Forthnights

Calling it quits on life?

Why does life have to be so difficult?

So many times in my life, I just shake my fist up in the air and curse the powers that be for making life so difficult. Yes, I admit it. I begrudge the fact that some people have it easy and some don’t. I begrudge it even more that I am not one of those lucky people.

Relating recent developments to a friend, he asked me this question “Don’t you just wish it were all just an act, and you could just shout “Cut!!” Yes, I do wish it. I do wish life was as simple as saying “I want it to stop.” I guess some people just want it so badly, they decide to stop it themselves; suicide. Some say it’s the ultimate act of defiance against God saying “You can’t fire me! I quit.” Others say it’s the ultimate act of defeat and failure. But I read something really profound that made me rethink.

When someone throws in the towel on life, pushed beyond all hope, lost beyond misery, it is not the failure of the person. It is the failure of society to listen. No sane person would really want to take their own life. The act of suicide or rather the attempt at suicide is a person’s most desperate cry, not for some attention, but for some help, guidance and love. When we as a people fail to respond to these signs, we have failed each other. Because everyone of us, regardless of age, status or gender, at some point in our lives have felt totally helpless, totally cold and alone and we cry out for a caring shoulder and reassuring hug. At the lowest points in our lives, we all need someone by our side, even if it’s just to listen.

My first brush with suicide was when my mother took a major overdose of her medication back when I was 13. I wont go through the details again (I’m sure I wrote it somewhere on this blog), but until today, I struggle to understand just what went through her mind. My mother has related to me that when she stayed alone those many years, she thought of suicide many times, but never dared try it. The fear of pain and death prevented her. Just knowing that she even has such thoughts really scared the light out of me. I guess staying 10 years on your own with no one to confide in, fending for yourself, dealing with depression and living away from your sons, suicide doesn’t seem absurd, especially when there’s no one to tell you it is.

I had 1 more brush with suicide, but I never told anyone about it. It happened 5 years ago, at the very beginnings of my relationship with my girlfriend. At the time, she was living some 20kms or so away from me, in a nearby town on her own. I never saw it coming. We had just gone out for the day, and I sent her off at the bus stop. While we were departing, she started talking to me strangely, saying that she loved me, goodbye, take care, be strong etc. Obviously, I didn’t like the sound of it. I got angry and told her to cut it out and she stopped talking like that. I tried telling her that life was not as bad as it seemed. But a few hours later, she calls me and tells me goodbye. I asked her what she meant, and she told me that she had swallowed about 2 dozen aspirins. (Now, I have no idea if taking 2 dozen aspirins will kill you or just cure a really bad head ache, but it sounded bad to me). I spent the next 15 minutes over the phone telling her to vomit it out. She refused and I tried persuading, begging, scolding, but in her state of depression, nothing seemed to move her. When the line eventually went dead, I was in a fix. What should I do?

There was only 1 answer in my head. It was crazy, but it was the only way. I had to get there. I grabbed whatever cash I could, and ran to the nearby taxi stand. I never felt that urgent since my mothers episode, and it all seemed just a bit too much déjà vu. In some funny twist of fate, the taxi I got into was my friends’ fathers. He asked me what I was doing going in the middle of the night to Klang (town) on my own. I couldn’t just say “My girlfriend swallowed 2 dozen pills and I’m going there to rescue her.” So I faked a story about a fake friend in a fake accident with a fake broken leg. Whatever, I didn’t really have time to come up with alibis. On the way, 2 questions lingered in my head. Firstly, am I destined to be with suicidal women? Secondly “How was I going to get in? Break the door? Shout for help and alert the neighbours?”

The first question had no answer, but the second one quickly resolved itself. I knocked on her door, and she opened the door calmly and let me in. I was still a bit exasperated (understatement) and told her to come with me to the hospital or spit it all out. She said when I stopped answering my house phone, she figured that I was coming, and she vomited out all the tablets. She then broke down in tears, hugged me and said she was sorry. I will confess this; I cried too. I had gone through this once before, and it was happening again. I told her that I was scared out of my pants that something bad had happened to her. I made her swear that she would never try a stunt like that again. I wanted to scold her, but I knew it would not help matters. She needed love and support. I was not there to give tough love; I was there to comfort and console. After she was alright again, I said goodbye and left.

But that was one part of my plan I didn’t consider. I had only enough cash to go one way on the cab. In was the middle of the night, there were no cabs, I was walking, and worst of all, there were stray dogs around. Big, menacing mean dogs which seemed particularly adept at sniff out strangers.

Not to make light of the preceding events, but man was that a night to remember. When I was young, I was terrified of stray dogs. My dad taught me 2 golden principles concerning dogs; never show that you are afraid. Dogs can smell fear. Secondly, never run. When you do, they chase. But walking alone on that dark street, a huge stray dog spotted me and started barking at me, making its way to me. Knowing what I did, I should have just stayed cool and continue my pace. But I guess fear overtook me, and those golden principles went down the drain. The dog looked like some sort of hell hound, and as it started coming straight at me, I bolted faster than you could say “Fetch”! Luckily, I was nearing the main roads, and managed to reach the safety of the nearby convenience store before being devoured by that demon dog (as I later started to call that wretched canine). I had not felt that mortally afraid of something since I was a kid. Kind of embarrassing really, since I was almost full grown. But I couldn’t help laughing at myself. It made me feel like I was a small brat again. The cashier at the store must have thought I was a nutcase.

I called a friend and he came to my rescue. On the way home, I related to him what happened (since there was no hiding it, and for rescuing me, honesty was the least I could offer). I was remarkably calm by then, to the amazement of my friend, and he asked me how I could just talk about it like it was nothing. Perhaps the short adventure earlier sort of threw me off. But it was not nothing. I had serious issues to think of.

Suicide happens because of the failure of society to listen. Perhaps if I had paid heed to her earlier signs when she spoke about it and not scold her, she would have not even tried taking those pills. Perhaps if I took her seriously and consoled her, it could have been avoided. And what if I did not come when she did take those pills? Would she have taken more? Or something more potent? It was a relief knowing that she spit it out when she knew I was coming. Though by the time I arrived, there was nothing more to do, I guess the act of coming itself meant something to her. And so, I learnt through that experience never to take thing likely when a person talks about suicide, no matter how nonchalantly he or she mentions it. It is a very silent cry for help. They don’t want to die; they just want to know that someone cares enough about them. That’s something we can all related to right?

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 8:31 pm Comments: 0