that’s your personal problem — thoughts on suicide
Obvious content and trigger warnings for suicide, suicidal ideation etc.
There is a tweet format, like many other tweet formats on the god forsaken platform known as “Twitter dot com” that is impeccable.
From what I can remember, the retort, a suffix to any sort of issue, usually an exchange between a reasonable normie and the unstable comedians that lurk on every corner of this godless platform: “That’s your personal problem.” I love it because it’s vague and rude and vaguely rude enough to apply to almost anything, but also personal enough for emotionally constipated people all over the world to be reminded of their defining character flaw — keeping things inside, their personal problems.
Many people this week have been reminded of the struggles of themselves and of others. High profile suicides, following quick in succession often leave us breathless. There’s no real way to detach and run away from the conversation. People who have and are dealing with current suicidal ideations are frozen, forced to either listen to a group of people shout nothingness in a crowded room or instead feeling obligated to confront and discuss your own relationship with the concept of voluntarily taking your own life, without your valid consent.
Everyone is loud on the internet — but some are quiet too. Nobody knows what to say, and nothing is real enough. The age old shitty viewpoints arise: along with the shaky and superficial advice on how to deal and who to call, what to do and who to turn to. It drives me fucking insane.
And to be clear, I don’t have any extreme or real malice towards the majority of voices trying to advise from a genuine place of love, a feeling of hopelessness and inaction, and the general need to do and be active in their support. It’s just, sometimes, all the time, this isn’t what people need. But what, Isir, do people need? The honest to god answer is that I don’t know — we don’t know. And we shouldn’t pretend to, either.
I think the only think I can think about lately, as I get older, never wiser, in relation to suicide is one thing. I only want the focus to be on the suffering. Because living for someone else is not a life* and keeping someone here for you is morally wrong. The concept of suicide is so complex, complex enough to forget that amongst the chaos and unique nature of every circumstance, resides a pain so intense and impactful that a person would rather be six feet underneath. But it’s also very simple. Being in so much pain that you’d rather die than continue tumbling on a rock through space with a bunch of idiots who think they know what it is like for you travelling 67,000 miles per hour into nothingness.
*Sometimes, there is not a compelling case for life regardless of what your circumstances are. Choosing life and to live on by extension isn’t an option for all regardless of socio-economic status, race, gender, sexuality, treatment and lack of treatment associated with your ideations. Sometimes I wish it was okay to just say, death is okay — it is okay to want it, and nobody can advise you on anything, like this is a fucking personal problem that doesn’t need the condescending echo of everyone inside and outside of your life trying to give you their misinformed opinion on your pain and suffering.