Mental Self Check

I’ve thought a lot about pain. My own, a past full of it, and if it means anything.

A Disease of More

Today I was scrolling through YouTube and happened upon a video where Joe Rogan was talking with David Choe. David was talking about his addictions, which he described as a “disease of more” (which I thought was a fantastic way of putting it). He explained that no amount of money or success or sexual gratification was enough.

But then the video took a turn. David began talking about his, now deceased, friend Anthony Bourdain. He explained that Anthony called him for help about a year before he killed himself, asking David how to get better. During this explanation David came apart with grief. As if the grief, sadness and agony of it were literally burning him with invisible flames. It was hard to watch and hit me in the gut with empathy.

When I Thought No One Could Understand

What you must know about me is that I understand suicide. I have never had anyone close to me kill themselves thank God, but I have been in that dark place many times. At the worst of my anguish, I thought no one could understand. That I had a monopoly on pain. That God had dumped the world’s problems into my head then lit a match.

Now that I have earned a measure of healing and peace, I know that is not the case at all. But my train of thought is why being suicidal is so dangerous. Because your reality is bending and buckling around you. And the only thing you believe will end the misery is by ending yourself.

What Made Me Stay

My belief is that when someone kills themselves that does not end their pain but transfers it onto the people that love them. They are tasked with somehow living their life with such unimaginable pain. They must try to pick up the pieces and move on.

When I was at my lowest, my therapist drilled it into my head what would happen to my family if I killed myself. I was told those who are left after a suicide never get over it. That it leaves a wound that will always hurt.

The main reason I didn’t was because what I learned it would do to my nieces and nephews. I was told it would increase their chances of suicide. Once I learned that I decided that I never would, no matter how bad things got.

Why do some people kill themselves and not others? Why does pain like that exist? Why didn’t God make it impossible to do that to yourself?

I don’t have answers for any of those questions. I wish I did, so that suicide would never happen again.

One of the Legs of a Chair

I read a book in high school called “Man’s Search for Meaning” by Viktor Frankl. He openly writes about his time in a concentration camp during World War II. What he survived was horrible beyond words. But instead of breaking under the trauma, he decided to make meaning out of it. He created Logotherapy (meaning therapy).

Maybe creating meaning is part of it. Not all of it. But like one of the legs of a chair.

For my own pain, I have created meaning by going back to school to become a social worker and by writing. I don’t know if my writing will go anywhere, but some of these blog posts have provided healing where even over a decade in therapy could not.

A Light in the Dark

To answer the question if any of my pain means anything, I hesitate to answer. Not because I don’t have one, but because it is the answer for me specifically. Not a blanket answer meant to be all knowing.

My pain’s meaning is it changed me into the person I had to become to help people. Not a tougher person per se, but a more empathic one. Someone that has been there and knows how scary and dark life can become. I don’t have all the answers. But I think one day I can serve as a guide. A light in the dark. A Sam that will never give up on Frodo.

If you are suicidal, reach out to someone. Call a friend, a family member, a therapist, or dial 988. The world will be a darker place without you. Even if you don’t believe that. Especially if you don’t believe that. Don’t take your light out of this world.