In my experience, when I have had conversations about suicide there does seem to be agreement on one thing ... suicide is an extremely selfish act.
Before you go getting your knickers in a twist over such a bold statement I should mention that although this is an opinion piece, this time I am speaking from personal experience.
Some may think me stupid to air my dirty laundry so publicly, others may consider me brave. As for me, I just see it as necessary.
Yes, dear reader, many moons ago, a much younger, less mature and entirely more selfish me tried offing myself with a concoction of sleeping pills and beta-blockers. Clearly I botched the job, big time.
I could offer you long-winded explanations about a severe illness I was suffering from at the time, to serve as my excuse, My condition came with chronic insomnia and a resting heart rate of 100-120 beats per minute.
When the palpitations kicked in it would rise to 150+ beats a minute and stay that way for up to 30 minutes. They used to terrify the crap out of me.
I had the shakes too. A simple act like putting the head on the end of the vacuum cleaner could take me five bloody minutes, putting on eye make-up was a freaking disaster. And no matter how much I ate, I still lost weight. People mistook me for an anorexic - (oh, what I'd give to be like that now).
So, you get the picture. It was no picnic, but nor was it an excuse for suicide. Who the hell did I think I was, acting so recklessly and selfishly, with absolutely no regard for anyone but me.
Not a single thought for those I planned to leave in ruins. It was a self-serving, pity-party of one.
Everyone has their own crap to deal with. Living can't always be roses and sunshine. What made me so special that I got to check out on life early, because I couldn't be bothered battling through the bad stuff?
I've learned much since then. There are still days when I wish I was dead, for a whole different set of reasons, but the thought is a fleeting one, stopped by a combination of knowledge, hindsight and, oddly enough, my sense of humour.
I still remember being transferred to Te Awhina from ICU when a doctor came to discharge me. I could see he was uncomfortable dealing with me, a raving nutter.
"Do you have enough medication?" he asked. "Well, not anymore I don't," I replied. The room erupted in laughter. I was back on form.
Today it's the thought of police going through my belongings and the giant Y (why) incision in my chest that puts me off the whole idea. Those final few seconds when you might wet or soil yourself. Compassion for the ambulance men and coffin carriers, risking serious back injury as they cart my overweight frame to and fro. Silly little things, I know, but hey ... it works for me.
Also not helping the issue is when "famous" people kill themselves, they become almost like martyrs, to be admired and placed on a pedestal and then we're forced to watch reruns of their films and shows in the weeks that immediately follow, as if they are some kind of hero. It's the wrong message to be sending.
We need to have more conversations about suicide, not stilted ones where people feel the need to tread carefully. Get in there, boots and all. Diplomacy has no place when you're dealing with life and death. People may not like the truth but they need to hear it. And though it is a serious issue it doesn't mean you can't inject some humour into it, even laugh about it. If someone is determined to take their own life you've got nothing to lose but everything to gain.
Until now, suicide has been like a black cloud. Dark thoughts at a dark time in life. Our real thoughts on the subject remain hidden in its shadow. It's time to come clean with our true feelings about it.
Suicide will always be a cloud hanging over us but by talking about it more openly we can change the cloud from black to white and let in some much-needed light. We all see things more clearly when there is light.
Kate Stewart is an unemployed, reluctant mother of three, running amok in the city and can be contacted at investik8@gmail.com
