I’ve heard it said that everyone thinks about committing suicide at least once in their life. I guess today was my day.
Before you send flowers, know this, I have never wanted to die, nor do I today. It is a rather interesting way to start a post though. However it does bring to mind the question, “What would happen in the world around me if I were to die today.” Still not quite a thought about killing myself mind you, just a question of death. That led me to wonder if I should write down a synopsis of my thoughts on my life, and if so, why. But I’m 33 years old and I’m more fascinated by the question of “Why now” than “Why.” I guess we should start at the beginning.
I was born premature, which I find an interesting word etymologically. It almost implies that I grew up too fast, whereas it’s more aptly used to denote that I wasn’t mature enough to be born on time. I don’t have any memories of these traumatic times, but from what friends and family have told me, I’m a bit of a “Miracle baby.” Before we go too far, let me mention that I’m a skeptic foremost, then any form of religious or spiritual belief is at best secondary if not tertiary. So, miracle, yeah I have a problem with that word, too. Miracle implies divine intervention of some kind. I would normally exchange the phrase with “Anomaly Baby,” however we’ll discuss that later. I’ve been told that the doctors said that due to numerous complications at birth, I would either die, or at best live life as a severely mentally retarded individual incapable of even basic mathematical expressions. Well two out of three ain’t bad.
Fast forward 33 years, and here I am, able to type whole sentences on a computer keyboard. Who knew? I guess all this talk of being a “miracle” my whole life may have in some way affected my personal psychology. The same infamous “they” that opened this dialog in my head, are also known for saying that the reason for contemplating committing suicide is most usually due to prolonged depression, usually set off during adolescence. Maybe it’s another “miracle” that I made it through adolescence fine, or maybe this is just another misunderstood form of the word “premature.” In my 33 years on this earth I have experienced several “feelings,” however I don’t believe that depression has ever been one of them. Disappointment, confusion, anger, and fear, definitely. Those are the negative ones that come to mind at the moment. Depression seems to imply a lack of self worth. If suicide is the most selfish act someone can commit (“they” again), then am I just so incredibly selfless that I haven’t thought about this? I seriously doubt it, along with a whole other list of things I won’t include here. So what about all of this then?
Before I get lost in my own head, let’s revisit the first thought. What would happen in the world around me if I were to die today? Maybe it’s the vanity in me that likes to think that the world would come to a screeching halt, but we all know better. The fact is, probably very little would be affected at all. “How depressing,” you say. Not at all, just reality. Sure there would be some initial complications for those who’d have to clean up all the legal and financial messes caused by the removal of an employee from a company, a husband/father from a home, etc. But after these holes are plugged, life in the world would continue on in the same fashion that it had the day before. So to state it plainly, there were initial complications getting me into this world, and getting me back out again. So what’s the big whoop anyway?
I’ve been told that I’ve gotten colder with age. I would concede that there is a fair amount of truth to this. Aside from the typical “MINE!” stage of childhood, I feel that I’ve been a generally patient, if not giving person. More patient with several romantic interests than my family would have liked. However, with time, I am finding myself generally disinterested in people. I’ve gone from being a very people centered high school mascot and Thespian Society president, to a dissociated hermit. I always wanted to live in the city, the sounds of people and their issues, good or bad, echoing in the streets. Now I live at the end of a dead end road, in a town most couldn’t find on a map, with no real neighbors to speak of. Why now?