A Journey to the Dark, Sad, Lonely Internet
a visit to an online suicide chatroom
This story was originally published on Gawker.com
Story by Chris Peak
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hat if you stumbled into a suicide? Unknowingly. Not literally, but you knew at least that there was a real good possibility that somebody was seriously considering suicide.
What if the person committing the suicide had described it to you in great detail? What if he or she told you when it was going to happen, and how? Now what if this person was a complete stranger? You’ve never met them, and you only know of them from what they wrote in some online journal.
These chats happen every day in the darker corners of the internet, where the weakened and battered go to vent. It’s a website where the melancholy, the sullen, the fellowship of the miserable, congregate. All of this happens here.
I found the site after learning about the death of ex-NFL star Terry Long, a former lineman for the Pittsburgh Steelers who drank antifreeze to kill himself after years of dealing with the symptoms of CTE (Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy). I had never heard of drinking antifreeze as a method of suicide. So I Googled it. I wasn’t shocked with the 241,000 results. But the fifth result was the website mentioned above— where the lonely, the depressed, the severely suicidal go to be heard, go to cry out for help, go because nobody else gives a shit about what they have to say.
They go because for them, they can be honest and open without fear of being judged or marginalized. It’s a diary of some sort— the website—and most of the posts are cries for help; to incite other users for help.
People who work at suicide prevention organizations visit these types of websites frequently, knowing that most people don’t want to speak with somebody about being suicidal over the phone or on a couch for fear of being admitted into a psychiatric hospital. Because for those who end up being admitted to a facility, the feeling of failing a suicide attempt and then having their freedom stripped away, is often times worse than death itself. In some cases, their freedom was supposed to be death.
I found the link to antifreeze that I was looking for on the website. Someone had posted that they were going to try it. The poster (the name suggested a male), “just wanted to die at home, in bed.” Commenters suggested he not try it, saying that it was, or is, a painful and horrible way to die. After several people convinced him to not to go through with it, Rusty, the user, posted this comment:
Thanks. I think I’m just going to drive out to the bridge tomorrow. I’m ready. I’d go tonight but there’s probably snow up there. Better to wait for daylight.
That was two years ago. Rusty never posted again.
At the top of each post is an arrow, navigating the user to either read a new post or go back to read an older one. Because the site updates in real time, I clicked to read an older post. It was a poem, better than some English majors could write, quite frankly. And I read the comments that followed. Then I clicked on the next post, and then the next post, and the next, until I realized that I couldn’t stop reading. I found myself becoming addicted to the sorrow these people were feeling. Amazed really; like knowing a train wreck is about to happen but you still stand to watch it. Is that wrong? I felt like it was wrong.
After reading posts that I thought were serious enough threats, I would try to find out if that person had posted another message, maybe a follow-up, like, “I decided to seek help, guys. Thanks.” More often than not, they didn’t. In some instances, their usernames were more doleful than their posts— if that was even possible. Below is one of the more recent posts that I found while I was writing this story. The man was bartering for a helium hood to use — well, to buy. He wanted a “peaceful exit,” and was willing to pay for his own death. His first post was October 16.
Fine you want a back story don’t you?
Ive been wanting to die since I was 14 years old. I’m 27. I’ve survived mulitple suicide attempts. I dont have the courage to jump off a building or blow my brains out with a gun.
I’ve tried hypothermia in a freezing river. I pissed myself before i jumped into that water, oh it fucking burned so bad i couldnt stand it, i was like alright ima just get a gun this shit is too painful. Then I got a gun and couldnt pull the trigger, I was going to shoot myself in the temple and thats like one of the worst ways to shoot yourself in the head because people survive that wound sometimes. Last attempt was with chloroform in a hotel room in las vegas. Fucking planned that shit for months. The internet says chloroform will kill you, fucking bullshit. It knocked me out then I woke back up poisoned. And I was worried about dying of liver failure so I fucking went to the hospital and they put me in a psychiatric facility for a month.
My problems include psychosis, severe depression, lethargy, schizophrenia paranoia. I’ve been to many doctors, I dont even want to talk about it, just please, dont tell me to live. Even if I did not have any of these conditions I still wish to die. Okay?
The following week, just a few days ago (from the time of publishing), he posted a message offering somebody $3,000 for a helium hood. A week later, he upped his price to $10,000.
10 grand for functional helium hood
October 23rd, 2013 by
msg me at i’ll travel to you, bring cash, i don’t need the money, i need the death. and obviously keep your identity secret i have an array of mental illnesses havent celebrated my birthday in over a decade i’ll celebrate my death day pls if you have a heart, pls
His final offer was for $40,000.
40k — travel expenses = yours
if you provide me with a functional helium hood
we meet at whatever location, go out into woods/desert/where the body wont be found for months
you hold my hand, make sure I turn blue, and the money is yoursuh yeah, i recently constructed my own helium hood which failed
According to suicide-prevention experts, and the suicide how-to-guide, Final Exit, inhaling helium is one of the most painless ways to die. That is, if you do it properly and can find an airtight hood that won’t leak. The difference between death by helium and brain damage by helium is rather slim.
