Earlier this year, we were all shocked by the news of actor/comedian, Robin Williams have committed suicide by way of hanging. He killed himself in the very same manner as my favourite pro wrestler, Chris Benoit. Aside from Benoit's horrific acts that preluded to his suicide, the act of hanging oneself in the manner than these two individuals settled upon, has baffled me in the time since. Neither one hung from a height, but instead, wrapped the belt around their necks then leaned into the hanging. I apologize for the graphic detail, but suicide isn't a natural behavior. At some point, the body's natural instinct for survival is going to set in and (should) override the predetermination of the suicide, but this never seemed to be the case. I can't remember if Chris had any drugs or alcohol in his system at the time of his demise, and I never heard anything about Robin.
I'm no stranger to the contemplation of suicide. I'd be remiss if I said that the thought had never crossed my mind. It has, but it's only been twice..., I think. Maybe three times. Hopefully, through investigation in this chapter of my shitty little life, I'll be able to recall the exact number. Although, I'm certain it's only been twice.
The first time, was a fleeting thought. More of a "I'll show them", sort of mentality. It was following the incident with my dad. I had moved into the city, living with my aunt. She worked out of town, so I had the apartment all to myself. A lot of free time on my hands and most of it spent alone with my thoughts. I do recall that at the time, I was reeling from the idea of a father beating his own son black, blue and bloody. I couldn't wrap my head around it. I'd never come to the "Jeckyll & Hyde" revelation until many years later. Sadly, it was after his death. I'd already made my peace with him and, in my opinion, we'd become friends. However, at the tender age of seventeen, my brain was not fully developed yet, so my intelligence was still lacked.
One day, in a fit of depression, anxiety, anger and whatever else was in my head, spicing that stew of negativity, I came up with a plan of revenge. I planned to kill myself, just so I could see the guilt on my father's face when he came to realize that he was the reason I had killed myself. The plan, I thought, was foolproof. That is, until I realized that I couldn't see the look of shame and guilt on his face, if I were dead. I quickly discarded that plan, choosing life instead.
The second time I'd contemplated suicide was almost six years ago. I got fired from a job, due to a violent reaction to a comment that a fellow worker had said (ironically) about my father. I'm ashamed of my actions and I refuse to share those details in this forum, but suffice it to say, it was pretty f*cking bad.
Everyone's opinion of me was going to be, and I'm sure has been, forever altered. Especially, after some of the embellishments I've heard over the years. They were not kind and painted me in a much worse image than what had happened in reality. I was brought up on charges of assault and faced real jail time, it was that bad. Thankfully, I sought anger management straight away and that coupled with conflicting stories from the victim and the single witness, in addition to my honest and yes very unflattering description of events, helped me avoid jail and anything that would scar my permanent criminal record. We settled by way of a mediator and a written apology, which I spent a full week of writing and re-writing to make it sound as honest as possible. I really was sorry.
However, in the initial hours following the assault, I knew that a person of whom I cared for deeply would hear of my downfall and embellished facts of the matter and I thought that if she thought me to be a monster, that I couldn't live on from that. Thankfully, I contacted her a day or two following my dismissal and everything was copacetic. Our friendship would remain intact and suicide was never an option after that.
I'm no stranger to the contemplation of suicide. I'd be remiss if I said that the thought had never crossed my mind. It has, but it's only been twice..., I think. Maybe three times. Hopefully, through investigation in this chapter of my shitty little life, I'll be able to recall the exact number. Although, I'm certain it's only been twice.
The first time, was a fleeting thought. More of a "I'll show them", sort of mentality. It was following the incident with my dad. I had moved into the city, living with my aunt. She worked out of town, so I had the apartment all to myself. A lot of free time on my hands and most of it spent alone with my thoughts. I do recall that at the time, I was reeling from the idea of a father beating his own son black, blue and bloody. I couldn't wrap my head around it. I'd never come to the "Jeckyll & Hyde" revelation until many years later. Sadly, it was after his death. I'd already made my peace with him and, in my opinion, we'd become friends. However, at the tender age of seventeen, my brain was not fully developed yet, so my intelligence was still lacked.
One day, in a fit of depression, anxiety, anger and whatever else was in my head, spicing that stew of negativity, I came up with a plan of revenge. I planned to kill myself, just so I could see the guilt on my father's face when he came to realize that he was the reason I had killed myself. The plan, I thought, was foolproof. That is, until I realized that I couldn't see the look of shame and guilt on his face, if I were dead. I quickly discarded that plan, choosing life instead.
The second time I'd contemplated suicide was almost six years ago. I got fired from a job, due to a violent reaction to a comment that a fellow worker had said (ironically) about my father. I'm ashamed of my actions and I refuse to share those details in this forum, but suffice it to say, it was pretty f*cking bad.
Everyone's opinion of me was going to be, and I'm sure has been, forever altered. Especially, after some of the embellishments I've heard over the years. They were not kind and painted me in a much worse image than what had happened in reality. I was brought up on charges of assault and faced real jail time, it was that bad. Thankfully, I sought anger management straight away and that coupled with conflicting stories from the victim and the single witness, in addition to my honest and yes very unflattering description of events, helped me avoid jail and anything that would scar my permanent criminal record. We settled by way of a mediator and a written apology, which I spent a full week of writing and re-writing to make it sound as honest as possible. I really was sorry.
However, in the initial hours following the assault, I knew that a person of whom I cared for deeply would hear of my downfall and embellished facts of the matter and I thought that if she thought me to be a monster, that I couldn't live on from that. Thankfully, I contacted her a day or two following my dismissal and everything was copacetic. Our friendship would remain intact and suicide was never an option after that.
Lately, there seem to be a cornucopia of reports of people, young and old, committing suicide as a way of escaping their problems. After my initial contemplation and realization, I never even considered suicide after that. Other people venture into drugs and alcohol as a way of coping with stress and anxiety. Having been a witness to how alcohol affected my dad, I strayed away from alcohol and drugs never seemed to be an option. Instead, I dove head first into adventure. I was a famed archaeologist, fighting the Nazi plight. I was a scoundrel of a space pirate, battling the evil empire with my large hairy companion and a feisty princess at my side. I was also a race car driver, a pirate, a nerdy high school kid who scored the hot cheerleader. It seemed like week-to-week, I was a different charismatic character and sad thoughts and anxiety and loneliness was never a factor again. Not for a few more years, anyway. Whenever I'd feel low, sad or depressed, I'd escape to the movies and for two hours, I didn't have to be me, anymore.
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