I won't lie. I've thought about it more than once.
Once, while driving home from an inexplicably stressful night at the office, one wrought with more tears than a Tammy Faye-Baker biopic, I was going to just go for it. I felt my time had come, and neither the law nor my Chevy Prizm's anti-lock brakes were going to keep me from going through with it. This was it, the moment of truth.
Turning off the main road onto my street, which curves and bends around a lovely creek and many duck-infested ponds, I accelerated with the fervor of a NASCAR racer, heading straight toward the dimly lit utility pole.
And then I hit a squirrel.
Suddenly the idea of killing myself didn't seem so hot. Here was this innocent street rodent (or whatever it is squirrels are); Trudy, I posthumously named her, was taken from this world without a whisper, nonetheless from a careless young kid on his own path to self-righteous destruction.
Lovely story, I know. But it's true.
Yes, the squirrel thing is a bit melodramatic. The convergence of slammed brakes, screeching toward a blaringly headlamped young Trudy; and me, a sad pathetic kid, made for a moment even Lifetime TV movies can't always orchestrate. Enter Judith Light of "Who's the Boss" fame or one of the grown-up Tanner kids from "Full House" and you have yourself a Saturday night chick flick.
Certainly I had many things on my mind at once. Big things. The trouble with this story resides in the fact that I'm here telling you about it. Not that I lived (though that's a nice fringe benefit), but that I've conquered the shame of having such dire thoughts.
In talking with other college-age friends over the last few months, I've come to the sad realization that suicide is something that many of us think about. To be sure, they obviously don't all go through with it, nor do they necessarily attempt anything. But they do think about it, and it's a problem that begs to be discussed.
As it is with most difficulties life throws our way, it's common to joke about killing ourselves, if even in silly, off-the-cuff ways:
"I swear, I'm gonna slit my wrists if ..."
"That movie was so bad, I wanted to jump off a bridge."
Or maybe you just hold up your hand to your head, insert your fingertips in your mouth, and pretend to shoot yourself with your thumb.
Sometimes the motions are real.
The last time a student committed suicide on campus was in March 2002. He was young, a 19-year-old freshman. As quoted in an article that ran in the March 20 issue of The Spectrum, students said their friend was "the greatest guy no matter what anyone thinks about people who commit suicide."
Just as I suppose this student's friend thought, it strikes me as disconcerting that there's a stigma associated with those who feel their only way out is to jump, or shoot, or slit, or drive. What's with all the shame?
The answer should be obvious: We all feel this way sometimes. We all feel alone, not loved enough, not loved at all, without purpose, without help. As anyone with half a brain will tell you, life is hard. Sometimes it feels worse than hard. Everyday we are thrust into situations that test our mental, physical and spiritual comfort zones.
Am I attractive? Where's my next paycheck going to come from? Who loves me?
It all sounds so clich?(c), like the posters your high school counselors had hanging in their office: "Do you need to talk? Call me," or "Turn that frown upside down, and call somebody," or the wonderful, "Call me, I'm around."
Flip the poster over and you'd be sure to see that a cell phone company sponsored it, advertising their latest rollover-minute plan. What I offer, as my own personal mantra for a death-free life, is the most clich?(c)d one you're bound to hear for some time: "Call yourself."
No matter what you feel is overwhelming the struggle to live happily, it can't get better if you don't look inside and assess yourself. Friends and counselors can help, but the fight to overcome such emotions is often swimming around in that heart of yours; the one you don't think is worth its beat. The key here is that what feel like monumental issues are almost always status quo. You're never alone in this big bubble.
In the long run, you have two choices: Head straight toward the base of that pole, or look up and start climbing. It's a noble decision, and certainly isn't an easy one to make. But you know the answer. You've known it all along.
I'm sure Trudy would say the same.
