Some musings after the jump.
Recently an old friend of mine killed himself. He was young—mid-20s, and had family and friends who loved him and a great job. He had all the reasons to be happy but for the many years I knew him, his brain just wouldn't let that happen. He talked pretty seriously of suicide for as long as I knew him...not actively suicidal, really, but more like it was a battle he inevitably couldn't win. Like all of his little happy moments couldn't keep him here during his darkest ones. And neither could medication or therapy.
It was still unexpected at the time.
It is still sad. But it is also....like being able to feel his burden lift, in a way.
His mother spoke about how she can't really understand but that she is glad he at least tried to explain his brain to her throughout the years and that it comforts her to know that he at least achieved his goal of finding respite from the depression.
A lot of people seem to be both crushingly sad and almost at peace with his choice because he was so...rational about it for years. So honest about the possibility.
It's weird. Another friend of mine committed suicide to the complete shock of everyone and the reaction seemed to include more disappointment in his choice, like se didn't fight hard enough.
I'm still sad. And I still miss him. But I am glad he isn't in pain anymore. It's weird how the language around his death sounds like the language around a doctor-assisted suicide for a terminal illness. It almost feels that way, in a weird way.
Well....that's all I really thought to say.