Trust me.)

Things progressed, I got a shower still trying to shake my mood, husband started the laundry and when he came back up I told him he didn't have to start the clothes I could do that. His response of, “I got it” sounded annoyed, and that's the moment my day fell completely to shit. Right away I was pissed off at myself for being such a fucking loser. Letting a few silly dreams get to me. Then I hated myself for putting my wonderful and patient husband into a foul mood, and my thoughts went to, “if I wasn't around he wouldn't be in a shitty mood. I'm ruining his weekend!”

Which makes me feel even worse because he works during the week, and while I'm at home working on freelance designs/illustrations and my novels, I still feel like I don't actually work. Like nothing I do is as valuable as him going out to his job and making money. (Thank you mom for putting that value system in my head). This deepens the shit-storm. After that I break down, make him food because I have no right not feed him, it's my wifely duties. Yep, I fall into these old-fashion gender roles, why? Because that's what Dani taught me. I tell myself this is my purpose in life, to serve him. Do what he needs because my husband is so much better than me. I don't matter. Because without him I would be nothing. Then I start to realize that if he's pissed at me I don't have anything left in life.

There is nothing keeping me here. I don't have any family, at least none close and none that I'm close with. I don't have any place to go if I leave my house or if my husband finally wakes up and realized how much of a loser I am and kicks me out. . . and really there is no where I want to go. I mean without my husband who else is going to put up with my shit, but really sticking around is making him go through things he doesn't deserve. After all these are my problems, not his.

(I want to make it known I don't think like this all the time. Usually only when I have a rough day. If I don't catch it this is the irrational and honest path my line of thinking takes. Sorry if it's upsetting.)

And that's when the first thoughts of killing myself come to mind. Inside, my head is telling me my husband—humanity would be better off not dealing with my bullshit. I'm weak, pathetic, I'm such a loser. I'm not talented at all, and sickness follows me everywhere. Over and over these thoughts come until I'm broken. . . completely shattered and I want it to end. The pressure of the burden I bring is. . . there is no word for it. It's one of those things you simply can not put into words because unless you feel it for yourself you can never understand it.

Now James, my husband, never lets me get that far. Usually, but sometimes I'm good at hiding how far down the rabbit hole I have fallen. Even then he'll keep pushing and pushing until I tell him wants wrong—what's going on inside my head. He knows better than to leave me alone when I start spiraling, and he always pulls me back from the edge.

Guess what?

He never says stupid shit like, “suicide doesn't end the pain, it passes it on to someone else! Do you want me to suffer?”

Because he knows I don't need anymore of a guilt-trip than I'm already on.

Okay, let's switch gears here. Guilt-tripping aside I want to show you how damaging this statement is beyond the guilt can be.

Like I said I came to the realization that if I took my life my family would suffer. While it kept me dying when I was 19, it also created a hideous monster inside me. It actually made me a more willing slave to my abusers. See, Dani has used me as far back as I can remember. That's what she does, being a narcissist and boarder-line. When I had reached the peak of my emotional pain, and had no idea how to express it I wanted to end the suffering. Like when you get a deep cut, you want the pain to end. My family life sucked, I was getting called names, told how incapable I was, how stupid I was, how lazy, sad, pathetic, weak, ect. Yes, Dani said those things to me. Well, she yelled them at me. The camouflage of an insult held inside a compliment was gone, it was out right verbal abuse. All while she showered my brother and sister in compliments and praise to keep their love over their father, but that's another story.

So I was torn down at home.

My so-called-friends were no better. Well, it wasn't all of them but most of them. The main offender was my ex-boyfriend who I remained friends with after we broke up, best friends in fact. (NEVER do this.) He was dating someone else that he often flashed in front of me, allowed his boyfriend to belittle me, antagonize me, ect. Didn't help we all worked at the same place either. There was no escaping the torment. On top of that my ex wasn't a very good friend. I was there for him through his relationship problems, his drinking problems, and when I hit my own relationship problems, well. I got dropped. Hard! My ex was more interested in a MMORPG we played together than me crying my eyes out over some guy.

