Editor’s Pick
MARCH 5, 2009 11:48AM
brushes with death, with a dark and, hopefully, funny twist.
note: this is a very dark post and it mentions suicide several times and in a kind of light way. so please don't read this if it will trigger you. please. i don't want to hurt anyone. this is for people with dark twisted senses of humor.
Even when things are going pretty well, I tend to think that life is overrated. Major depressive disorder (well, recently I've been re-diagnosed as bipolar 2, not the psychotic kind, thank God) has been my almost constant companion since I was six years old. So it was not new to me. Being imprisoned in my own mind was not new. But literal imprisonment kicked the angst up a notch.
After almost two years of self-imposed house arrest, in addition to feeling anxious and panicky, I felt hopeless and wanted to die. It’s not unusual or uncommon. I’ve spoken to other agoraphobics who became clinically depressed over time. Constant tension eventually just fries your adrenal gland. Wipes you out physically and emotionally. When I wasn’t suicidal, I was homicidal. Which is progress, according to one of my old therapists, but you have to find God in order to kill him, and He and I were not exactly on speaking terms at that point.
And God is obstinate and perverse sometimes. So the trouble with being chronically suicidal is you're almost guaranteed not to die. All these perfectly lovely people are dropping dead left and right all around you. Lovely loving people who want to live. And you're still here.
Take me for example. My greatest desire has always been to write posthumously. Consequently I've driven by drive-by shootings and not gotten shot, been bumped off a plane that was hijacked to Cuba, gone into shock and had my heart stop and then been resuscitated (twice), slept three days from a prescription drug overdose and, instead of passing on, woke up to a $400 hotel bill, attached a hose to my car's exhaust pipe and somehow managed to survive the carbon monoxide. And that’s just a small sampling of my not-quite-near-enough death experiences.
I’m such an incredible control freak that I was actually holding a stun gun in one hand while I attached the hose to the exhaust pipe with the other. God forbid someone should mug me while I’m killing myself. "Get the fuck away from me. Can't you see I'm committing suicide?" I couldn’t sell my latest screenplay. I'd broken up with my writing partner and was feeling bereft. In my estranged biological family you are what you do, so if I wasn’t selling my work, then who the hell was I? And if I didn’t know then I didn’t deserve to live. Hence, the gas and the hose. Which, unfortunate-ly, I somehow survived.
It's remarkably difficult to die, despite the dire deadly news we read everyday. Men succeed at dying better than women do. They tend to use guns and top jump off buildings as we're seeing now with the Maddoff victims and perpetrators. Women don't do these things; they're afraid to look ugly, even in death. What would the fashionistas say? And men just have to be better at everything, don't they?
I’ve got the whole suicide thing down to a science. My will is done and in a safety deposit box. Living Will also, complete with Do Not Resuscitate instructions. Became a member of the Hemlock Society after the book “Final Exit” came out, to keep up on the latest euthanasia tips. I’ve got that Hemlock etiquette down pat. So, of course, I left an apology note for the maid when I tried to overdose in the hotel. Ideally I’d like to find a way to end up brain-dead, outside of a hospital, preferably a teaching hospital (I’ve done my homework), to make sure all my organs are immediately donated to needy recipient. Recycling is key.
My big fear, given that I’ve wanted out so much of my life, is that I’m going to end up living to be one hundred and twenty. Sitting in a rocker on my front porch, bitching. “Shit, man, wasn’t that Ebola supposed to be fatal?”
My second biggest fear is that I'll end up maimed. I don’t mind dying but can't stand the thought of losing parts here and there. Always been very squeamish. Which annoys me about myself since my take on the whole thing is as long as I’ve got a death wish, I might as well do something daring like join the Mossad and go to Israel. (Not so much right now when I'm not so proud of My People.) I've fantasized about meeting some macho Jews for decades.
I'm afraid I’m expecting Paul Newman in "Exodus" to meet me at the airport. Of course I haven't quite reconciled the image of a neurotic fifty-something woman with a Baggalini purse tripping up the steps to the Israeli consulate, petitioning to sign on with the organization that pulled off the raid on Entebbe.
Unfortunately my maternal family lives forever. So I’m programmed to be here until at least age ninety-two if I don’t succeed in sabotaging myself. Which is really discouraging. The only bright spot is I may finally get to play that Wendy's "Where's the beef?" lady. Or be the next Ruth Gordon. God, I loved her. Acting agents are actually hungry for seniors who have all their faculties.
