A Special Place in Heaven … for Therapists
In the wake of Robin Williams’ death, there have been a
plethora of blog-spots, postings and articles about depression and suicide. It
seems almost everyone has felt the desire or the need to weigh in with
opinions, pontifications, advice, and pleadings. Some are friends or family members
of those who have committed suicide, or attempted suicide. Some are simply kind
and caring folks, with no immediate connection to either depression or suicide,
simply responding to their shock and dismay in a way they feel might at least
make a difference to those around them and across the globe who may be
suffering and not know how to ask for help. And then, one posting I read made
an earnest request. “It’s time to raise awareness, increase empathy and kindness,
and bring those numbers (of suicides and attempts) down. It’s time to talk
about suicide and depression.”
I had friends who committed suicide. I like to think of
myself as a kind and caring person, and those who know me best know that I
generally have an opinion … about nearly everything. But this time… this time I
can offer more than an opinion. I have a story. I am so shaken by the death of
a wonderful actor and a really funny man, someone whom we not only thought
would be the last person in the world to do this, the thought –the notion –never
came near crossing our minds.
I finally feel moved enough to tell that story.
Some of you know part of the story. I've mentioned it in
passing now and again, without any details or further discussion. Perhaps, because
it’s not easy to talk about, or easy to listen to. But many of you, including
my very close friends and even my family don’t know the full story.
Once, about 12 years ago, I decided to kill myself. I
planned to commit suicide.
I was, as we all were, reeling in the wake of 9/11. I had
just broken off a 10-month loveless relationship. I was 35 going on 36, still
single, and childless. My best friend had moved 3000 miles away. My career was
on the brink of collapse. And like so many others, I felt lost, confused,
friendless, hopeless, and helpless. But put simply, I was tired. There were so
many things I needed to deal with, and it was so overwhelming, I thought a
permanent solution was the only way. I just didn't know what else to do … yet.
I don’t think I showed any so-called “warning signs.” I was actually basically a cheerful person ... on the outside. Always ready with a joke; always the life of the party. But the inside was a different story. Basically, a miserable person. Always feeling inadequate; no self confidence; no sense of self worth.
I was
seeing a therapist and a psychiatrist, and a spiritual counselor. They were
kind, and caring; they had listened and helped me work through some of my
difficulties. But it wasn't enough. There were deep, dark, frightening places
in my mind and soul no one could touch. Even me. I was sad. So very, very sad.
I just didn't know what else to do … yet.
So I started to plan. I didn't want anything messy, so
shooting myself or slitting my wrists was definitely out. I wasn't smart enough
to rig a noose and try to hang myself; and I didn't want carbon monoxide to get
into the house and harm my cat, so getting in the car with the engine running,
closed in the garage was also out. But I did have access to anti-depression
medications, and tranquilizers. I had over-the-counter pharmaceuticals and
plenty of alcohol in the house. If I took a few handfuls of pills and washed
them down with half a bottle of gin or whiskey, that was bound to work.
Then, I started a list. I would put down 3 – 4 days of food
for the cat so he wouldn't starve before someone found me. I made sure my IRA beneficiary
information was up-to-date. I wrote out my parents’ names and phone number and
tacked it to the ‘fridge. I cleaned the
house. I paid all my outstanding bills, many of which weren't due for several
weeks. I left a note to my bank, about who and where the equity in my home was
to go to, as I didn't have a Will written, and I didn't want to die intestate. I had a mail-forwarding card all filled out, ready to drop
off at the Post Office, when I got ready to go. I had everything in order.
I had the “what” and the “how.” I just needed to decide … “when.”
And that’s when it hit me. I have to admit, I’d thought
about suicide before this, always dismissing the idea, mainly out of
embarrassment for what would be said or thought about me in the aftermath. But
this time, none of that mattered. This time I had a plan.
I actually … had … a plan. That’s when I knew I was in trouble.
I knew I needed more help. I needed to … talk about it.
And just like I had decided to kill myself, I just decided not to. The next day, I called my therapist. Her name was Ruth.
Ruth got me through it. I lived. She helped me learn the
skills to cope. It took a long, painful few years, but I've worked hard to
learn how to achieve balance in my life. I know I don’t have to do it all. And if
I feel like I do want to do it all, I know I don’t have to do it all at once.
And I don’t have to do it alone. When I start to feel overwhelmed … friendless,
helpless, hopeless … I know what to do now. I know how to say, “No.” I know how
to ask for what I want and what I need. I know how to ask for help.
For me, it was all about the therapy. I’m a big fan of
therapy. Professional help is not to be underestimated. These people know what
to do. There is a special place in heaven, I’m convinced, reserved for
psychiatric therapists. Some of them will work for cheap, or even for free. If you’re
hurting in this way, believe me, I know what you’re going through. It's hard to talk about this stuff. But you must. You must talk about it.
And if you’re lucky enough to have already achieved that
balance … you must listen. And you must … MUST … direct your loved one to a
professional. PLEASE do not try –or even let yourself believe –that you can
deal with this alone. The person who is hurting, depressed, and contemplating
suicide is far beyond any help that you can give. Your intentions, while noble,
will not save their life.
Start with the national suicide hotline, and have the number
handy. It's 1-800-273-8255. And you can always call 9-1-1. Many local police departments have family
and domestic centers who have people who know what to do. Please, please … if
you do anything to help a friend who is hurting so badly they truly believe
death is the only option: get them some professional help. Because, maybe, just
maybe … like me… they just don’t know what else to do … yet.
