I watched him suffer. I knew he was suffering and yet I was powerless to help. What he needed was a purpose. And not some shallow bullshit promise of a better tomorrow. He needed an actual light at the end of the tunnel. He was in pain, everyday. He couldn’t see it getting any better.
He was too smart for his own good; he could argue the con of any pro. He could find the dark cloud lurking behind every sunny day. He needed a real challenge. He needed a worthy sparring partner. He needed a specific reason to get out of bed, the promise of new challenges, new knowledge, new explorations.
He was in real pain. You who don’t experience it couldn’t relate. But his pain was as real as stage 4 cancer. And worse, no one could find the proper treatment. No tumor to remove, no foreign body to excise. Nothing to point to as an explanation for the pain. He was alone. Not just living alone, but alone in the way he thought, the things he felt, the way he saw the world. “Fake it till you make it” was not an option for him. His pain was so deep that he no longer had the energy to pretend that people mattered anymore.
When I learned that he ended his life, I was sad. I felt like I was robbed, that my girls – his god daughters – were robbed. His best friend, his own daughters, his mother, his aunt and the countless others who loved him were shortchanged.
But I also felt relief for him. That maybe he has found his peace on the other side. That he is at least no longer suffering from an illness that only he can truly see and feel.
So miss me with your selfishness; your guilt trip about how the rest of the world will feel if he removed himself from it. How about enjoying the time you have. This illness is a cancer, and just like cancer some go into remission, and others succumb. We don’t guilt leukemia patients for dying; stop doing it to mental health patients.
Chaotically Controlled 