I’ve been coveting a decent role since my debut as Snow White in the first grade. It was type-casting. I was adorable, with a tiny nose (didn't yet need the rhinoplasty) and long dark hair. I could stand by the cardboard well and sing “wishing for the one I love” and not look or sound like a fool. It feels like I peaked in first grade. I had three boyfriends, and Bobby Morrison named his mice after us. My best friend wanted to be Snow White so badly, but she was blondish and chubby. The teacher cast her as Happy the Dwarf.
She was especially jealous that I got to eat the poisoned apple. But she perked up when they cast Richard Aronson as the prince because he sucked his thumb and stuck his finger up his nose. It wasn’t a turn-on. I heard that he became a stud in 8th grade. That’s always been my pattern. Hooking up with men before they’ve come into their own or, later on, when they are downwardly-mobile. My timing is off. I am a great predictor of a man’s future romantic success. But at that time Richard Aronson was lacking, so I edited the script and insisted on a hug instead of a kiss. I was hot in first grade. It’s all been downhill since then.
When I’m in this emotional black hole, what Willam Styron calls“darkness visible”, not even the prospect of a juicy Ruth Gordon/Wendy’s role makes me want to stick around for another 45 years. I just want out. I just want to move on.
I have a pact with God, when we're on speaking terms, that in my next life I can be a cat. A well-loved singing and dancing famous cat. I can’t wait.
But then those damn white light people start warning me that those who commit suicide go to some creepy purgatory limbo. Not to the heavenly garden peaceful place where you supposedly see your dead friends and relatives. Oh, please. Like that would change my mind. I can just hear Grandma Esther now, "You seeing a nice Jewish boys, dear? I've been a little busy playing canasta with that handsome Moses... Have you called your mother lately?" Or my dour paternal grandmother who never shut up about her Ph.D. Talk about Piled Higher and Deeper. I mean, my God, a clinically depressed psychology professor? One lifetime of her was more than enough. “Your hair looked so much better the other way, darling.” Heavy sigh. “I’ll just sit in the dark.” Can't think of one dead family member whose company I've craved.
But then those damn white light people start warning me that those who commit suicide go to some creepy purgatory limbo. Not to the heavenly garden peaceful place where you supposedly see your dead friends and relatives. Oh, please. Like that would change my mind. I can just hear Grandma Esther now, "You seeing a nice Jewish boys, dear? I've been a little busy playing canasta with that handsome Moses... Have you called your mother lately?" Or my dour paternal grandmother who never shut up about her Ph.D. Talk about Piled Higher and Deeper. I mean, my God, a clinically depressed psychology professor? One lifetime of her was more than enough. “Your hair looked so much better the other way, darling.” Heavy sigh. “I’ll just sit in the dark.” Can't think of one dead family member whose company I've craved.
To me, the people who've committed suicide are way more cool than my deceased relatives. I'd much rather hang with Hemingway, Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, Kurt Cobain, Cleopatra, Socrates – I hear that he was a real hoot – Vincent Van Gogh, Freddie Prinze, Sr. or Virginia Woolf anyday. Yes, even Hemingway. I’d rather hear about bull-fighting for eternity than about jello mold or why my sister married a Gentile. Even if it means living in Purgatory.
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Comments
This line stands on its own, though it may not be the main point you your were trying to make, of course: "I don’t mind dying but can't stand the thought of losing parts here and there."
I’ve never laughed my way through a suicide post before. Talk about mixed feelings. On the funny side, you are hilarious here. The stun gun and carbon monoxide couldn’t be dreamed up even by Rodney “I get no respect” Dangerfield. I’m still laughing (sorry).
On the serious side, those affected by suicide might not find this so funny. I realize that you know this. My first wife attempted suicide several times, including an IV drug overdose for several days in a hotel (with no etiquette considerations whatsoever). I even wrote a post on it once. It affected me greatly. My point? Suicide does harm those of us who care about you and we can’t/don’t take it lightly.
I do admire how you have written about this in a tragicomedic way. Hang in there.
Rated.
Rif, i said that this is dark and i meant it and i said that this is not where i'm at. i'm sorry for triggering you and others. i'll put a big warning on the top, ok/
grif, god i'm sorry. i'll put a big warning on the top now. i wasn't thinking clearly. shit. i guess i figured if the subject is death then everyone is goign to weigh in slowly. but i am so grateful for you coming to visit and commenting!!!! love love love to all and so much gratitude.
if anyone knows anyone on here who could help me with my stupid laptop that originally had Vista on it and then someone put XP on it and now so many freaking things do not work???? please plase pelase help me. there is just so much stress a looney tune can take. love love love.
Don't get me wrong - I have a totally dark and twisted sense of humor and enjoyed this - it is very funny. Good idea for the warning too.