My other friends gave me shit. Like a lot of shit, but that's not completely their fault. They saw me as a tough chick. A bitter, honest bitch that did what needed to be done. None of them actually knew me because I never let them see. Honestly, I don't even really know who I am to be fair. I'm discovering as I go. Still, no one stopped to ask if I was alright. If I was hurting or if anything my ex did was bothering me. Instead, it was business as usual. I was taking shit from all sides, so yeah. There was no escape for me but one.

Then I reminded myself if I took my own life it would be selfish. “Suicide doesn't end the pain, it passes it to someone else!”

In that twisted line of thinking I took upon myself a rationalize—found a messed up reason for me to keep going. To battle foward. Are you ready for it. . . Are you ready to know why I didn't end my life at 19?

It was my duty to suffer.

Yes, that's right. My sole purpose on this earth was to suffer, be in agony because I could take it. I found my pain noble because I noticed when I suffered everyone else smiled and felt good. I took everything anyone had to dish. I was the defender for my family and friends, the shield they stood behind. I took on their problems and helped them through rough times, I let them abuse me if it made them feel better, and in the end I lost any little part I had of myself.

I fell so far into depression it took me a decade to crawl back out. Ten years of my life to get out of my hole, and I'm still not completely out. I stopped writing, listening to music, drawing, I didn't watch movies anymore. I stopped feeling and put myself in a neutral state. A lot of people thought I was smoking pot because I was so chill. Nope, it was self-inflected. I wouldn't allow myself to feel anything because if I did then I would have to feel it all, and I couldn't handle that. I cried at night for no reason, and often had long explosive conversations with myself. I honestly thought I was going mental, but I fought through because I needed to go on. For my family. . . for my friends. . . for the world so it could be a better place by putting all it's burdens on me. I could carry it.

Fuck, I failed at everything else. I couldn't fail at this. No. It was my only reason for living. . . it's why I was put on this earth. To suffer, live in agony and push through so I could take on the next load and the next. I fought for my family, my abusers, and the ex who trashed my spirit. Then. . . then I crashed. There is always a crash right around the corner.

It wasn't pretty, far from it. When the load overtook me. . . the pain I felt ran deeper than ever. I felt double shitty because not only did I now have all this stuff pressing down on me, but I had the added guilt of failure.

I failed at my self-destructive task. I failed my family—my friends—the world, I failed them all! I really couldn't handle all the burdens, and while it was years down the line I started to seriously think about killing myself all over again.

“Suicide doesn't take the pain away! It passes it to someone else!”

That wonderful statement that people share around did the job. It guilted me into living. For awhile, and then it drove me closer to the edge than ever before.

Instead of having random, half-hearted thoughts on my commute home from college about driving my car into the river, I got serious about ending my pain. I spent days researching to make sure I truly died. I didn't want to fail at this, I had failed enough for one lifetime. I knew I could never get through the full pain of cutting my wrists, and thought pills would be the best way to go. I researched common household items, over the counter medication, I wanted my life—my suffering—the suffering of life-times—to finally be over. Most of all I wanted the world to be rid of such a failure—a plague of uselessness. Fuck who mourned me because I already failed to keep them from feeling pain.

Know why I'm still here today, even after I thoroughly plotted my suicide?

One compassionate person that said, “Yeah, your life is a mess but I'm right beside you. I'm with you, and I'll hold you until your ready to let me in. You are not alone.”

Damn if his pushing and probing don't annoy the fuck out of me sometimes, but James does it because I mean that much to him. Now, when I'm standing at the abyss I don't think about the guilt of my death or life. I don't think about how it's going to effect other people. Instead I think about myself and what I have to live for. I know that no matter how far I lean over the edge someone always has my hand.

I live for the sake of living, not out of the fear of guilt. That's the way it should be.

So the next time you want spout this bullshit to someone in crises, no matter how true it might be, please keep it to yourself. Suicidal people don't need any more fuel for their internally anguishing flames.

Instead let them know you are there. You are willing to listen, and they are NEVER a burden.

If you believe someone you know is in crisis or if you feel you are in crisis please reach out and call the Lifeline. 1-800-273-TALK (8255). Or if you're like me and don't like talking text: 741741. Reach out, don't be alone. You're worth sticking around!

#Suicide #MentalHealth #Crisis #Compassion #SaveALife #Depression #Anxiety #OnTheEdge

~Jax~