Suicide and Sex

Suicide and Sex

When I got home from work, the mail was waiting for me. Time magazine this week has a story about the rising suicide rates in America. Out of the population of 317 million residents, there will be 1.2 million numbers of calls to the national suicide prevention life line expected this year. Let's do the math. Just assume only people over 20 (72.7% of the population) years of age depressed seriously enough to think of killing themselves and placing a call to the Hotline (1-800-LIFENET), we have then: (317X 0.727)/1.2= 192. One of every 192 Americans is expected to make a call to suicide hotline for help. Are you one of those192 Americans?

Not me. Decades ago, when I was stupid and dumb and idealistic, I would, but not anymore. That's why I have not had a drink nor shot up my veins for some time now. That's why I exercise, curse, swear, and punch the air. That's why I read and write and think very highly of myself. If those sons of bitches and scumbags and assholes could find reasons to live, why not I, a vastly more intelligent and sensitive human being. I don't want to lie there in my coffin and listen to all those motherfucking mourners mutter under their breaths while paying their last respect to me, "Wissai, for all the brave words and the noise you made, you were just a weak-minded motherfucker!" No, that would be too much of an insult. To live long is the best revenge. And I shall Iive until 103. I still have sex until 94 and have children at 88. My best years are ahead of me, not behind. I will dance and piss on the graves of those I hate. I will fornicate with joy and abandon. I will plant flowers and vegetables in the garden. I will paint. I will live like a saint who nevertheless enjoys sex. Viva la vida!

Reactions:

An American sister (daughter of a host family when I was a visiting high school exchange student) saw this piece in Facebook. Amazingly, she understood what I meant away and wrote in the comment section she liked it. So I wrote the following, quite eloquently and psychologically very astute, I must say;

Ba Ngo You were really cool for getting the idea I wanted to convey. Ordinary folks would object to the idea and the language usage. Most suicidal people are too depressed to get angry. The key to combat depression, besides taking medication, is to get energized through exercise and anger. We have to fight for everything, especially life. Never, ever give up. Find reasons to live. To die is to close off all possibilities. To live is to welcome options and choices. We always have choices, but not the ultimate choice, the choice to die, which is not really a choice but a surrender. Only cowards surrender.

12 hours ago · Like · 1

An intelligent friend, but psychologically burdened (or at least he projected himself to be) with a sunny, "wise" outlook, but missed completely my point/thesis when I composed my piece, wrote:

"Why is it that we seek things to dislike in the people we encounter?  Our growth stalls when we spend energy attempting to extricate ourselves psychologically from the environment or people that surround us."

My reply, honest and not pretentious and phony as his comment was, was as follows:

"You may be a saint, but I am not. I can't help but feel strongly toward persons I interact with. In that respect, I m just an ordinary guy. Some people piss me off so bad that I want to physically hurt them, but then I have to expand energy, needlessly as you would say, to curb my impulse. I suppose other ordinary people feel the same way I do. We are just ordinary people with human feelings which are evoked when dealing with external stimuli. We don't seek things in people we don't like. Some people provoke us, do or say things which offend our sensibilities just like we do or say things which others don't take kindly to. That's how the normal people do and feel in their daily interactions with one another. I suppose saints don't operate that way. I suppose saints are impervious to emotions, especially negative emotions.