I read an article today about a young woman who committed suicide. Suicide is a concept I have always struggled with. I mean, I do get where sometimes life is so difficult, one can only assume that death has to be better, especially if one believes in an afterlife. But I view those who commit suicide in two ways: people who are too full of despair to find strength to even attempt to climb out of it anymore, and those who are brave enough to say “this is torture, I’m going to take a leap of faith and see what’s ahead.” I know that the latter point would have many disagreeing, hell, I even disagree with me sometimes, but I will attempt an explanation.
I never seriously contemplated suicide. The Catholic beliefs that have been drilled into me from my earliest recollection, declares taking a life to be a mortal sin and even though I have strayed somewhat from accepting my faith without question, I still don’t want to risk going to the hot place because I committed a mortal sin: one of the worst too. I mean taking a life is breaking a major commandment and taking your own life, well you wouldn’t even have the opportunity to confess the sin, thus cleansing your soul before heading to the afterlife. In other words….you had better enjoy heat.
And after having lived in Texas for six years, I never want to live in, pardon the pun, a hellishly hot place again, especially for all of eternity.
But I digress…..I have never contemplated committing suicide, but there have been a few times where life was so painful, so difficult, that I did wonder if death would not be better. In fact, at one point, I remember very calmly thinking “I can’t take the stress, the pain, the constant worry, the horrific nightmares anymore. Maybe if I die now, it would be okay”. And I meant it. And that thought, which calmly circulated in my usually panicked head, scared me more than anything I have ever thought. I realized that I was okay with dying. I was even beginning to look forward to it. Was the next step taking my own life?? I never got to that point because I slapped myself in the face and said “Knock it off!” and I was able to. But some people are not able to slap themselves out of despair or emptiness. They were either sicker than I was, more desperate than I was, lonelier than I was or, yes, even braver than I was. It takes courage to leap into the unknown.
I don’t know. It’s not for me to judge. I just know, suicide was not for me.
And I think about what is it that makes people choose to end their lives. And I wonder what the driving force was; desperation or does it have something to do with hope? If there is hope, there is always a chance right? But what if over the course of despair, hope is somehow redefined? Suppose hope is nothing more than an empty word, used so much that it becomes meaningless. Or worse, suppose hope begins to mean, as it did for the young woman from the article who committed suicide, ” a delayed response to disappointment”. That is such an interesting concept to me. Hope merely delays an ultimate disappointment. But what is hope really? Its literal definition according to Miriam Webster is “to want something to happen or be true” So why then is “hope” such a “hopeful” word? It is merely the desire to have a preferred outcome happen. It doesn’t assure it will happen. It doesn’t promise it will happen. Having faith in that word doesn’t bring optimism; it brings a desire for something good to happen. And sometimes that is okay. But when we hope for the same outcome, day in and day out over and over again, hope becomes all consuming and the lack of fulfillment, causes the word to take on a new meaning : “disappointment”. So quite possibly, after so much disappointment, sometimes there is nothing to look forward to, nothing to desire, nothing to even “hope” for and hoping becomes an exercise in futility; something else to use up what little energy remains, and therein lies the crux of ending life. Hope has created a numbness: a sense of not being able to feel a high that comes from believing in hope or even a low that comes when hope is no longer relevant; but rather just another word on the “h” page in a dictionary. Then you become nothing, as meaningless as the word “hope” itself…. a shell, empty, dry, bleached of all vitality, and the need to be filled becomes an overwhelming hunger and yet devoid of any true feeling. And perhaps it is that combination which causes you to take a leap of faith and I guess on some level, you give hope one final chance and “hope” there is a new life, a better life, after this one. And I for one, “hope” there is. Because that would give meaning to all of us, whether we end our lives intentionally or just move on when our lives are naturally over. And I find myself still “hoping” that a better life awaits us all.
New Endings 