I then read a post from a user that I want to keep anonymous but don’t want to keep anonymous. I don’t want to because I have this naive hope that by publishing her name (her username suggests a girl), someone will recognize her, maybe her writing style, maybe her username, and help her. I had only wanted to check out why antifreeze would work in committing suicide for no other reason but that I was interested in Terry Long’s suicide. That’s it.
She wrote:
this has got to end somewhere
October 23rd, 2013 by
I see absolutely no point of being around.I just keep forgetting that and end up backing out of suicide before its to late.I cant keep doing that.Im not meant to be was never meant to be.My oldest sister will be leaving soon off to college i will never hear or see her again.I cant deal with that.
If i continue to live i will be homeless or institutionalized.My best friend says shell take care of me but she cant take care of herself let alone can i.I dont know how to survive this world.I cant survive this world.Ive thought of seeing if i can hang myself tonight dont know if ill do it but id sure like to. Overdosing has failed me i will have to figure out some other way.Theres got to be another way cause this simply will not do.I love my family but i cant keep scaring them with failed attempts.Theres got to be an end to all this a way out.I cant go back to the mental hospital either.They just like to inject with psych meds then send you home half suicidal.When my mom leaves i will see if i can hang myself.If not then on friday ill drink a bottle of pinesole and say goodnight
The post was dated Wednesday morning at 1:24 AM. I found it in the afternoon. My conscience bettered me so I took the 30 seconds it took to register a username and I sent her a message. I sent her the most inviting, innocent, and open two-word sentence; Let’s talk…
I haven’t heard back, and it’s been over two days. I’m wondering if she carried out her plan. I figured she would have checked back at some point during the day to see if someone had replied to her. I know she just wants someone to reply. Nobody has been apparently — I mean, in life. Her previous posts now read like chapters in a book. It’s easy to see where her mind is just by the titles. Reading from older to recent, it’s clear the level of pain she’s in (or was).
Posts:
- 15 reasons (December 24, 2012)
- this blows!!! (December 25, 2012)
- standstill (January 11, 2013)
- farewell (January 30, 2013)
- it beats feeling (April 17, 2013)
- nothings changed (May 1, 2013)
- dear mom and dad (May 16, 2013)
- farewell hopefully September 23, 2013)
- stupid me (October 16, 2013)
- this has got to end somewhere (October 23, 2013)
The first government run mental illness facility dates back to 15th century Spain— and in the U.S., since our founding. The Massachusetts General Court once referred to Sarah Thorne, accused of witchcraft in Salem, as “crazy-brained.” She wasn’t, but was immolated anyway.
Patients, of course, were treated like animals in those days — actually worse than animals. Animals were at least free. Most patients were chained and routinely bled in the hope of ridding the body of its “sick blood,” or forced to endure crude experimental surgeries and incomprehensible procedures when anesthesia was still a hundred years away.
For too long, and it’s persistent, there has been a stubborn stigma attached to mental illness. And that stigma is difficult to remove, like a week-old band-aid in the shower.
Health experts list over 250 derogatory terms used to describe people with mental illness. Adjectives like, psycho, madman, whack job, demented, and loony, to name a few, are used every day to describe people who suffer from mental illness. Some of these labels are used casually, sure. Some with visceral hatred. Unfortunately, mental illness is not something we can easily see. I can see that your arm is broken, but I can’t see that your frontal cortex is, too.
Still, we use these awful terms when descriving people who are depressed, bi-polar, and schizophrenic. People who are so vulnerable, so absent of big-picture-thinking, so emotionally destitute, that the only way to help themselves is to kill themselves.
In that regard, I suppose, they’re enlightened.
John Adams was mentally ill. John, our second President, Founding Father. Johnny Carson had depression. Meriwether Lewis, Winston Churchill, and Abraham Lincoln were suspected as being bipolar. LINCOLN! And he won a posthumous Oscar. Edgar Allan Poe suffered from such severe mental illness, that some say he was a schizophrenic. And he gave us, The Raven.
My invitation still stands for ________. I really meant it when I said “Let’s talk.” You aren’t alone. And neither are the hundreds of millions of people who live on this planet who are depressed or suicidal.
More Americans die from suicide each year than car accidents. Eighty-eight people die every day from suicide. That’s an Intro lecture class every day. Yes. Close your eyes and picture any Intro To lecture class from college. Now picture that entire lecture hall empty. That happens every day.
People have bad days. Everybody does. That’s normal. But sometimes they add up and turn into bad weeks. For some, the weeks turn into months or unfortunately, years, like the man mentioned in the beginning of this story who hasn’t celebrated his birthday in a decade.
Let’s talk.
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