The suicides are classy, they know just when it's time to leave the party. The suicides are depressed? Look around you: Fuck Yeah, Depression! The suicide's Catch-22: cultural reverence tells them they are wrong, they get depressed, everyone else tells them their depression is wrong. They should feel a different way, the same way the people who are depressing the shit out of them feel. WHAT?!? They should feel as happy to be here as all the people telling them every day in every way they don't belong here.Why is suicide an anomaly versus a mere idea amongst ideas? Why is it a mental illness versus a feeling amongst feelings? Why is it a chemical imbalance versus one more component in any our chemical makeup? There is nothing wrong with the reality of suicide, only the perception of suicide, considered a rash or misguided act versus an eventual choice of realistic considerations. The world is small and dull and most don't know how to or otherwise bother to see its breadth by degrees. Then they judge as mentally mistaken those who suffer it . Congratulations to the brave who lie down and declare, "...and, I'm not going to take it any more!"
We are mere byproduct of reproduction, but only in the ego of humans is this byproduct considered sacred, necessary, even. Necessary? There are like five people who are necessary, and I don't know any of them, and Oprah's not one of them and neither am I. It's necessary and sacred that I have constipation and nurse vodka and watch TV and shuffle back and forth through a frivolous existence? A mere cog in a 7+ billion cog world with dwindling resources? Were I a real environmentalist, I'd kill myself!
Amongst my people, old fat fucks, suicide is all the rage. Good for us, we're finally doing something. We've been here fifty-something years and have little to show for it while the Millenials are in post-education debt up to their ears and have already gone a long way fixing the collective mess that is where we live. For all we put on the disconnect of social media, these are the kids who are connected to the big ideas. They belong to The World. We got fat.
So now we are killing ourselves, and if you want to know why, sure, scan that article linked above, but take some time to read the comments. We painted ourselves into a corner, and now we can't breathe. We were McMansions, not Tiny House Blog; now that the economy has turned there are no affordable alternatives in which to downsize. We were SUV's, not hybrids. We were Monsanto, not farmers markets. Marriage was between a man and a woman, and the ones most desirable were the best at all the above - the ones with the biggest house, the biggest car, the biggest job. If you were the square peg, if you knew the folly, you were FUCKED, because there simply was no alternative, it was fit the round holes or you are as good as dead, because there's no place that's home. So everyone went into debt trying to fit the round holes and then they were as good as dead. And now they are dead.
Drink the Kool-Aid, pal, or, you know, drink the Flavor-Aid.
I was watching The View, possibly half my problem, more, and they were talking about how if you're considering suicide you should reach out to SOMEONE, talk to SOMEONE. In all these conversations it's the mythical SOMEONE who will save you, happily, but they never tell you who that someone is. It's never ... them, for instance. Barbara isn't putting her phone number up there asking the suicides to call HER before the final bow, nor Whoopi, nor Jenny. Can you imagine that intervention?
"Sherri? Is that you? I've tied my neck to a door knob."
"Oh, Lord, Okay, Oh Lord, Don't panic, let's just slow down here and pray for mercy."
Yep, that person's a goner. It's not their fault. They are no different from what everyone else tells you: JUST ASK FOR HELP. And they are no different from what everyone else is: not the ones to ask for help. Don't they get it? In the absence OF, suicide IS.
In the absence OF, suicide IS.
Sigh, LIFE. You are so very grand and also you suck. You should have stopped at Adam. Eve was too much. Eve was the vehicle for more, and more was too much. Adam and Everything Else, now there you had something, all the birds and bees minus the "birds and bees." Eden, what a glory that must have been before Eve showed up and ruined everything. Trust me, 2014, same story: Eden all around us and, now, a plethora of Eves.
We are a biological accident, a mere bit of evolution, and what we've done is, to the entire expanse of The Human Experience, we've attached PURPOSE. To the accident of evolution we've assigned intent, so that now I have to BE something. I have to: GET UP! Make breakfast! Have a plan! Go to work! Interact! (There is no I in TEAM!) Want a promotion! Have a 401K! Go to TGIF's with the gang! Gossip! Shop at the mall! Drink Coke! Watch the Bachelorette! Brush my teeth! And go to bed so I can do it all again tomorrow, and the next day, and all the next days. And this is supposed to fulfill me. If I see through the ruse, well...then...I'm what I am right now: sequestered. The, mmm, "tragedy" isn't the ruse, it's not being allowed to acknowledge the ruse; I could HAPPILY live with the ruse if the ruse were...wink-wink!...the ruse. But it's not, it's the goal, the expectation, the definition of healthy and good.
Somewhere along the line, this thing LIFE, someone took it seriously and now, whoo! what a burden it's become. Burden in this LIFE, whoo! so narrow the constraints. Suicide, whoo! so grateful the release.
To the definition: LIFE, that has no ears.
Smile!
The Suicides...look: just listen to the suicides. Oh, right, you never did.
Ode to Suicide, redux.