You are one of a kind my dear... And I think writing here must be doing you wonders. It's a kind of therapy, don't you think?
When I die I'm going to find the "Meaning" and kill it so we don't have to come back.
This was your Best Theodora - saved for further "mulling"
Thanks for adding to my comprehension of what is a final and sad act. Rated for honesty and for humour.
thanks, grif, fo rthe reassurance. i love you for that.
deborah, i adore you. you know that. thank you for laughing. i laughed the whole way through writing and editing this. shit, if you can't laff, what is the freaking point?
ae, i'm to pissed at you for not friending me earlier taht i can't be objective. so mull away adn i'll forgive you some day. can you tell i'm tried from my riting?
boan, thanks for coming by!! i'll friend you since you enjoy my sick sense of humor. please PM me if you need any more info on why people off themselves. i'm an expert on this and don't find it hard to talk about at all.
love love love and gratitude for everyone showing up. and, yes, deborah, i thiunk writing on here does help me hugely. it's reading and commenting that kick my ass since my concentration and eyesight suck. but one day, one hour at at ime.
Even suicide cannot withstand the burn of humor.
Rated for DNR
Nah.... folk; they don't wanna shuffle off mortal coil...they wanna FEEL better about.... all sorts of things. Yeah they wanna shuffle off the BAD feeling that's what... and it's the wonderful WIN in life to get on top of a negative energy that is bringing about destructive solutions. . . . .
I mean, if you could get to the source of that ill feeling and rid yrself of it......
Keep right on surviving that negative energy mate!
{rated!}
How are you feeling hon? Doing okay?
Pawed!
You have lived a life. No matter when you go, know that and be proud. You did not peak in 1st grade. They don't tell you that at the end of the play, Snow White is stuck in a boring marriage with a man who styles his hair all day.
I read Darkness Visible after my BF took her life, and I recommend it to anyone who is dealing with depression or knows someone who is. It is very short and incredible in its ability to explain the feelings of darkness and the things to do to combat them.
Please keep writing till you are 120 on that porch, still dealing with younger men and wonder pups, and OS.
BF suicide, bipolar 1 or 2 with dark depressions, darkness visible is great book, the noonday demon by andrew solomon is also excellent, humor is totally the anti-suicide drug -- shit, it's the antidote for almost anything that sucks.
comparisons to dorothy parker and elaine may????? i am so very very much not worthy.
i'm sorry to create false hope but i do believe that this is my best piece that i've written and don't think i can bring this much of the time. but one post at a time, i will do my best to share the dark stuff to make it safer on here for others to do the same and for people to know that i KNOW. i really know. and i am here if you need an ear or whatever. i dont' want anyone else to have as much loneliness and fear as i've had in mine. OS is the antitode for that for me. love lvoe lvoe and huge gratitude to all.
You have been so appreciative of others writings, and so honest about your own suffering - I guess it's great to see you kick out the jams on this subject!
I'm cracking up about the tags even as I write this.
Wonderful, fast, explosive and focused writing - I will read it many times!
Theodora, this is a GREAT piece of writing and you are such a creative
tortured genius! Love my dear. And you got EP!
Kerry is so wise!
See, that would be my luck in committing suicide, so I don't even try!! ;)
Good stuff!!!!
LOL and LOL!!!
Monte
guys, i am dying for funny people to read on os. really. i can't read all these fabulous serious pieces. not now when i'm fighting my george fight and am still wiped out from reg. radiation. i do my best and hope people notice. so whose bringing the funny. lisa kern, i know, and deven and others whom i can't remember right now. i'll keep asking. oh yes, tink, but he's a sick fuck and his stuff is complicated for me. love love love and gratitude and i'll look for your stuff too, if i can with this freaking not helpful feed.
Rated and bookmarked.
"They say Confucius does his crossword with a pen."
It was timely, too. I'd just been discussing suicide with my mother yesterday. She told me not to do it, not because she'd miss me, but because I'd probably fail at and merely become injured.
We'd sit on the floor in the hall and crack up over our oh-so-similar suicide fantasies, our incompetence at either living or suiciding effectively, and the absurdities committed against us in the name of "mental health."
There's a lot of humor in suicide - for those who contemplate it. As I told my best friend a month after my children died: "I realized this morning, while shaving in the shower, that suicide really would solve all my problems. But, when I raised the Daisy razor to my wrist, I couldn't figure out how to get the flippin' blades out!"
Did we laugh hard? Lordy I reckon! :-)
Fabulously funny post!
Hope we meet before then, but if not, I'll save you a seat in Purgatory.
xxo
Suzanne
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