Kindness Journey - Killing Time, Or My Views On Suicide

When I made the decision, or rather Hal did, for me to see a therapist earlier this year, one of the first things I had to do was filling out a questionnaire for my new therapist. I was surprised at how generic the questions were, except for the questions about suicide that were interspersed throughout the list, each time worded slightly differently.

I suppose that this form was designed to see if someone might finally divulge some deep secret through the answer to one or more of the questions. I understand that a therapist or psychiatrist would need to know that information about a perspective patient, so I carefully read through each question, and made sure I answered truthfully.

When I finally met my therapist, we talked, and no, I didn’t lay on a couch, but once again she kept bringing up the questions about suicide. I meditated inwardly to calm myself because I really don’t like someone continually asking the same question over and over. I was truthful the first time, so the subject should have been closed.

Her misinterpretation of my answers actually made me wonder if even talking to her was a mistake. Every subsequent session she asks those same questions , I think she notices my reaction. I do have extremely strong feelings about suicide, and I’ve told her in generic terms, until I finally had enough.

She then found out my decidedly unpopular opinion on suicide. I have never considered killing myself, but I have known a handful of people who did commit suicide.

I have ZERO sympathy for anyone who takes their own life. They are cowards who deserve no sympathy. I don’t believe in God, so there’s no bullshit religious reason for how I feel. I saw how suicide affected those closest to the cowards who killed themselves. Their action threw so many other lives into chaos because they took the easy way out. The old bullshit that they claimed to love the people they left behind makes me want to vomit. They didn’t give enough of a shit to talk to someone who could have helped them, instead they wanted to prove their worth by making others miserable.

I was in my late teens when I went to the memorial for someone i barely knew who committed suicide. I was struck by how many friends he had, although I wasn’t really among them. Several of my friends were close to him, and that is why I went to the memorial in the first place.

I watched and listened as a long list of people talked about what a great guy the coward had been. They talked to me, believing that I was as distraught as they were. Then, it hit me like a brick. Whatever positive memories I might have had were completely gone.

I grew madder and madder until I finally left the mourners behind and got in my car and drove away. My disdain for Mr. Worm Food was overwhelming. What right did he think he had for hurting so many people? His parents and siblings were devastated by their loss, but in my opinion, the only person to blame was no longer around. If he really thought about those he claimed to care about, then he would still be alive.

Suicide, in my opinion, is the ultimate act of selfishness. After that awful day, seeing innocent people struggling to find any reason or incident that might have stopped Mr. Bullet Cushion from killing himself made me cry, not for Mr. Wonderful, but for those he trashed with his selfish act.

That is why I told the therapist that when I answered the question and said I never considered suicide, that was the reason and I didn’t appreciate her continually asking me. She said “It seems you have a strong opinion about suicide.” Well, yeah and I nearly called her a stupid bitch, because if I ever do think about suicide, it is about the real victims who are left to mourn the sick, sad, pathetic loser who never thought about the pain their selfish action would have on others.

So, I have an unpopular opinion on suicide. The prick is dead, but the emotional damage lives on. Nice job, Asshole, at least you didn’t fuck your suicide up.