Thank you very much for your post, A Lost Soul, i think it shed a lot of light on the issue and it certainly put the thread in perspective. I was waiting for someone like you to step up when I was arguing with Tom Peace when he first arrived about his philosophy of love and joy. I felt like a jerk telling such a nice guy that he just didn't know what he was talking about, especially when everyone else seemed to agree with him. I felt like shouting DONT YOU GET IT?! NOT EVERYONE CAN JUST BE HAPPY!! I have clinical depression myself, and I have a few suicide notes dating back to elementary school (I should put those in my scrap book, eh? ha, har.)
I keep them because when I read them it's about the most f*cked up thing I could think of; they still creep me out, never mind how other people would react. Seeing those little gems of shock value now and then helps me put the situation into perspective; anyone who knew me as a kid probably didn't know about all those suicides I daydreamed about, probably had no idea how different I could be on the inside. I don't think any of my early childhood friends would have understood why I thought death would be fun, or how I could think that a good sit-down would be more fun than a game or sport. Thinking about that helps me get along with my family, who have their own share of problems like depression and anxiety.
My aunt and grandma share a house which they never leave. When we call them they don't call back, and if they agree to come over for a holiday they always cancel at the last minute. The aunt won't go to a hospital to get a prescription for an antibiotic that would instantly save her eyesight, which she's been gradually losing for years to an infection. Why are they afraid of people? Why don't they like fun? My parents didn't have any answers, or at least didn't like to talk about it very much. When I think about my family and my life, however, I start to understand.
I have two older half-sisters, which I call sisters because for all intents and purposes they pretty much are my sisters. If I didn't understand them as a brother, that is to say if I were someone else, I would probably tell you that one is flighty and the other can be amazingly bitchy at times. Now, since I am their brother I know that they both have depression at a chemical level, which is made many times worse by their father who never loved them and won't answer their calls or return their letters to this day. The flighty one works weird hours as a nurse and doesn't relate well to other people because she's, well, off in her own world sometimes. The testy sister really got the double barrel, she's anxious and depressed pretty much all the time. On top of that, living with hardly any money, she also can no longer afford medication and is handling it pretty badly. Luckily she has a caring and patient husband or I'd really have something to worry about.
There are other depressed and socially anxious people in my family and they all handle it differently, but the above cases pretty much represent the range. These are the type of people who I wouldn't understand if I weren't related to them. Their actions often fall well outside the range of normal behavior, and in an argument they're anything but reasonable. Still, I know what they feel albeit on a smaller scale, and if it's enough to quench my will to live then I can only imagine how they find the strength to carry on.
The suicide notes of yester-year gave me some insight on the constant battle between my appearance and my state of being. I can't expect people to understand right away that I don't feel happiness like they do, nor can I get impatient with them for crossing lines they don't see, nor can I avoid people alltogether to relieve the constant worry about whether or not I'm appearing normal. I'm glad I have my family to show me what not to do there.
This brings me to some explanation of my feelings on sympathy. I have to keep up a normal appearance whenever I'm around people, or suddenly everyone puts on their concerned face and tell me about how they worry about me, or tell me to smile, or, worst of all, tell me that my being sad makes them sad. These normal reactions to feeling concern for a friend are, in my mind, not courteous sympathy or genuine concern but a type of spiteful game that people play to make you blame yourself for being sad, a subtle way of telling me to stop being a whiney bitch and pretend to be happy like everyone else. And so, despite the benign nature of feeling sympathetic for a troubled person, a reaction in my mind drives cycle of self destruction as I begin to see my depression on other people's faces. We all tend to assume that other people think and feel the same way as we do, and I guess that's why I sometimes state apparently crazy things as fact. I gotta remember to stop making an ass outta u + me.
Anyway the dilemma for me is that the threat of sympathy keeps me alive, sometimes like a dog inside an invisible fence, sometimes more like a, well... something not so bad. The big question as far as the debate goes seems to be: was the sum of the unhappiness in the suicide's life greater than the sum of the unhappiness caused by his death or no? Assuming both cases are possible, it becomes more a question of who gets to decide. Should the suicidal person be allowed to take his own life, or do his loved ones have the right to trump his judgement on the basis of him not being sound? It's clearly a lose-lose situation with no real answers, because it always ends as it had once existed: in pain. The best you can do is understand, the worst you can do is pass judgement.
*edit* going farther back than I know is wise, I would like to just say that my views are not deranged or messed up because (as I just found out), nietzsche's views on sympathy and pity were almost exactly the same as mine. He said that they place you above the person being sympathized for, raising your own status by their misfortune; a predatory action disguised as one rooted in love. Now nietzsche may have had some misanthropic tendencies and ideas, but go ahead and try to call him a crazy SOB with nothing relevant to say, philosophers around the world know better.
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