When Thoughts Collide
On suicide and other things.
When one has OCD, thoughts are often jumbled and disjoined. They come and go quickly, like fireflies on a summer night. I know as I’ve suffered from the disorder my whole life.
I’m never quite sure what’s going to pop into my head or when. As a creative individual that is both a blessing and a curse.
I often think of many things at once. Like a run-on movie with different directors for each “act,” I jump from thought to thought, willy nilly. Ideas for Medium stories. The next scene in my latest screenplay. My husband’s health issues. The weather. The world. What I’m going to make for dinner. It’s okay. I’m used to it.
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the notion of “simple pleasures.” I’m fascinated with the Danish way of living referred to as Hygge, (pronounced “hoo-ga”) or basically, “all things cozy.”
You know: Reading a good book while enjoying a cup of hot cocoa. Lighting scented candles. Curling up with a cozy throw while watching snowflakes drift outside your window. Or simply watching your pets dream their kitty or doggie dreams.
I love all of that. In this noisy, anxiety-inducing world, we need all of that. I sure as hell do. Never one to fully relax, I’ll grasp at whatever Hygge straws I can get my hands on. Although I draw the line at Lutefisk.
Last night, I took a long, steamy shower. That’s one of my simple pleasures. Along with a long soak in a tub filled with bubbles.
As I slowly turned around and let the hot water permeate and loosen every tight muscle in my body, my brain took a short snooze. It felt great. A rare moment of calm.
And then, BOOM, I started thinking about suicide. That might seem like a hell of a segue, but that’s how my mind operates. On full throttle.
I wasn’t thinking about my own suicide, mind you. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. But, I ponder it. Mostly in the context of other people. Celebrities, mainly, as I haven’t had to personally endure that particularly-horrendous tragedy. None of my friends or family members have ever taken their own lives.
If your experience has been otherwise, I am deeply sorry.
People kill themselves every day. Suicide is the tenth leading cause of death in the U.S. For all age groups. That is an astounding, frightening statistic.
Why? What is that tipping point? The world is an undeniably shitty place, especially now and this country only adds to the steaming pile thanks to the turd in the White House. But, to take one’s own life, to say “I’m done,” is almost incomprehensible. And then, there are those days when it isn’t.
The unfortunate reality: People are suffering greatly. And many of them don’t have the resources to get the help they desperately need.
Although we have every technological advancement, living…no, living well, is a tough row to hoe. As singer/songwriter John Prine wrote in the beautiful Angel of Montgomery, “To believe in this living is just a hard way go.”
Maybe people merely get tired and give up. I can almost understand that.
One of the celebrity suicides I think about a great deal is Anthony Bourdain’s. Here’s a guy who seemingly had it all. The world literally at his fingertips. Friends in every country. A curious mind with flashes of brilliance.
A daughter.
Why did he hang himself from that shower rod in France? That final straw. That nail in the proverbial coffin. That’s what niggles away at my brain.
His longtime friend, the renowned chef Eric Ripert, would probably like to know, as well. He found Bourdain’s body.
It is said that Anthony Bourdain suffered from depression. If you watched Parts Unknown and read between the lines of many of his statements, this is an acceptable resolution. But still…
Personally, I think that his girlfriend’s traipsing around Rome with another man helped knot that noose. But that’s something Asia Argento will have to deal with.
That brings me to this platform. Since we’re all here to support one another, I need to say this: To anyone who is suffering from dark, depressive thoughts that are so beguiling that you’re considering hurting yourself, or worse, don’t write a long-winded post about it in one of the Facebook groups.
When you do that, I doubt your sincerity and feel your words are an affront to those who are truly suffering from serious emotional challenges like chronic depression, bipolar disorder, and anxiety. Too, I feel manipulated and that pisses me off.
Sure, your post will get “likes” and lots of soothing comments but we’re not doctors, damn it. We’re writers. We can’t fix you. If indeed you do need fixing. As opposed to trolling for fans.
This is what you should do, instead. Seek professional help immediately. Have a friend or family member drive you to the nearest hospital or treatment center. Do anything but write about it on Facebook. Unless of course, you’re faking.
If that’s the case, you need a different kind of help.
Okay. Enough of that. How about those Danes?
Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.
As always, I appreciate your taking the time to read this story. If you enjoyed it, you may also like the following.
