Grief Comes And Goes, But Depression Is

I Think People Don't Understand How Intimately Tied Suicide Is To Mental Illness, Particularly To Depressive Illness And Bipolar Illness.

We All Build Internal Sea Walls To Keep At Bay The Sadnesses Of Life And The Often Overwhelming Forces Within Our Minds. In Whatever Way We Do This—through Love, Work, Family, Faith, Friends, Denial, Alcohol, Drugs, Or Medication—we Build These Walls, Stone By Stone, Over A Lifetime. One Of The Most Difficult Problems Is To Construct These Barriers Of Such A Height And Strength That One Has A True Harbor, A Sanctuary Away From Crippling Turmoil And Pain, But Yet Low Enough, And Permeable Enough, To Let In Fresh Seawater That Will Fend Off The Inevitable Inclination Toward Brackishness.

The Pursuit Of Knowledge Is An Intoxicant, A Lure That Scientists And Explorers Have Known From Ancient Times; Indeed, Exhilaration In The Pursuit Of Knowledge Is Part Of What Has Kept Our Species So Adaptive.

Others Would Say To Me, 'it Is Only Temporary, It Will Pass, You Will Get Over It,' But Of Course They Had No Idea How I Felt, Although They Were Certain That They Did. Over And Over And Over I Would Say To Myself, If I Can't Feel, If I Can't Move, If I Can't Think, And I Can't Care, Then What Conceivable Point Is There In Living?

Suicide Is A Particularly Awful Way To Die: The Mental Suffering Leading Up To It Is Usually Prolonged, Intense And Unpalliated. There Is No Morphine Equivalent To Ease The Acute Pain, And Death, Not Uncommonly, Is Violent And Grisly. The Suffering Of A Suicidal Is Private And Inexpressible, Leaving Family Members, Friends And Colleagues To Deal With An Almost Unfathomable Kind Of Loss, As Well As Guilt. Suicide Carries In Its Aftermath A Level Of Confusion And Devastation That Is, For The Most Part, Beyond Description.