“We talk about how suicide is ‘selfish,’” a friend said to me a few weeks ago. “But that means that people who are suicidal but struggling to live are doing something incredibly selfless, every day. Why don’t we talk about that?”
All these things help, but there’s no substitute for the soft click of a front door locking behind me, a 20-minute train ride, and a separate place to go for employment. It’s deeply soothing to have a Work Place and a Home Place. I can feel my mind settle as soon as I walk through the doors, a narrowing that allows for concentration. It’s bright and spare and orderly, with coffee and reliable wi-fi. Being I can ask my co-workers questions in person, or hit them up on Slack without fear of it disconnecting. Going to a separate Work Place isn’t a compromise: it’s a clear benefit, an antidote to the trepidation that comes from blending two halves of a life.