On Suicide, Hopelessness, and Light

                                                    On Suicide, Hopelessness, and Light

Today, I woke up to the news that Anthony Bourdain died by suicide. Earlier this week, Kate Spade also died by suicide. Both left behind children- daughters. Something about these tragic and untimely deaths resonates deeply with me, as a fellow daughter who lost a parent to suicide.

Kate Spade is iconic, feminine chic, classy and classic. As I’m not much of a fashionista, I won’t pretend to know a lot about her or the brand, although I will say I am so very sorry she has passed and I mourn with her daughter.

Anthony Bourdain’s death hits a little closer to home for me. I’m not much of a foodie, but I am a global citizen. I so admired the way Bourdain traveled, and he showed me that it is possible to travel to far-off places, meet people who live radically different lives, and enjoy their company. He seemed to show a genuine interest in the people he met with and enjoyed having fun with them. Bourdain showed me that it is possible to travel and understand culture without being a typical gazing Western tourist. No Reservations led me to dream that maybe, one day, I could travel the world and show the folks back home that people around the globe, no matter how different the culture, have a lot in common and should be embraced, not feared. The anthropologist in me really liked that.

Whenever someone dies by suicide- especially a public, seemingly-well-liked and ‘together’ figure, people seem to come out of the woodwork to pass judgement.

Let’s get a few things correct: not all depressed people are suicidal; all suicidal people are depressed. No matter how well liked or public someone is, it is not possible for us at home to know their souls. 

Depression is a monster that clouds out all reasonable thought and judgment. I say this because I have struggled with depression. I say this because I lost a parent, privately, to suicide, and the comments people easily bandy about feel absolutely crushing.

People who die by suicide are not cowards. They are not selfish. In fact, thinking the world, your children, your family, would be better off without your presence is the most heartbreakingly un-selfish thing I can imagine.

I know this because I struggled. I won’t say I actually thought of ending my life- I didn’t- but there were many times when I simply wished I could vanish into the universe. I made grand escape plans, to take months long trips to work at a sled dog farm in Norway (yes, really). I never acted on it because depression told me it was a stupid idea, and I’d be just as miserable there, and more of a burden than a help to the sled dog people.

When I was at my lowest point, post-grad school, post-break up, post- move, I didn’t feel like I could burden anyone with the dark depths of my thoughts. Most of them were the same four or five thoughts on repeat. Nothing life threatening, but a lot of sadness and frustration, and nothingness. I held a lot of it in, especially as well-meaning friends said I’d be fine once I got a job or found a new hobby. And while it did help to get that first miserable job, it was not a solution. A job, a new boyfriend, a new hobby, do not fill the craters that depression eats into your brain. But it did help. A little bit.

 Although people always say “you can turn to me,” in the throes of depression, I didn’t totally believe it. It’s a nice platitude, but how much of me whining about my life does someone REALLY want to hear? And so I suffered mostly alone. There were a few friends that I leaned on heavily- not baring the full depths of my condition- but messaging non-stop about any and all things. To be honest, they and my loneliness kind of saved me. I thought, if I disappeared- somehow sunk into the floorboards of my apartment, or just evaporated into the universe- no one would notice for days, or even weeks. I lived alone, in a new city, was unemployed, and I wasn’t letting on how miserable I was. It seemed so tragic to me, and my life was not meant to be a tragedy.

It is painful to share this raw honesty, but I can no longer keep my volume down. High-profile people are not immune to depression or other mental illnesses. They do not discriminate and they require medical treatment- be it therapy, medication, or something else. It doesn’t matter how someone’s life looks to us on the outside, we can never truly know what their heart holds.

Kindness can be life altering. Sometimes the simple kind word or gesture- especially in my most lonely moments- moved me to near-tears, overwhelmed by the simple acts of kind strangers. And so yes, while the world is often cruel and overwhelming, those little kind acts showed me that it can also be beautiful and wonderous. They made me feel like the universe wanted to keep me around. So, I remind you, in this difficult week of public loss and grieving, to practice radical kindness to those around you, stranger and friend. It sounds cliché and trite, but I mean it from the depths of my heart: you never know the effect of a few kind words to someone.

<3