Suicide, or, ‘Why I think you should talk to the Hospital.’

‘If somehow, you could pack up your sorrows,
And give them all to me,
You would lose them- I know how to use them,
Give them all to me.’ – Joan Baez, covering someone.

 

Hello again there my dear reader-friend-anonymous-person, and how are you? I have as ever been having the most incredibly unusual week, (that is, unusual by the standards I imagine are normal for everyone else, I tend to think my weeks are quite normal), and it’s had me thinking about the world and life and all of those big important things we’re supposed to think about from time to time. I’ve also included a little poem, (just for your reading pleasure. Or maybe for mine. Why does anyone do anything?)
    The most important event, the one which this whole week has been revolving around, was the night a close friend tried to kill himself. I won’t name any names, and I imagine it’s no-one you know. This is one of those things that, when the panic has gone, when the dust settles after the flurry of worrying, you have to sit back and think about things. Or I think so anyway, and I didn’t have much else to do while we sat in A&E for eight hours.
    I don’t think people who haven’t been there ever really understand what it’s like, what that overpowering, overwhelming need to just end things can do to a man. (Or a woman, I just refer to things in my own gender a lot.) It’s a sore, crippling feeling, and part of an enormous ‘negative feedback loop’ as one of those TED Talks put it. It’s devestating, and yet, it seems so misunderstood by the general public. I’m sure some of you out there will read this and your mind will instantly run over ideas of attention seeking, or selfishness, or stupidity, and perhaps all those things come into play. However, the one crucial thing is that in that moment, in those hours, the most horrific of things was possible, and was likely to happen.
    My friend is, of course, on the mend, and seems completely fine now. The whole ordeal was excellently handled by our fantastic police force, our University porters and resident tutors, and by the hardworking staff of Aberystwyth’s hospitals. He’s got the whole world looking out for him, at the minute, which is a nice place to be, really. This is one of the things I was thinking about especially over the weekend; I had honestly forgotten how much support there is available for people. I realised how much the people genuinely wanted to help; They didn’t want to help because it was their job, they took that job because they wanted to help. Is’t that just lovely? Well, I think it is.
    I want to urge anyone out there who is feeling suicidal to go speak with the hospital, or with someone trained to help- because, it will. It will help so unbelievably much, whether you think it will or not.
    Another thing that this had me thinking about was my own place in the world. It’s no secret that I get depressed on a semi-frequent basis, in the, ‘Lying on my floor for five hours because I can’t move because I’ve lost all the energy to sad’ way. (Thanks so much to my fake-wife who’s been putting up with my ridiculous mood for the past two months to a greater extent than anyone else.) I’m not ashamed to admit this, or whatever you’re supposed to be when you say you’ve got a severe mood disorder. I figure that it’s payment for how freakin’ over-the-top happy I am the rest of the time, so, I just deal with it. Up until now, though, I’ve been worried about suicide. Not that I want to kill myself, I’ve just been worried that that thought will wriggle its way in there and I’ll do something that I would regret later if I wasn’t dead. Once it’s in there, it can be a hard thought to shift. This whole ordeal, however, helped me remember that there is a MASSIVE network of support available if that happens- and something about that is really, really comforting.
    I want to thank the network of people who helped us out over that very, very long night; the Police, the University Porters, the Resident Tutor, the Hospital Staff, and to thank my seminar tutor for his lovely concerned email, and all of that. It’s quite nice to know that, even as an adult, there are still people out there who can help. Yay!
    Anyway, here’s a little poem I wrote a while ago, (which is context-speak for, I forget writing this.) I’m off to visit my friend in the hospital, (which means road trip, YAAAAY).
    The Irish have a very fun way of making light of a bad situation, although I think it probably pissed the doctors off when I started making ridiculously dark jokes at my friends expense to him. We show concern by being dicks!

Was there nothing we could do?
No falling of words to heal
Whatever rancid wounds you saw?
No act, of passion if not love
That in its working would make all right?
I don’t presume it appropriate, but then,
Frankly, I don’t care.
You have made your choice, and
I, I must accept.
Give you up. Surrender.
Yet, still, I have to ask-
Before the curtain falls on
Our one act play,
Was there nothing we could do?

I’m a cool person,
Jordan!

(P.s., as ever, send me emails! Write stories for me! Send them all to Jol20@aber.ac.uk- I’d really love to hear about the interesting things you all get up too! x)